Juliana's POV

"Absolutely not."

Turning away from Gino, I roll to the other side of my bed, picking up my phone to check the time. This asshole really thought it was acceptable to come barging into my room, towels in hand, at 4:30 in the morning?

"You need to, Juliana. Much longer and you're going to stink the whole household out." This comment earns him a glare from me. Though, as much as it hurts my pride to admit it, I desperately need a shower.

The last time was the night before I went to the hospital, and we're coming up on a week with me rotting in my own stench. "Gino, I can't." I whisper, sitting up as I wipe the little sleep I got from my eyes.

"I know, that's why I'm here. Go to the bathroom and do whatever mental hype-up you need to get through this. I'll be in there as soon as I change out these sheets." Gino curls his other arm, drawing my attention to the stack of bedsheets I had been too distracted to notice.

Gino dumps the stuff in his arms out onto the bed, moving to grab my crutch, but I stop him. I'm sick of those stupid things. This boot provides enough protection, there is no reason I shouldn't be allowed to walk.

Sliding my feet over the side of the bed, I hop down, limping towards the bathroom door. I hear ruffling as Gino starts to strip my bed. As I take the last few steps towards the door of the lavatory, I can't stop myself from pausing.

Looking back over my shoulder, I watch Gino as he skirts around the edge of the bed, leaning over and yanking at the mattress protector. He must have sensed my eyes on him, or took note of the sudden stop in the crinkling from my boot. Without even turning to look at me, he calls over his shoulder.

"Go pick out a new shirt, Juliana. That one's about to get soaked."

I take in a deep breath, feeling the stark air pinch at my lungs. I continue my walk into the bathroom, putting my mental blinders as I make my way straight to my closet. I don't want to look in the direction of the tub. The minute I do, it's game over.

When I walk into my closet, I realise that something is different. My clothes, which I was expecting to still be in my suitcase, had all been hung up. It was a little confusing, because I know for a fact that yesterday, all my clothes were still in said suitcase.

But this unexpected action made tears prick at my eyes. Something about seeing my clothes hung up made the longevity of this whole situation crash down on me.

When I first came to stay here, I didn't unpack my suitcase. It made this entire thing feel more permanent than I knew it was. I mean, it also saved me from having to repack, so hashtag lazy hacks.

Ignoring the weird feeling that was bubbling in my chest, I reach my arm out, letting my hand clench onto some random jumper. Gino has to be wrapping things up by now.

I go back into the bathroom, tossing the jumper onto the counter. I don't really care where it lands, I'll pick it up later.

Turning towards the shower, I pause, taking a deep breath as I start towards it. Step by step, I try to ignore the headache that begins to form. Or the way my head begins to swim in an unseen ocean, trying to forget its surroundings and drift away peacefully amidst the storm that's fighting against the waves where it once found solace.

I go to sit down, grateful that Gino wasn't in here to see the awkward little routine I had to perform to even get to the ground.

Once I'm sitting I swivel to face the tub, unable to contain the shiver that slowly makes its way down my spine. I feel nauseous, looking at the bare fibreglass shower. Again, there were products I know for a fact that I didn't unpack, such as my shampoo, conditioner, body wash and razor.

I don't know whether to thank the person that did this, or to feel a little weirded out. Maybe they were trying to help, but maybe they were also trying to snoop through my things. Not that I have anything to hide. Seems like, these days, everybody knows all my secrets before I do.

I take in a shaky breath, my eyes drifting closed. My heart is actively trying to race itself, unaware that it's an uphill battle. And even more unaware of the wreckage it's leaving in its thunderous wake. I remember what Gino taught me, and start trying to distract myself with deep breaths.

Soon enough, that gets taken from me too. As the pressure on my chest refuses to lighten. I'm overwhelmed with the breathless sensation while I am reminded that control never has been my strong suit.

Closing my eyes, I try to focus on my surroundings. What's that exercise again? Five things you can see. Oh wait, I just closed my eyes. Never mind. What can I feel? I feel like I'm fucking dying while being painfully aware that I'm perfectly fine. Something I can hear- oh fuck this.

With a frustrated noise escaping the back of my throat, I re-open my eyes. My knee, though my leg is bent, starts bouncing up and down as my body rocks itself back and forth. It's like my body is trying to locate the air that it knows is there. The air that we have, but that we don't understand what to do with.

My whole body wrenches forward, a panicked cry leaving my lips as hands encase my shoulders. The hands, though soft, never leave me, instead encouraging me to turn my attention to something. Complying, the small rational part of my brain that is left peeking through the cloud of misjudgement feels more than silly. It's just Gino. He's not a threat.

"I'm sorry." The apology left me before I truly knew what I was saying. I don't know why I'm apologising. It just feels like the right thing to do.

If he sees that you're sorry he won't be as harsh.

"Everything is going to be fine, Jules. We're just going to wash your hair, alright?" Gino's voice is soft and slow, sounding like that you would speak to a child with. But I'm not a child. He shouldn't speak to me that way.

Gino has me turned around and is slowly starting to guide me to lay back against the towel that has been laid against the little bump where the shower and the floor meet. I look up at Gino as he leans over me, picking something up.

Is he mad at me? Did I do something? Where are we, what's going on?

A hundred questions circle through my brain all at once, none of them being able to find the answers that seem so close, and yet so far, to the forefront of my mind. And then the water starts running.

"Please," The plea was beginning to feel natural these days. "I think I'm old enough to shower by myself now. I'm a big girl, remember?"

"We are not having this conversation again. You'll do as I say and that's the end of it." His grip on my wrist tightened as he pushed the bathroom door open, shutting it behind us. It would automatically lock from the other side, so when we were done he would have to get one of the guards to release us.

Throwing me down on the bathroom floor, I crawl towards the corner, drawing my knees up to my chest. I hug my legs, trying to call my erratic heart.

"I thought you weren't going to help me anymore?" I whisper, a desperate attempt at nothing. It won't help, it never does.

"Call this retribution for your little act of rebellion in front of my colleagues this morning." My eyes widen, then fall shut at his statement as I let out a tiny curse to myself.

Of course he heard about that. Why on earth did I think he hadn't? I had gone to work with my brother this morning, and when I thought he wasn't looking, I slipped over to the desert table. Why a finance firm even had a dessert table is beyond me.

While I was there, some stupid spider had decided that it would be a fun idea to charge full speed at me. I feel that I had a perfectly reasonable reaction, however I may or may not have screamed bloody murder before running straight into some random dude, completely ruining his very expensive suit with my chocolate pudding covered hands.

Once I had fully embarrassed myself and probably that poor man, I proceeded to hide in my brother's office until he got out of his boring meeting. I thought that since he was occupied, he maybe wouldn't hear about the seemingly insignificant encounter. Apparently, I thought wrong.

"I'm really sorry. But you should blame the spider. And how was I supposed to know that man was standing right behind me?" I reasoned, throwing my hands up in the air. I almost swear that I heard a tiny chuckle coming from my brother, but that's impossible.

He doesn't contain the capability of expressing normal human emotions.

"I am sorry though. I promise I'll act better next time. Just give me one more chance"

Lie.

I swear, everything about his office hates me. Everytime he is forced to bring me to his office, and yes I mean forced because that man does not trust me to be alone for even a millisecond, something goes wrong. I'll accidentally misplace a file, or unknowingly log into the mainstream computer, taking over everybody's screens so that they can watch me completely get by ass kicked in MusicTiles

He knows it too. He's smarter than to believe a word that comes out of my mouth in moments of desperation. Lately, Jameson has been expecting me to follow through on the empty little promises I make when I'm trying to convince him to lighten the punishment.

By now I know to keep my mouth shut, especially since it doesn't do shit to help my current predicament, and only gives him an excuse to punish me later on.

I think he likes it. Likes seeing my pain. He says he doesn't. He says he only hurts me because I force him to. Because I've left him no choice. It's to help me learn, he says.

I don't believe it one bit.

"The amount of times those words have come out of your mouth render them completely useless." Jameson speaks calmly over his shoulder. He came back to my huddled figure, causing goosebumps to rise all over my body as I began to shiver from a cold draft I hadn't noticed until this very second.

Grabbing me by the root of my hair, he starts pacing towards the bathtub, not giving me any time to get to my feet. I scream and, I swear, I lose a good chunk of my hair, my feet unable to brace themselves underneath me.

He's dragged me across the length of the bathroom, slamming my side against the tub of the shower. A small cry leaves my lips, either from the impact or the helplessness that is flooding itself through my veins like a drug.

The noise only earns me a swift kick to the ribs. I gasp, but thankfully stay silent this time, as I slump against the edge of the tub. The singular arm that's been slung over the side of the tub being the only thing keeping me up at the moment.

Hearing commotion on the other side of me, I grip the tub with my other hand, using it as leverage to pull myself up straighter. A pang going through my stomach when I try to use the, more than likely, bruised muscles.

I watch my oldest brother as he disconnects the shower nozzle, letting it drop from his hands. I flinched back from the loud bang it made as it slammed against the side of the tub. He then kneels down, bending over the side of the shower to screw in what I believe are anchors.

He does this twice, one on the near and far side of the tub, before he turns to me. He doesn't say a word, simply grabs under my arms and lifts me over the side. He directs me to lay down on my back, and I do so without hesitation.

He doesn't like it when his directions aren't followed.

Grabbing the wrist closest to him, he brings it up and above my head, leaving it to rest at a slight angle. I can feel as he connects the thin metal bracelet to my wrist, giving my arm a sharp tug to make sure it doesn't go anywhere. The sudden movement made the thin bracelet bite sharply into my skin, and my eyes scrunched because of it.

I continue to observe Jameson calmly as he repeats the process on the other side, and then moves down towards my feet. I know that he will again repeat the same thing he did with my wrists, securing me tightly so that I can't move away.

I lost the privilege of having free access to my limbs during bath time when I tried to run away. Normally, Jameson would have laughed something like that off and just lengthened the amount of time his 'friends' got to spend with me that night. But the fact that I had coupled my escape attempt with a very accurately aimed kick to his genitals...

Let's just say the price for that was a hefty one.

Once Jameson is done he grabs what I can only assume to be the bath brush as he turns on the water. Gasping I flinch as freezing cold water is shot directly in my face. Turning my head I twist my body as much as possible to get away from the ice being shot towards me.

It's of no use, however, since Jameson simply grabs the nozzle and holds it at an angle where it hits me in such a way that I can't escape. Once he has me successfully teeth chattering, bone shivering cold, he sets the spray back down, facing away from me this time.

Taking the brush, Jameson begins to rub it and the lathered bristles all over my chest and midsection, not at all being mindful of the arrangement of colourful bruises. If anything, he scrubs harder in those places, as though he can lift the discoloration right out of my skin.

The lower he goes the more tense my muscles become. When he finally hits below my stomach my legs yank against the metal restricting them. Though they can't close, it has the desired effect because Jameson pulls the brush away.

Only for it to return moments later, the back of it smacking painfully down on my inner thigh with a loud thump. I low whine escapes my throat, but as Jameson goes back to his previous actions his warning worked. I didn't protest, more pull at the restraints again as he continued on scrubbing the rest of my body.

When he turned the water back to me, I was ready, bracing myself for the cold. I bite my lip to contain the scream when the water comes back piping hot. Like somebody has just dumped a pot of boiling water onto me.

Drawing in sharp breaths, I try to breath through the pain without making a sound. Thankfully, it didn't take long for Jameson to drop the spray, allowing me to finally breathe for the first time in a couple of minutes.

"Here, you go. I wouldn't want you any water to get in your eyes." His tone holds an evil hint to it as he drapes the washcloth over my face. My mouth, nose, and eyes are completely covered.

I don't even have time to process what's coming next before the water has been centralised on my face. I try to hold my breath for as long as possible, but eventually I am forced to draw in a breath of water.

Breathing through my nose or my mouth, it doesn't matter. This is torture. A mixture of water and air enter my lungs leaving a deep burning feeling in its wake. Coughing, I succumb to the cycle of breathing in more and more water until it feels like I'm drowning, but from air.

It's an odd feeling, one that's hard to describe. Kind of like when you've jumped into a deep pool. Only it's much deeper than expected, and you've misjudged the amount of time it would take to get back up to the top.

In blinded desperation, you breathe in, right as your head is about to break the surface. That burn when you collect not just water, but then have to follow it up with oxygen in the same breath.

I didn't notice that the water had been turned off until the cloth was taken off my face. Breathing in pure oxygen, I continued to cough my lungs up, the tears trailing down my cheeks mixing with the copious amount of water still lingering on my face.

Jameson waited until my coughs had slowed down, my breaths heavy and painful as my eyelids struggled to stay open. He took the nozzle, placing it back up onto the showerwall. He then crouched down, reaching out brushing some stray hairs out of my face.

For a moment, I thought it was over. That was until the showerhead was flicking on, water once again drowning my senses. I gagged as water flooded my nose, eyes and mouth, what little protection the washcloth had offered was now gone.

I tried to turn my head, but that only made it worse. Now facing Jameson, I open my eyes, blinking rapidly against the furious drops of water. My mouth opens, as I try to mouth my pleas through the pooling water.

Jameson, much to my surprise, got the gist of what I was trying to communicate and turned off the water. Swallowing the water in my mouth, I close my eyes gratefully, only for them to fly open when a hand around my mouth once again constricts the airflow to my lungs.

"If you actually thought we were done," Jameson begins with a laugh, leaning in closer to whisper the last part. "Then maybe your body is the only thing you're good for."

"You're safe. I'm right here, you're safe. Nobody is going to hurt you." Gino's voice brings me back to the present, and I realise that I'm no longer on the floor of a tub being tortured by my oldest brother.

I was still technically on the floor, well, Gino was. He was leaning against the wall next to the shower, rocking back and forth with me in his lap. My head was leaning against his shoulder and his arms were wrapped protectively around my body.

"I can't." I sob, whipping furiously at the tears streaming down my cheeks. Gino relaxes his arms, pulling me far enough away so that he could look at me.

Why can't he understand? There's a lot I can force myself through. This? This is not one of them.

"I know, and that's okay. That's why I'm here. I'm going to help you. We're just going to wash your hair, okay? That's all, then we can stop, okay?" Gino tacks that final reassurance onto the end of his sentence when he notices me immediately opening my mouth to rebut.

"Just my hair?" I whisper, and Gino nods, repeating the reassurance right back to me. Taking a deep breath I squeeze my eyes shut, giving Gino a sharp nod. Taking what might be his only chance at getting me to cooperate, and gets up onto his knees, situating my head against the lip of the shower.

One thing that may help this process is that this bathroom is a little bit different than the one in New York. Mainly, the shower. Rather than the shower and tub being the same amenity, this bathroom had a separate shower, and then a tub which were both situated a little bit away from each other.

Yeah no, that's an absolute lie. Sometimes it's nice to be delusional, even for just a second. It wouldn't matter if I was in the nicest shower twelve thousand miles away from New York. The damage has been done.

Even though the water is turned away from me, I can't help but jump when the water turns on. Gino starts running his hand through my hair. Like every time before this, he starts at the ends of my hair, making sure to go up until he just barely reaches my roots before working his way back down.

Gino has this routine down to a T. He continues this slow process of introducing the water until I'm no longer flinching every time it touches my scalp. I breathe a breath of relief when Gino puts down the showerhead, working shampoo into my hair and scalp.

I try my best to not react when he hits tangles in my hair. I know it's more my fault, for not brushing my hair in a while, but damn this is not enjoyable. I think that's why, when Gino sprays a little too high while trying to wash out the shampoo, I freak out. The spray went a little too far, hitting my forehead and rolling down to my eyes.

A scream rips through my lips, only lasting a couple of milliseconds before Gino has his hand slammed down on my mouth, muffling it. The chain reaction has been set, as sobs escape me I begin trying to fight. Against Gino's hold, against the water, I have no idea.

I begin thrashing, hand good hand and my hurt leg smacking the ground over and over again as I desperately try to stay still, even as every molecule of my being begs for me to run away from the dangerous tool in Gino's hand.

I'm slowly forgetting where I am, and who I'm with as instinct tries to take over. I wish, I wish, I wish, I wish that amazing feeling of numbness would have been the feeling I got. Not the overwhelming onslaught of panicked emotions that slowly tricked my brain into believing it was in a life of death situation.

At this point, Gino is having to figure out how to hold me down while finishing washing my air as quickly as possible. That being said, it makes sense why neither of us heard the knocking at the door. Or then click as the handle was turned, the shift in the air as the door was opened.

Why neither of us paid attention to the onslaught of cool air it brought with it. It explained why neither of us noticed the new, looming presence until a demanding voice was echoing through the bathroom.

"What the hell are you doing to her?"

__________________________

Who do we think just barged in?

Guys I'm so sorry, I thought exams were over, but it just got so much worse. Enjoy the long chapter to make up for it.

Summer needs to hurry tf up😭

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