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Charlotte sits, just staring at the kitchen area, her eyes lost.
I have never seen her like this, and when her wet dark eyes turn towards me when I ask for the first aid kit, I feel the urge to take her away from all of this and just hide her somewhere, where no one could ever hurt her.
She no longer resembles the woman who stood up to me a few days ago.
“On top of the TV,” she mumbles, and I realize she is telling me where the box is. I hasten towards where she points, and as I get past the doors and climb the narrow stairs, I ask myself why I am not forcing her to a hospital.
Her apartment is quite small, and so incredibly hot.
Even breathing seems to be a task here, and I can’t understand how she is able to live in such a dingy apartment. The television is blaring, and I turn it off and look around for the first aid kit.
Seeing something falling over, I lean down to pick up the box and see a carton of ramen noodles next to the cupboard.
My jaw tightens. She is living lean.
I am going to deal with all this later. There are a lot of questions I have, but for now, she needs looking after.
I carry the small box downstairs, and see that she isn’t where I left her.
“Charlotte!” I can’t veil the panic in my voice, until I see her standing in the middle of her damaged kitchen, her back towards me. Her form is tall and still amidst the destruction. She reminds me a of a lone, broken survivor standing in the center of the battlefield.
She looks so alone right now, that I can’t bear it. Moving to her, I grasp her uninjured hand, my voice uncharacteristically gentle.
“Charlotte.”
She looks over her shoulder at me, and it shakes me when I see the way she is trying her best not to cry. Her eyes are shimmering with tears that she refuses to shed, and her voice cracks as she tells me, “I spent everything I had on building and repairing this bakery. This was my whole world. It took him a night to destroy my whole world.”
“We’ll fix this, I promise!” My words are fierce.
Under normal circumstances, this woman would not have shared something she considers so private with me. But now under all this strain, she has managed to let it slip, I am going to protect this haven of hers with everything I have.
I see from her eyes that she doesn’t hold much stock in my words, and I let it slide.
“I’ve brought the box. You can clean your injuries, but then we go to a hospital.”
Charlotte opens the box and starts taking out bandages, and I am taken aback by the amount of supplies she has.
“I’m not going to a hospital,” she informs me, her voice dull.
I want grab her by her shoulders and shake her, but I don’t know badly she is bruised.
“The hell you’re not!”
She gives me a steady look.
“You’re not thinking. My face has been splashed over the papers ever since we got married. If I go to a hospital, rumors will fly of abuse. Your reputation will be shredded.”
I start, but then snarl, “Fuck the rumors!”
Charlotte moves to where there is a mirror and I trail after her, furious, my bleeding knuckles shoved in my pockets.
She avoids looking at me as she starts applying antiseptic to her wounds.
“That’s easier said than done. I want to maintain a low profile. And you need to stay away from any rumors that might affect your business. Besides—” she eyes me in the mirror, a sardonic smile on her face, “—I’ve had much worse than these.”
I flinch. If she sees it, she doesn’t say anything.
Her movements are slow and steady, and I note how she keeps her eyes averted from the kitchen.
