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“Don’t move, please,” she whispered, her voice breaking as her hands hovered over his body. “God, Raf… What happened?”
“Got in a bit of a scuffle,” he attempted to laugh it off as a joke, wincing when even laughing was causing him distress.
“A scuffle?” she repeated, her voice trembling. “If you could see yourself… You’re all bruised and swollen. And your eyes…” Her hand hovered over his face, wanting to touch him, but not daring to since it might cause him more pain. “Can you see anything?”
He shook his head lightly.
“It’s nothing much. I’ll heal,” he paused. “Where am I?”
“You’re in a cellar at the house.”
“A cellar at the house?” He frowned, or at least that was his instinct. Everything hurt too much, even his facial muscles. “I thought they’d send me to isolation like last time.”
“They didn’t want to risk it after the fight you started. The guards think you’re a bad influence on the slaves’ morale and they don’t want you anywhere near them. The regular isolation rooms share walls, so they are afraid you would plan an insurrection if you stayed there with the others.”
“The others?”
“The other men who got involved in the fight are in the regular isolation rooms. I heard they’re going to move you there, too, at the end of the week—after the others have served their punishment. Until then, they’re keeping you here, separated from everyone.”
“How…” He swallowed hard. “How did you manage to come here?”
“I took advantage of the shift in guards. I can’t stay for too long, but after I heard how badly you were injured, I couldn’t stay away.”
“Thank you. You didn’t have to risk yourself for my sake though.”
“Raf… Do you hear yourself? You stood up for everyone in there! The least I can do is help you in any way that I can.”
“I only did what I thought was right,” he grumbled, hating that she would see him like this, at his weakest, for the first time.
“And nowIam doing what I think is right. I brought you some food, water, medicine and ointment for your injuries. I promise you, this stuff works wonders on bruises.”
“How would you know?” He frowned.
She didn’t answer, and he wondered if he’d said the wrong thing.
“I know,” was all she replied eventually, those two words full of pain.
He didn’t inquire further. Instead, he reached out, gritting his teeth as he moved. He waved his hand around until he found hers, squeezing tightly in comfort—a camaraderie that spoke of shared experiences.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Anyone who lifts a hand against a woman cannot be called a man.”
“I didn’t say it was a man.”
“You didn’t have to,” he replied, quietly seething on her behalf.
She ignored his words, instead changing the topic.
“Let’s get you into a seating position so that you can eat something. I doubt the guards will give you much these days.”
Lucero’s touch was soft as she helped him move until his back was against the wall. He grimaced at the pulsating pain in his body, but he didn’t make one noise, not wanting to worry her more.
“Does that mean you’ll come again?” he asked once he was able to find a comfortable position. Yet even as the words were out of his mouth, he was unable to mask the hope in his voice.
“I will come as often as I can, Raf,” she said, the sound of water trickling as she poured some into a cup. “I promise you.”
Taking his hands, he wrapped them around a cup and she helped him place it to his lips, sipping slowly.
His lip troubled him, and as the water mingled with blood, he realized it must have been split open. Of course, he didn’t mention any of that though. He simply allowed her to tend to him the best she could, reveling in every little touch as he knew it came from a place of caring.
