Ruthless

13

I lost all sense of time as I glued my eyes to the ceiling, finding peace in its mere existence. I had woken up almost twenty minutes ago and all I had been doing was staring at the white ceiling above me.

However, the peaceful reverie was suddenly shattered by a searing pain in my abdomen as I attempted to sit up. Glancing down, I noticed a white bandage covering the source of my discomfort.

Confused, I tried to recall but my memory remained foggy, unable to grasp recent events. Before I could dwell on my confusion, a voice broke through the silence.

"You're awake," the voice declared, pulling my attention towards its source. "I was getting worried. You've been out for two days,"

Two days?

she continued, approaching me. Silently, I focused on Allison's approaching figure, memories flooding back in an instant.

Reaching where I was, she forwarded her hand in an attempt to touch me, but I slapped her hand away, rejecting her touch. My mind swirled with a mix of anger, betrayal, and a sense of being manipulated. Allison's expression resembled resignation as she withdrew her hand further, her shoulders slumping in defeat.

"You can resent me all you want, Faith, but my hands were tied in that situation," she explained with a hint of helplessness, taking the seat on the chair beside the bed I laid on.

Despite acknowledging the truth in her words, my pride stopped me from admitting it or engaging in conversation.

Her gaze softened briefly before she lifted her top, revealing a branded 'D' on her own stomach. A pang of empathy twisted in my gut at the sight. Allison smoothed her clothing and met my gaze again. "This is a fate every woman must face."

Discarding the pang of sympathy that nagged at me, I turned my head away, remaining resolute in my silence, unwilling to cross the long bridge between us. My indifference would eventually prompt her to leave, recognizing my unwillingness to engage or acknowledge her.

"What are you doing? I inquired, turning to her as I felt my top shift and the cold air brush against my exposed stomach.

Allison's gaze was fixed on the area where my wound lay.

"We need to clean that up to avoid infection," she stated firmly.

Somehow, I felt an urge to rebel, like an angsty teenager seeking drama. But the rational part of me knew better—I needed to clean the wound to prevent it from getting infected.

Without speaking, I turned my head away, allowing her to tend to the injury. I winced as she peeled the glued bandage off my skin. Soon after, the sound of a drawer opening and shutting followed, accompanied by the vigorous shaking of a liquid, and then the cold liquid made contact with my wound. A pained hiss escaped me before I could control it.

"I'm sorry," Allison apologized with a voice laced with concern and pausing her action.

I let out a subdued hum to assure her that I was okay. As she continued her work, I noticed a tenderness in her touch, a marked difference from her earlier approach, which hadn't been rough by any means.

A part of me was curious to see the extent of the damage, but a larger part was hesitant, almost afraid, of what I might witness. I couldn't bear the thought of confronting the full reality of my injuries.

"You'll need to change your dressing daily to avoid infection," she reminded me, her words compelling me to meet her gaze once again. I knew she meant well, yet her statement felt like a subtle taunt, stoking my growing frustration.

"If you truly cared about preventing infection, you wouldn't have let them do this to me in the first place," I snapped, the words escaping before I could rein in my temper. Instantly, guilt flooded my senses, mingling with the anger and misery that engulfed me. And Allison happened to be the convenient target of my emotional turmoil.