Chapter 37 37
He left the room.
The moment the door closed behind him, Sofía felt it again.
Their filthy hands.
Their disgusting touch.
It crawled over her skin like poison.
Nausea rose in her throat.
She had to wash it off.
She had to get them off her body.
Without thinking, she limped toward the bathroom, locked the door behind her, tore off her clothes, and turned the shower on.
A sharp cry slipped from her lips when the water hit the cut on her forehead and the split skin of her lower lip.
The dried blood melted away, swirling down the drain.
She scrubbed her arms hard.
Her chest.
Every place where they had touched her.
She rubbed so roughly her skin burned, turning raw and tender but she didn’t care.
Hot tears mixed with the water, streaming endlessly down her face.
She hated herself.
Why was this happening to her again?
Hadn’t she already suffered enough for one lifetime?
Why did the pain keep finding her?
But gratitude slowly crept in between her sobs.
Thank God.
Thank God he came when he did.
If Mr. Ruiz hadn’t shown up…
She couldn’t even bring herself to finish the thought.
He was a mystery to her.
One moment harsh and terrifying.
The next gentle and protective.
She didn’t trust him.
Not truly.
But deep inside her heart, a fragile hope had taken root hope that he would keep his promise.
She had given him the smallest piece of trust she had left.
Now it was up to him.
Either he would protect her…
Or become another man who broke her.
When the burning from her raw skin became unbearable, she turned the shower off.
Her gaze drifted to the clothes lying in a heap on the floor.
She couldn’t wear them again.
Not after what happened.
Limping forward, she searched the cabinet until she found a bathrobe.
Relief washed through her as she wrapped it around herself.
She gathered her ruined clothes into a tight ball and shoved them into the corner of the cabinet.
She wanted to burn them.
Her shirt was torn along the side, the top three buttons ripped clean off.
Animals.
Her eyes stung again, but she forced the tears back.
She wasn’t safe yet.
She didn’t know what Mr. Ruiz might do.
He had already admitted he wanted her.
And now she was in his house.
Injured.
Weak.
At his mercy.
He could do whatever he wanted.
She bit hard into the inside of her cheek, grounding herself.
Steady breaths.
She had to be strong.
Slowly, she unlocked the door and stepped out.
He was sitting on the bed, fingers buried in his hair.
He hadn’t noticed her yet.
But she noticed the clothes laid neatly beside him a shirt and shorts.
Probably for her.
“M… Mr. Ruiz,” she whispered, unsure what else to call him.
Deep down, she knew they had already crossed the line between teacher and student.
The moment he looked up, she dropped her gaze.
She could feel his eyes on her.
Studying her.
He stood up, walked toward the door, and gestured to the clothes on the bed.
“You can change into these.”
Then he left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
Sofía stood frozen.
He hadn’t stared at her hungrily.
Hadn’t touched her.
Hadn’t said anything inappropriate.
He’d simply given her space.
She blinked several times, trying to process it.
Was he being genuine?
Or was this all an act to gain her trust before hurting her?
Pushing the thought away, she quickly pulled on his shorts, then his shirt.
It swallowed her frame.
His scent clung to the fabric.
Warm.
Strong.
Comforting and unsettling all at once.
She limped back to the bed and sank down with a tired sigh.
Every part of her ached.
As she dried her hair, a knock startled her.
The door opened slowly.
He stood there for a full minute, eyes scanning her before he finally lowered his gaze and stepped inside.
He grabbed a small stool from the dressing table and placed it beside the bed.
Facing her.
Sofía kept her eyes down.
Her wet hair shielded her face.
Her breath hitched when she felt his gentle hands on her leg.
He lifted her foot carefully and rested it on his thigh.
She instinctively tried to pull away.
His grip tightened.
“Don’t,” he warned softly but firmly.
She swallowed hard.
His rough palm against her calf sent sparks through her nerves.
He opened the first aid box and pulled out ointment.
Gently, he applied it to her swollen ankle, massaging slowly.
She bit her lip to keep from crying out.
He wrapped a thick bandage skillfully around her foot and ankle.
Focused.
Careful.
While he worked, she finally looked at him properly.
Up close.
Thick dark lashes.
Strong brows.
A straight nose.
High cheekbones.
A sharp jaw dusted with trimmed stubble.
Jet-black hair.
Tanned skin.
Tattoos peeking from his collar and sleeves.
He was undeniably handsome rugged, dominant, powerful.
“Take a picture,” he said casually, still tying the bandage. “It’ll last longer.”
“Huh?”
Confusion flickered before realization hit.
Heat rushed to her cheeks.
She quickly looked away.
He gently lifted her chin with his finger.
Her breath caught, though she still couldn’t meet his eyes.
His jaw tightened as he took in the deep red bruises marking her face.
Carefully, he cleaned the cuts and applied ointment.
“How did you hurt your ankle?” he asked calmly.
“I… I fell when the r-rope ended,” she whispered.
He heard every word.
The fact that she’d injured herself trying to escape him didn’t comfort him.
It enraged him.