THIRTY-ONE.

I stand motionless for what seems like forever in front of the one man I have ever allowed to see me naked.

Even though my body quivers with trauma, I brazenly allow his gaze to feast upon my body, which I despise admiring.

This body has endured various horrors, but it has never let me down.

She is unattractive, damaged, and strong.

Nonetheless, I feel indebted to her for not failing me.

I watch as his jaw ticks, his hands curl and uncurl at his sides, turning his knuckle’s a ghostly shade of white and his icy blue eyes don't look away.

His facial expression is impassive, “I-” He starts and finishes at the same time.

I dip my head, swaying on my feet as I emotionally and mentally start to feel drained.

He lunges forward, “I've got you, amore mio.” He whispers roughly as he catches me with open arms.

Lifting me into his arms, he removes a cotton dressing robe from the rack near the shower door and drapes it over my shivering body.

“I vow that the bastardo will never hurt you or any