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He leans down and picks up a parcel I had not noticed him carrying in. He places it on the bed. “I got something for you. I thought, seeing as the doc wants you to start moving around, that you might appreciate these.”
He pushes the parcel toward me.
I hesitate, but curiosity gets the better of me. I pull it towards me and peek inside.
Reaching in, I pull out a pair of jeans, some tracksuit pants, a few tops, lace underwear, and bras. I glance at him and his face flushes as he turns away. “I just thought you might need them, that’s all. And this.” He places a second parcel on the bed.
I pull it towards myself and reach inside. There is a box of white chocolate; he remembers that it is my favorite. Along with what I know to be a very expensive perfume.
“Would you like to get dressed and maybe take a walk with me in the garden?”
Garden? Did he invite me outside?
I toss the blanket off and shift towards the edge of the bed. My ribs still hurt when I move. I wince and he hesitates, wanting to reach out to me.
I stand, a little shaky, next to the bed. I have been lying down for so long that my head spins whenever I stand up. I sway a little and feel his arms around my waist.
I am both grateful for his support and angered by it.
When I am stable, I push his arm away. He steps back politely.
“Do you need help? Um, getting dressed?” I see his eyes travel over my body.
I glare at him.
“Alright, I’ll be back in a moment.” He turns to leave the room.
I sit on the edge of the bed and pull the parcel of clothing towards me. The scent of softener drifts in the air and I bring the fabric of the jeans to my face. He had everything washed. He bought me new clothes and then had them washed.
I don’t understand this. He is caring, soft, and attentive to every one of my needs. He is there every single day, talking to me, helping me with everything, and making sure I am alright—but why?
Why would the same person who brutally threw me inside that container be so kind and sweet?
Why would he hurt me so intensely and steal me from my life, my home, my work, and everything that I know, only to treat me so tenderly afterward?
Maybe he treated me badly so that I would have to rely on him. Perhaps breaking me down was part of his plan to force me to become dependent.
But I won’t be dependent. I won’t just accept everything so easily. I do everything I can to make his life more difficult. I know I can’t do much from the position I am in, but I do my best to challenge him. One of the things that I find annoys him the most is that I do not speak to him.
I pull the jeans on and cry out loud when the fabric brushes over my thigh. It is still so sensitive. He runs in. I have the jeans half-pulled up, but I can’t get them further without hurting myself.
“Are you okay?” He is right next to me in a flash. I am sitting in a pair of lace panties and even though he has obviously seen me in my underwear before, they were not as pretty as these ones and I feel my cheeks flush.
“I don’t think you should have chosen the jeans so soon,” he says. “Let’s go with the tracksuit pants.”
He gently pulls the jeans off, holding the fabric away from my legs. I sit stiffly, in pain. He reaches out and picks up the tracksuit pants and I grab them from his hand.
“Okay, it’s no problem. You can do it yourself.”
He looks hurt. I don’t care.
I slip my legs into the pants, wincing and gritting my teeth. I stand up to pull them over my hips and he places his hand on my lower back to steady me.
I throw a tee shirt over my head. The fabric is soft and feels nice against my skin.
But now that I am dressed, I am completely exhausted. Who would have thought that just putting on some clothing could take all of your energy like this?
He watches me through squinted eyes.
