His Undoing Read Online Free PDF Page A

by my armpits. I felt like a toddler. After taking a minute to adjust to being upright, I was able to take slow, shuffling steps to the bathroom.
    Brett walked closely behind with a change of clothes and towels. He was probably holding his hands out ready to catch me but I was too humiliated to even look at him. I just focused on getting one foot in front of the other without face-planting.
    When I got to the urinal, Brett backed off so I could pee in private. He reminded me that the handicapped shower had a bench and a detachable hose that I could use for a sitting shower.
    I shuffled to the far stall and Brett helped me get my shirt over my head. Ju st raising my arms gave me a head rush. I swayed on my feet slightly so Brett pushed me down onto the bench.
    He pulled a plastic bag out of his back pocket and wrapped my cast to protect it from the water. The awkwardness of the moment fully sunk in when he began to unwrap the ace bandage holding my ribs in place. The expansion of my chest brought on a whole new kind of pain but I gritted my teeth and tried not to whine about it. He already felt inappropriately guilty.
    Before I could object, he grabbed the soapy hand towel, extended my left arm and lathered it up. It wasn’t sexual but it felt almost sensual. I watched his hand move from my wrist to my shoulder, leaving a sudsy trail in its wake.
    He was careful to avoid the worst of my bruises while still getting most of my exposed skin clean. He repeated the process on my right arm while holding my casted hand close to his chest. It felt so nice to have him taking care of me. When he moved to my back, I couldn’t help but moan slightly as he almost massaged my tense muscles. After lightly passing every inch of my back with the towel, he handed it to me.
    “Do you want to do your chest?” I looked dumbly at the towel before I could process what he meant.
    “Oh, yeah, thanks.” I took the towel and quickly washed my chest and stomach. He adjusted the water so it was barely more than a warm trickle and brought me the hose.
“Since you’re changing, it doesn’t matter if you get your pants wet but we need to keep the stitches on your head dry.” The gash above my temple required four stitches and there were three staples in my scalp. I felt like Frankenstein but was grateful that the doctor didn’t insist on packing my nose. The swelling was bad but a face full of gauze would have been worse.
    After a f ew awkward attempts at rinsing myself off, Brett grabbed the hose and sprayed me down.
    “So, how do you want to do the rest?” he asked, gesturing to my drenched pants.
    “I guess the same way. I can probably handle this part.” Gay or straight, I didn’t feel comfortable letting anyone see my private parts. Not even my dad or brothers had seen me naked since I was five.
    He looked skeptical but backed out of the stall. “I’ll be right out here so let me know if you need anything.”
    As soon as he pulled the curtain, I shimmied out of the sweats and underwear I wore home from the hospital. They were wet and heavy, easily falling to the ground. I sat back on the bench and used the towel to wash whatever I could reach without bending over. Fortunately, that covered the most important parts.
    The water was running cold so I quickly rinsed while walking to the faucet to turn it off and replace the hose. The short distance took more out of me than I expected. I grabbed the dry towel from the hook but moved too quickly and a shooting pain traveled the length of my torso. I doubled over and that was even worse. Brett must have heard the pained noises coming from my traitorous body because he rushed in just as I slid down the wall to the floor of the shower. The towel was still clutched to my stomach so at least I was covered.
    “Mike, are you okay?” Brett leaned over me to check the worst of my injuries.
    When he found n o popped stitches or open scabs, he let out a deep breath. “You scared me.”
    “Sorry.