Behind The Walls

Chapter 14 : Is it Care?

I woke up early this morning... ok I'll be honest; I could scarcely sleep. Gazing out the shutters of the second floor balcony at the thunderous weather, my eyes explored the beautiful gardens through the thick layers of rain.

The land continued on for miles before fading into the horizon. Today was going to be different - I had already decided. I was up and dressed ready, keeping a positive mindset, for a moment, trying to forget the fact I was basically living under the same roof as two criminals.

I had thought about unpacking before remembering I had the intention of escaping this place. Though it perceived to me that, it would be a better idea to unpack so that no one gets any type of suspicion.

After I finishing my breakfast, which I had had delivered to my room, I start to take apart my neatly folded clothes and nicely put away belongings. A suitcase with my beauty products was missing however; Clara must have left it in Hugo's room.

I made my way out my tiny jail cell in search for Clara before remembering it was her day off. Even though I was now this castles mistress, the mere thought of asking favours from servant/maids who I didn't know that well yet, frightened me.

My awkward and anti-social nature never liked talking to new people.

I had to retrieve my suitcase myself. It couldn't be that hard... Could it? He might not even be in his room. I tried to convince myself that either way, I didn't care.

I turned the handle and lightly swung his door open; my heart was heavily dancing under my chest. As I witnessed the empty room, I let out a sight of relief. My eyes quickly caught onto my suitcase peaking from under the bed.

I tried to pull it up, single-handedly due to the event that had occurred to my other arm yesterday.

Maybe I could push it along? Ok, bad idea! I tripped over my own foot, landing on my knees and hair flipping over my face. I flipped it back, messaging my scalp for a instant, trying to calm myself in the absurd state I was in.

I was massaging my scalp for a millisecond too long and Hugo had walked in on my lounging on his bedroom floor. "What the hell are you doing in my room and why do I always find you on the floor?! I swear it's getti-" he paused as his dark orbs trailed up to the discoloured: now-brown mark on my forehead.

Following his gaze, I quickly covered the mark with my hand knowing it was too late.

He kneeled down beside me, "who did this to you?" He inquired, yanking my hand off my face and with his other hand, tracing circles on my unflattering blemish.

His face wore genuine concern. "Ah-ouch!" I let out as his fingers came in contact with my skin. Seriously?! Couldn't I tolerate a bit of pain for two seconds? "ITS A BIRTH MARK!" I said trying to correct myself though a second again I was hurting over it.

He gave me a look that screamed 'was that the best excuse you had?' before pointing out "don't lie to me; I know it's not a birth mark as it wasn't their at our wedding or the first time we met. Now tell me, how did this happen?"

I foolishly responded not being able to think of any excuse, "what do you mean?"

"It's a straightforward question."

"Ok but why do you always become a interviewer when conversing with me. You also have no right to ask me anything after all we've been through." I reminded him, aiming to somewhat humble his flooding ego.

"I'm your husband; I have every right to know."

"I guess according to you: a wife can only have injuries her husband has caused." I bitterly laughed out.

"- I've caused you injuries?" He stuttered, as if it were a surprise to him.

"Shocking, isn't it?" I taunted. I couldn't deny though, the look on his face was full of remorse. He cared? This was a new side of him I got to see today.

We were looking at each other seconds too longer than intended. He turned his head away quickly, jolting up and walking towards his window. He rested his palms on the window seal, "Just get a nurse to check you, it looks painful I guess. For now you can leave my room; I'm busy and have business to get to.." his was trailed off, eyes were still hooked on the view outside.

'There he goes, back to his usual self' I thought. He didn't even consider the reason I was here. I stood up and closed the door, signalling how I wasn't about to leave just yet.

He didn't turn around, maybe thinking I'd already left after the sound of the door closing. I just resumed the task of pushing my suitcase along again; I don't know why I decided I'd fill it with bricks.

Through the corner of my eye, I noticed Hugo...

taking off his shirt?

He didn't tell me this was what he meant by business! I didn't want to look but my eyes were hooked.

Not because of the firmness of his shoulders or his back muscles but because of the deep gashes and scratches that lay along his spine; blood was curdled behind them by a thin layer of skin. Some cuts looked years old and some, very recent.

I let out a loud gasp in reaction to this. The first thing I remembered was our wedding night when I was drumming punches along his bruised back whilst he violently carried me on his shoulder and feeling blameworthy.

He instantly turned to face me, revealing more cuts in his skin, "I thought you'd left." He remarked nonchalantly. Lost for words, I hardly was able to remember what I was here to do, "um..I.. the suitcase.. my."

"Huh?" He could see my eyes glued to his bare chest in horror but did not provoke a conversation to this topic. "I need to take my suitcase back... and... it's just taking long."
"You mean it's heavy?"
"No-no!" I denied, " I can carry it easily, it's just tha-"

Before I could finish my sentence, he had already single-handedly picked up my suitcase without any sign of struggle and was off to my room.

I followed behind, trying not to stare at his shirtless back too much as all his injuries were put on display. We reached my room and he placed the suitcase down with the rest, vaguely eyeing my room as if giving it a dirty look.

Maybe he had just realised the poor condition he had left me in but my thoughts were some place else. All those cuts and scratches and bruises: if I was thinking logically then I wouldn't care. I would believe a criminal like him deserved all the pain that had gone behind all those injuries. But seeing him in such a vulnerable state pained me.

"You should get those medically treated, y'know." I advised breaking the silence.

"I don't have time and... I hate nurses." He lied through a clenched jaw showing nervousness.

"Why don't you bandage it yourself at least? To prevent any infections."

Why was I showing so much tenderness towards this jerk; if I were in his position, he couldn't have cared less. Why did the facts of him killing his brother, being a murderer, a cruel person and a total haughty keep slipping from my mind. "I have tried treating some wounds, but their on my back too and couldn't bother."

"I could do it for you..?" I sheepishly offered. What was I thinking? I loathed him. Why was i so fixated on helping? What was wrong with me?

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58 reads???
Lmao I did not think I'd actually get reads on my first book but like
Ty guys sm🥺💜