Part 2 of the Rajvanshi series.
To write a tale of emotions.
Of hate, of pain, of joy, of love.
What happens when faith plays it game to bring two people together? When the past of one threatens to rain fire on the lives they built together?
Will...
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My medical degree is finally of some use. I didn't waste all that time and money on nothing. Witch is sitting on the counter in my bathroom as I stitch her wound. She isn't completely unconscious. I know this because she keep wincing everytime the needle enters her flesh. Her clothes were all bloody, so I gave her a shirt and sweatpants of mine, she made a face and threw the sweats away. And now she is sitting on this counter in only my shirt with me standing between her legs. I am the most patient guy in the fucking world. Besides, she is acting like a fucking child. She isn't telling me what happened and on top of that cursing me for stitching her up. I wonder what she did to whoever the hell stabbed her.
"Stop frowning so much. Your face will get stuck." No wonder someone stabbed her, she is annoying as fuck. I give her a blank stare and put a bandage over her wound. I bandage the slash on her back and clean the cut on her head. It stopped bleeding a while ago. She'll be fine. She tries to get down the counter but winces and stays put.
This is not what I wanted to deal with today.
I sigh and pick he up like one does to a child. She rests her head on my shoulder and wraps her legs around my waist. What the fuck? She is getting too comfortable. I take her to my bedroom and lay her on the bed. I regret not having a guest room now. I turned all the rooms in my house to some other shit, like I have a library, a home office, a gaming room which I don't really use and a fucking theater. I should've kept one room empty with a bloody bed. I look down to see her wide awake but her eyes look hazy. Great, now the painkillers I gave her are kicking in. It's going to be a fucking nightmare for me. Normal witch is so annoying, I don't even want to know what her high, drug infused self is capable of. She was glaring at the ceiling as I made my way towards her. She snapped her eyes at me, narrowed them and started smiling.
Oh God! No.
It took her some effort to get up from the bed and she tripped just as she stood on her own feet. I gripped her elbow to balance her and she held my shoulders for support. She then looked up at me, scrutinizing my face like it's a project she needs to mark. "Do you know why I call you Satan?"
What a stupid question. I have a high IQ, doesn't mean I can read people's mind. I shake my head and she smiles. It's not like the usual smirks or mischievous grins she gives me. It's a nice, even pretty smile. Then she asks me to lean closer like she is going to tell me her biggest secret. I do, not really interested but whatever.
"Because I've been told the devil has a very pretty face. Just like yours." I look at her with a blank face. She must have hit her head hard. But she seemed fine earlier. And people tell the truth when they are intoxicated. She doesn't look like she is lying either. But the sober her would never say this to me. I smirk at her. I like the high her better. "But your eyes.." that made me stiffen. I hate it when people comment about them. You don't like them? Fine. But keep your opinion to yourself. "Don't you dare continue witch." I honestly don't want to hear whatever she wants to say about them. Her telling me that I have a pretty face is enough. I don't want her to ruin it. She pouts but doesn't say anything about them.
