How too love again?

Chapter 10

His hand on her back is a steady reminder that she's alive. Warm, strong, reassuring, that if anything were to happen, she could hold onto him. She feels relief wash over her when they enter his apartment. It's nice to be somewhere other than a hospital room and for the next month, this would be her home. And if she really wanted to take it a step further, she could say she always felt at home with him. She'd always feel safe with him, no questions.

"Tera saman main guest bedroom me rkh kr aata hun?"

"Are main rkh kr aati hun-"

"Shehnaaz, no!" He shakes his head. "Idhr chup krkr sofa pr rest kr. Jbhi tera room saaf ho jaaega tbhi vaha rest kregi tu smji." Placing a kiss to her head, he makes his way to the guest bedroom and she watches him walk away, ignoring the burn of his lips on her skin and how natural it felt to gravitate towards him.

She sits on the couch, carefully, the sting of pain making her scrunch her face, breathe deeper than before, settling into a semi comfortable position.

She'd like a shower, wash away the remnants of that day, wash away the remnants of her week. But she herself had never really been hurt enough. If you discounted every emotional bruise, she'd never been knocked out on a hospital bed, there had been no surgeries. Guess she can check that off the bucket list.

There is no memory of the seconds before the gun was shot. The last thing she remembers is running towards the little boy, curled up on the floor. They had told her she had saved him, that she had saved Diane and the other kids. She'd been saving people for most of her life. In her mind, it had never been something to be applauded. It's what you're supposed to do. If you see injustice, if you can save someone, then you shouldn't think twice about it.

"Hey," Jughead smiles softly, sitting next to her. "Kuch khaegi? Teri dawaio ka be time ho gaya hai?"

She shakes her head. "Meko shower lena hai." Then she gulps, the logistics of said shower becoming quite clear when she sees the look on his face. "But main akele nhi le paungi."

"Oh," He utters, quietly. "Main help kr skta hu. But I promise nhi dekhunga."

"If you're comfortable." he adds.

How could she not be with him? It's him. "I am."

"Okay." He nods, standing up and helping her up.

While he gets her toiletries from the guest bedroom, hers for now, she fights herself on how exactly she's supposed to take her clothes off and is now realising how in the world she thought she could go back to her apartment alone. "Um, Sidharth?!" She hears his footsteps quicken and she watches his face pop up in the door with a panicked look on his face. "Main thik hun but yeh shirt nhi utar rhi."

His eyes widen slightly and he rubs his neck, she can tell this is awkward for both of them, obviously. In what world would anyone want to be taking their ex's clothes off after all this time? On her part, the very thought of his hands on her body, even in her state, is certainly nerve wrecking, probably not the same kind of nerve wrecking as him, his is probably not the 'you're igniting every nerve on my body as you always have'. His is probably 'I can't believe I have to undress my ex and help her wash herself'.

Stepping closer to her. "May I?" He answers softly, his fingers on the hem of her t-shirt. She nods and he lifts it off her body. "Apna hath upar kr.. mtlb hai ki tuta hua mat krna?" He huffs out a soft laugh.

It hurts either way but it isn't unbearable. She can handle the pain a lot better than him grazing his fingers against her side as he removes the T-shirt, throwing it to the ground. His eyes, however, she notices, don't linger on, instead his gaze fixates on the bandage, a look she can't quite decipher crossing his features.

"What?" She whispers.

He looks up at her. He keeps pointing her wounds. "I'm sorry, main pata nhi kyu baat par sochta rheta hun iske baare me... Meko tera khayal rkhna chahiye but main teko kho deta."

Placing a hand on his cheek, she frowns. "Here," she takes his hand and places it on her heart, shivers running through her body at the contact. "My heart's beating, Sidharth main yaha hi hun." Somehow, they're closer together and his forehead is against hers. She sees now how much this is affecting him, how much her getting hurt, hurt him.

He breathes out, eyes closed. "Yeah."

She sits on the toilet while he gets a plastic bag to cover the cast on her arm, wrapping it up gently.

She gets in the tub with his help, purposely not quite looking at her. "Paani zada garam toh nhi hai?"

"No, perfect hai thank you." She sighs. "Acha lag rha hai. Hash hospital se nikal aae.."

He smiles. "Pata hai."

"Hair wash kr de mere?"

Taking the shower head from her hand, he shifts closer. "Peche hoja thoda." She does and he starts washing her. The feeling of his fingers on her scalp relax her in a way she hasn't relaxed in a long time. And it takes her back to the past. They'd always had baths together. Nothing sexual, most of the time. It was more a need for a kind of intimacy they could only get with each other. To be with each other, skin on skin, just the feel of each other's bodies, a silent reminder that despite the universe's curse on them, they were each other's anchor. He'd always wash her hair, knowing exactly how she liked to be touched.