Splintered [Complete | GB+SB]

Fifteen: Charming Princes & Nightmare Beasts

After Gabe was done rinsing my hair, he had me switch towels completely and remove the one that had been soaked in the shower when he'd snapped me out of my panic — politely turning his back without a single flirty comment. Then he moved the chair out of the shower and I sat facing the wall while he worked with a blow dryer and round brush. The only thing he said the whole time was "I don't know who cut your hair, but their scissors should be ritualistically burned and then buried in unconsecrated ground. I'll give you a real haircut, if you want? Sometime soon?" When I just nodded, not having the heart to tell him no one has ever cut it but me, we lapsed back into silence.

After he was done, switching off the dryer and setting it on the counter with the brush before helping me stand up, he turned me toward the mirror and I gasped. My hair... this was my hair?! No, this was impossible. My hair wasn't this soft, or shiny, or smooth. My hair didn't curl gently in big waves framing my face, and it didn't glow with a hundred different colors depending on the angle of the light, even this harsh fluorescent light. I stared at him in awe, and he broke out into a massive grin, and the pain in his eyes fading.

"I take it you like it?" He hummed at me smugly, playing with one of the silky locks he'd created whole-cloth from my raggedy mop. "That's good, because no one is ever touching this hair again but me. And no product is ever going onto it but one I make for you, and no scissors are touching it but mine. We clear?"

I nodded dumbly, still speechless, not even comprehending what he'd said about making my hair products.

"Good. Now scoot your tight little ass back to bed while I pick out your outfit for today and pack up your things. Owen will be here in forty minutes to take you home." As I exited the bathroom, he gave me a little slap on the butt that made me jump and scurry across the room to the bed.

He didn't close the bathroom door. He had his back to me, sure, but he was naked for the time it took to strip off his wet boxers and pull on his jeans, and I got to see how the wings of the phoenix on his back dipped down below his waist in a downstroke as it breaks free of the flames, and the slightly paler flesh of his lean, muscular ass, and the long, firm muscles of his thighs flexing and bending as he undressed and dressed. My Gabe's body is beautiful: lithe and elegant, sinuous like a serpent; colorful, like nature intended, his vibrancy a warning of the coiled strength and danger lying underneath. He slinked towards me with a grin, sliding one finger under my chin to close my mouth, pressing a soft kiss on my lips before moving away to open a cabinet door I never even noticed.

The cabinet was about six feet high and two to three feet wide. The bottom had two drawers and an open shelf, and above that was an open area with a clothes rod. The back of the door had two hooks on it.

The cabinet was full of clothes.

The open shelf had two pairs of shoes — the Chucks I'd been wearing the night I was admitted and a pair of black ballet flats I didn't recognize — and the mysterious slippers that had kicked up such a fuss. The clothes rod had regular hangers and hangers with clips, and it was packed full of things I didn't recognize: tops and skirts, hoodies, and dresses. Gabe pulled out the top drawer and it had more pajama sets similar to the one I was wearing but in satin or t-shirt material instead of flannel. Next to those were stacks of panties and bras, and a handful of rolled up pairs of fuzzy socks. He smiled at my confusion and pulled out the bottom drawer, revealing jeans, shorts, and what appeared to be a couple light sweaters.

Most of the non-denim clothes were in light, muted colors: blush pinks, peach, dusty lavender, or soft gray. There were a few black or navy blue pieces mixed in, but more often than not, those darker colors were offset by white stripes or pink piping. As he showed them to me, and even from where I sat across the room, I could see that each piece of clothing was chosen specifically for me, in my size, and was of high quality: even the half dozen or so tanks were expensive — each one slightly different whether it was by fabric, or cut, or drape — not a single $4 Target special amongst them.