Rapture

Bare

He holds me with one arm to his side, at ease as if I am a child, and opens the door with the other.

The gold of his eyes simmers, and the candles light. The room is like a cave inside the pale tree, the ceiling and and walls smoothened round. I notice the bed is made with fresh sheets, and that the bath is full of water.

He puts me down on the ground, and I wince from the contact with my bruised feet. His hand stays on the small of my back until I am standing steady.

"Take off your dress."

He says. My dress is torn and soaked with blood, but I feel terribly attached to it. The thought of standing before him naked makes my legs quiver.

"Now. You are filthy."

His voice raises a tone, and I find myself complying; shaking hands pulling the straps of the dress down my shoulders. I feel the torn cloth separating from the fresh wounds across my back with sticky resistance.

I cover my breasts with my arms, biting down on my teeth as I feel the motion shifting the open cuts. I watch for his next move, my body tense like a spring.

He takes off the worn shirt over his head, and lowers his black trousers to the floor. The tension from my jaw releases in shock. My heart flutters against my ribs like a bird as I start backing away.

I see a hint of a smile bending the corner of his lips.

He steps to the bath, turning his back to me. 

There are dozens, if not hundreds of scars cutting his pale skin, aligned with his spine, all the way from waist to shoulder blades. The muscle beneath seems in perfect shape, but the skin looks as if it was burnt shut.

He dips his hand in the bath, and a golden light reflects through the water. Then the surface curls up with steam.

"Step in the bath."