Harry, resembling a refined scoundrel, picked up the bathrobe from the floor and put it on. He turned around and asked Hattie, “How was it?”
Hattie adjusted her breathing. She had a layer of sweat on her forehead, but her back felt cold. The chill made her tremble involuntarily. She opened her damp eyes and softly moved her bitten lips, saying, “Spread some dog food on the bed. Even dogs are smarter than you.”
Her words were full of provocation and sarcasm. She could already imagine how unpleasant Harry’s expression would be. However, three seconds passed, and Harry’s expression remained almost unchanged. He seemed even calmer than when they were on the bed earlier.
“You’re only saying these things to provoke Fiona. Your reaction in bed was crystal clear to me; I don’t need you to answer,” Harry replied.
Hattie was too tired to bother with him. She was exhausted and just wanted to sleep.
As soon as she closed her eyes, Harry suddenly pressed down on her again. His hand went straight through her waist, and her body lifted off the ground. “Harry, I don’t have the strength now,” she said.
“I know you don’t have the strength. I’ll carry you to take a bath,” Harry said.
Harry effortlessly lifted Hattie and placed her in the bathtub. He turned on the hot water while removing the showerhead.
Leaning against the bathtub with her eyes closed, Hattie made no struggle or attempt to hide. All the glaring wounds on her body were exposed. Harry had seen these wounds many times before, and each time it pained him. Scar removal cream was useless for such deep wounds.
No girl likes to have scars. Harry had considered taking Hattie to a hospital. With the advancements in medical aesthetics, the scars could be removed through surgery.
He mentioned it once, but Hattie refused.
In her own words, she wanted to keep these scars as a lesson for herself, a reminder of what she should do.
After adjusting the water temperature in the showerhead to a normal and suitable level, Harry raised it. Perhaps feeling a shadow appearing before her, Hattie opened her eyes but didn’t have time to see clearly before she hugged her head and cowered in the corner. The water was almost reaching her nose.
Like a startled bird, she trembled all over, and her eyes were red.
“I’ll bathe you. What are you afraid of?” Harry reached out to grab her but was pushed away by her hand.
The previous fear seemed like an illusion that had never happened before. Hattie lowered her head, and the water surface was calm and clear. You could faintly see her disheveled face.
Suddenly, she went crazy, splashing water with her hands, and poor Harry beside her got caught in the crossfire, with water droplets on his hair.
After venting, the only sound left in the bathroom was Hattie’s heavy breathing. She truly despised herself in moments like this. When would she be able to escape the shadows of the prison? When could she have a peaceful night’s sleep? When would she stop being afraid of the past?
Harry was ridiculous, asking if she was afraid of taking a bath.
Who would be afraid of bathing? People are only afraid of pain. When Harry held the showerhead just now, it reminded her of the days in prison. She could never forget being stripped naked and sprayed with a high-pressure water hose in the dead of winter.
Fear can become subconscious. How ironic and absurd.
“What were you thinking just now?” Hattie didn’t need to be asked. Harry probably had a good idea.
The fear he saw in Hattie just now was something he had never witnessed before. She had always been stubborn by his side, even when he locked her in the room for four days. She had never shown this kind of fear…
The only thing that could make her so scared was probably the days in prison. It was an existence more terrifying than fearing him.
“Hattie, it’s all in the past.”
“I can’t let it go, not the support, Harry. I hate you so much now, more than I fear you,” Hattie said softly, leaning against the wall.
Some experiences are like fish bones stuck in your throat. The more time passes, the deeper they sink. Every time you swallow, it hurts a little. Eventually, even breathing becomes painful. The pain serves as a reminder that some wounds never heal.
“Even if you were as miserable as me, it wouldn’t change anything,” Hattie said hoarsely, a look of despair overwhelming her face. “Harry, I know better than anyone how I survived those days when I wanted to end it all. If I ever turn back, damn it, I should be dead.”
Harry remained silent, not speaking a word. He simply put down the showerhead he was holding and gently soaked a clean towel in water, softly wiping Hattie’s body.
Hattie let him do it. After all, he had seen this body countless times, and it was already dirty. What was the point of caring so much?
Sometimes, Hattie even felt like this body wasn’t hers. She felt like she was living in a doll, following a programmed routine.
Dolls don’t feel pain.
“Harry, if you don’t love Fiona, why did you marry her? Can a loveless marriage truly bring happiness?”
“She wanted me, so I gave in.”
Anyone who didn’t know the inside story would think Harry was a great romantic.
It had nothing to do with love. Harry would give Fiona anything she wanted.
“Well, you treat her so well. By the way, how did you two meet? I remember Fiona being an orphan,” Hattie curiously asked. Their backgrounds didn’t match at all. Fiona seemed like someone who suddenly appeared in Harry’s world.
Harry squeezed out some shampoo, wetting Hattie’s hair and creating lather. His fingers gently massaged her scalp. “Back when the Stewart family went bankrupt, she was the only one who chose to help me. She didn’t leave me just because I was down and out.”
He clearly squeezed out too much shampoo. The foamy white liquid slid down Hattie’s forehead and stung her eyes, forcing her to close them.
Hattie knew how much Harry resented the Mason family from back then. Maybe he hadn’t let go even now.
If he hadn’t let go, then so be it. She hated him to the core. It was a matter of life and death.
Hattie had no interest in Harry and Fiona’s past. Flies and maggots went on and on.
“Hattie, let’s have a child.” It wasn’t a question of Hattie’s opinion; it was a definite decision. Presenting it now was just a notification for Hattie to prepare herself.
Hattie wasn’t angry. After all, she had encountered this kind of scumbag before. She even doubted if all the scumbags in the world suffered from the same mental illness. Or maybe it was a genetic trait passed down from their mothers, making them inherently scumbags and forcing women to bear their children.
“What, do you want to trap me with a child?”
Harry wiped the foam off her face. “Consider it leaving a legacy for the Mason family.”
That sounded nice. Hattie thought about the night when her finger was crushed. Not only did she lose a finger, but she also lost a child-Harry’s child.
“As for the matters of our Mason family, you don’t need to worry. My parents are both deceased, and there will be no descendants in my generation. There’s no one to carry on the family name.”
“What if I insist on having your child?” Harry didn’t believe that if they had a child, Hattie would remain so indifferent. She couldn’t let go of him. Wouldn’t she love their child?