Martha looked at her with a mix of relief and lingering worry.“You matter, Amara. Your pain matters.”
Amara sighed, a conflicted expression on her face.
“But now I’m here, right? You can take care of me.” Amara tried to smile but instead, her lips curved in a shaking smile.
Martha’s lips wobbled as she tried not to cry. Despite being met with such cruelty, Amara was trying to make Martha feel at ease. How selfless was she? To what extent this kindness of hers would take her?
Martha nodded, trying not to dwell deeper. For now, she needed to change her bandages.“Then you need to obey me, okay? Whatever I say, you need to do, alright?” Martha grabbed Amara’s shoulders and gently pushed her down on the bed on her stomach.
Amara’s eyes furrowed in confusion. “But I do whatever you tell me to do,” Amara whined, her tone almost childlike.
Martha gently tugged at the edges of the bandage revealing the belt whips on Amara's back. The soft lamplight cast shadows on the raw marks. Amara winced, her eyes betraying a mixture of pain and vulnerability.
Martha, with a tender smile, reassured her.“This is different, Amara. Trust me." She tried not to touch her wounds as she carefully wiped the surrounding area.
Martha's fingers stilled for a moment, a subtle tremor as she stared at her back. She took a measured breath; her gaze fixed on the scars.
Her voice held a steady cadence as she spoke.“You've been through so much.”
Martha murmured. Her hands continued skillfully wrapping fresh bandages around the mosaic of still-raw wounds.
The room was filled with hushed silence– the soft rustle of fabric, the occasional creak of bedas Amara flinched and the cold scissors made contact with her wounds.
CHAPTER 42
Afterbandagingherwounds,MarthabroughtsomethingtoeatforAmara.Thefreshlymade risotto and pesto pasta seemed as delicious as it sounded.
Martha helped Amara sit on the bed and gently placed the plate on the bed. She told Amara that she had been unconscious for two days.
“What? Two days?” Amara’s eyes widened.
Martha placed a glass of milk and some medicines on the bedside table. Before placing some of the books that Amara usually used to read when she was living here, Martha also put some fresh flowers in her room.
“Yes, you were unconscious when Master De Luca brought you here,” Martha confirmed with a nod of her head.
“Oh…” Amara wondered how bad her condition must be to be unconscious for two days. Then she recalled the way Rafael was seething at her and called her names. Amara felt her chest tighten at the thought. The man he trusted more than anything caused her an immense amount of pain. She thought he’d be her soulmate, yet he seemed like a man who was self-centered and driven by simple jealousy.
Herholdtightenedonthespoon.Abigailintentionallymadeitseemliketheyhadsomething going on so that Rafael would hurt her. But that didn’t excuse what Rafael did to her.
Thinking about that just made her heart clench with hurt. The pain ran deep into her veins and settled into her bones. Shecouldn’t help but shudder at the remembrance of his hateful eyes. Shakingherhead,Amaratriednottoletitgettoher.Sheateinsilencedecidingtonotletit bother her even though it did.
She wantedto voice out herpain, but who wouldlisten? Telling Marthawould only worrythe poor maid and if she tells Kaelith, god knows what he might do.
When Amara finished the food, Martha took the plates away before tucking Amara into bed and brushing away her hair.“Good night, my child.”
Martha resisted the urge to kiss her forehead as Amara blinked innocently at her. She reminded her of her daughter. She smiled gently and shut the lights before closing the door.
AssoonasMarthaleft,Amarawasonceagainsurroundedbyherthoughtsandunwavering screams of her past.
The haunting stillness cloaked her, her gaze fixed on the ceiling, but her mind lost in a maze ofemotions. Sleep eluded her replaced with the reality of her life.
Life she had no control over. Life, she didn’t know how to live. What could be more painful than watching the reins of her life slipping through her fingers interlacing with someone else’s palms? The weight of pain, betrayal, and hurt bore down on her, each emotion etching its mark on the blank surface of her soul.
She traced the patterns of grey shades in the ceiling with vacant eyes. What would she do now? She was now a woman without her home, without the man who defined her existence. No job. No money. How long would she seek a home in Kaelith?
The sensations his presence elicited on her were tingling, but what about when he’d become bored of her? She was a married woman, a used tool. It all sounded hopeful andadmiring as long as it was just in words, but Kaelith didn’t mean to spend the rest of his life with her, didn’t he? The thought brought a bitter taste to her tongue. She was just a plaything for him. The toy he was attached to. When he’d get bored, he’d get a new one, and toss her aside. To rot in dark corners. And would never look back. Wouldn’t he? She pondered for a long time.
It was just attraction, and nothing more.
