38

[REBECCA]
As my drowsy mind navigated through the memories of the previous night, an irrepressible smile tugged at the corners of my lips. Artemy had allowed me to tinker with the piano keys, and the mere thought of it sent my heart racing. Artemy, with his cold demeanor and occasional rudeness, possessed a hidden sweetness.
Shifting my gaze, I noticed his black suit jacket lying beside me on the plush pillow. Drawing it close, I nestled my head against its familiar fabric. This simple act had granted me a night free from the haunting clutches of past memories. Could this be the key to banishing my nightmares? My heart fluttered with anticipation as I fixated on the jacket, my thoughts racing.
In a final moment of contemplation, I rose from the bed and carefully folded the jacket, placing it beneath my pillow. Whispers escaped my lips, barely audible. “You are my secret,” I murmured, stepping out of bed.
With a sense of purpose, I swiftly went about my morning routine. After a soothing, steam-filled shower, I gathered my long hair into a bun and slipped into a black dress. Securing a white apron around my waist, I observed my reflection in the mirror.
Something had changed. My cheeks bore a healthy flush, and the shadows that once plagued my eyes had dissipated, replaced by a vibrant radiance. A gentle smile played upon my lips.
It felt strange. My father had passed away just the night before, and yet an unexpected contentment enveloped me. Living under the roof of my supposed enemy, I had discovered friendship and a nurturing figure in my life. I had found happiness here.
As I made my way toward the staircase, I passed by the closed door of the piano room. My footsteps hesitated, and my eyes fixated on the portal before me. Was Artemy still inside?
Driven by curiosity, I approached the door, cautiously turning the knob. Slowly, it creaked open, revealing a sight that stole my breath away. Artemy sat there, still in his blood-stained and disheveled state. The untouched first aid kit lay upon the coffee table.
As I stepped into the room, a wave of emotions washed over me, causing my heart to twist and my eyes to well up with unshed tears. The familiar scent in the air tickled my nose, intensifying the flood of feelings. In the midst of this overwhelming moment, I spotted him. Artemy, with his head resting against the back of the couch, eyes closed, lost in a deep slumber.
The steady rhythm of his breath, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, provided a brief respite from the turmoil within me. I couldn’t help but gaze at his peaceful sleeping form, taking in the details of his face as he dreamt.
Drawing nearer, I found myself standing right in front of him. A few strands of his hair had fallen onto his forehead, and without thinking, I reached out and delicately brushed them away. As my fingertips made contact, I noticed the creases of tension on his forehead, a clear indication that even in his sleep, he was burdened by inner anguish.
My eyes continued to roam over his relaxed countenance, and amidst the shadows of pain, I detected a hint of kindness emanating from him. My gaze traveled further, descending upon his body. His black shirt was partially unbuttoned at the top, revealing a glimpse of his sculpted chest. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing his arms, and I fixated on his hands.
They appeared worse than they did the previous night, marred by dried blood and swollen knuckles. Witnessing this sight, I winced involuntarily. I had a sense that he wouldn’t be receptive to my help, yet a glimmer of hope remained within me.
The impulse to tend to his wounds and offer solace tugged at my heart, but I hesitated. I feared overstepping my boundaries, dreading the possibility of aggravating his already burdensome state. Biting down on my lips, I took a step back, but each retreat only deepened the sinking feeling in my stomach.
Finally, I came to a halt, my gaze fixed upon the broken man before me. In that moment, a realization struck me. Could I truly be so callous as to leave him in this pitiful condition when I had the means to alleviate his suffering?
Placing a trembling hand over my racing heart, I nibbled nervously on my lips. With a gradual determination, I inched closer to him, mindful not to disturb his slumber. My eyes never wavered from his serene face as I lowered myself to kneel in front of him. Shifting my gaze from his visage, I focused on his bruised and battered hands.
Retrieving a first aid kit nearby, I carefully extracted antiseptic wipes, a bundle of bandages, and a neatly folded hand towel. Placing them on the coffee table within reach, I redirected my attention to Artemy. My pulse quickened within my chest as I hesitantly placed my shaky hand on his, testing to see if he would stir from his sleep.
To my relief, he remained still and undisturbed. Drawing a calming breath, I gently clasped his hand in mine, anchoring myself to this moment of vulnerability. Once again, I waited, ensuring he would not wake abruptly.
When he remained peacefully asleep, I picked up an antiseptic wipe, intent on cleansing his wounded hands. My movements were deliberate, cautious, as I sought to provide relief without causing further discomfort.
As I carefully wiped away the blood, I observed the state of his knuckles. They were bruised, but not as much as they initially appeared. The blood had exaggerated their appearance. His fingers showed some swelling, but fortunately, there were no signs of fractures. After attending to his left hand, I proceeded to wrap a bandage around it, ensuring it was snug but not too tight. With the task completed, I leaned back and returned his hand to rest on his thigh.
Glancing up at Artemy, I anticipated that he would still be asleep, but to my surprise, his intense blue eyes were fixed on me. I inhaled sharply, taken aback by his unexpected wakefulness. Lost in my task of tending to his wounds, I had failed to realize that he was already awake.
“Artemy,” I whispered, breaking the silence.
His gaze swept over my face before shifting to his bandaged hand. Both of us stared at it, and a nervous unease crept over me, causing perspiration to form at the nape of my neck.
“I… I noticed that you hadn’t cleaned your hands,” I stammered, taking a deep breath to steady myself. “I thought perhaps I could clean them for you.”
I awaited his response, but he remained silent.
“It could become infected if left untreated. That’s why I took care of it,” I explained, my words hanging in the air.
Still, he offered no reply.
Oh no. I’ve messed up. I’ve really messed up, I berated myself, nervously fidgeting with the hem of my dress. Glancing at his other hand, I couldn’t ignore the fact that it still needed cleaning.
Gradually shifting away from him, I suggested, “You should clean your other hand.”
Confusion etched his expression as his gaze remained fixated on his bandaged hand. Letting out a sigh, I began to rise from my kneeling position, but in a swift motion that blurred before my eyes, his arms darted out. His fingers firmly wrapped around my wrist, and with a gentle tug, he pulled me back down, positioning me between his open thighs.
He held my wrist with his bandaged hand, and as I tilted my head to meet his gaze, I found a torrent of indescribable emotions emanating from his eyes.
I noticed him swallow hard, and then his gaze dropped. Perplexed, I followed his line of sight, only to realize that he was extending his other, still bloodied hand toward me.
A sudden realization washed over me, causing my eyes to widen and my heart to somersault in my chest. My stomach churned with nervous anticipation as I lifted my gaze, filled with countless questions. But Artemy remained silent, his eyes fixed on me with an expectant intensity.
Releasing my wrist, he exhaled a shaky breath, and I mirrored his unease. My heart thudded forcefully against my ribs as I reached out and clasped his hand in mine.
With his head tilted slightly to the side, Artemy’s dark and ominous presence seemed to envelop me. Kneeling between his thighs, I felt the weight of his powerful and dangerous energy surrounding me.
Glancing down at his hand, I mustered my focus and began tending to his wounds. No words were exchanged, only an unspoken understanding hanging in the air. The silence between us was strangely comforting.
I treated his injuries meticulously, taking care to be gentle and thorough. Throughout the process, I couldn’t shake the awareness of his eyes fixed upon me. His gaze seemed to sear into my skin, igniting a warmth within me.
When I finished, my eyes remained fixated on his hand, still intertwined with mine. Surprisingly, Artemy made no move to withdraw his hand either.
Unconsciously, my thumb started caressing his knuckles. The realization of my actions jolted me, and I hastily released his hand, allowing it to fall back onto his lap.
Raising my gaze, our eyes locked once again. His piercing blue meeting my unwavering green. We stared at each other, breathing in sync.
Unable to sustain the intensity of his gaze any longer, I averted my eyes and looked downward. Within seconds, I felt a gentle tug behind my head, and my hair cascaded down my shoulders in soft waves.
I glanced up, surprised to find Artemy holding my hair band in his hand. His intense gaze met mine, and then he spoke, his words striking a chord deep within my heart. My breath hitched in response.
“You look even more beautiful with your hair down,” he uttered, his voice husky from sleep.