The Story of Us | LingOrm

Chapter 11: Half Made Whole - Part 2

A little later, Ling emerged from the shower, her routine a struggle she had barely endured. The pain she'd dismissed earlier as remnants of her healing clavicle now screamed for attention. Every movement of her left arm sent shockwaves through her body, threatening to tear a scream from her throat.

For once, instead of frustration at this setback, Ling took a deep breath. Pride crumbled, she called out softly, "Nong Orm?"

Silence.

She tried again, her voice stronger but tinged with vulnerability. "Nong Orm?"

Footsteps thundered down the hall. A gentle knock preceded Orm's concerned voice. "P'Ling? Is everything alright? Sorry, I was just putting Baby Mon to sleep."

"Come in," Ling managed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Orm entered, her eyes widening as she took in the scene. Ling perched on the edge of the bed, still wrapped in her bathrobe. The garment hung askew, exposing her left shoulder. Her damp hair, swept to one side, framed a face that was a paradox of freshness and pain.

Orm approached slowly, as if Ling were a wounded animal that might startle. She knelt before her, arms outstretched but hesitant to touch. Ling's gaze remained fixed on the floor, shame etched in the curve of her shoulders.

Gently, Orm sought Ling's eyes. "P'Ling, what's wrong?"

Ling's voice quavered. "I need help dressing. I think I aggravated my injury while playing with Baby Mon earlier. My left arm... I can barely move it." She gestured weakly towards her clavicle, the area already angry and swollen.

Orm's eyes darted between Ling's face and the inflamed area, her expression a mixture of concern and helplessness. "Oh, P'Ling," she breathed, the words heavy with unspoken emotions.

Rising slowly, Orm reached for the robe. Her hands trembled as she began to ease it off Ling's shoulders. The extent of Ling's injuries revealed themselves gradually: the swollen clavicle, a canvas of cuts and bruises in various stages of healing. Orm's breath caught in her throat, her expression crumpling with anguish. "P'Ling," she breathed, tears already forming. "I'm so sorry this happened to you."

As the robe slipped away, exposing Ling's battered torso, Orm's hands began to shake uncontrollably. Suddenly, she felt Ling's grip, surprisingly strong, steadying her trembling fingers.

With painstaking slowness, Ling guided Orm's hands to her torso, placing them gently over the constellation of cuts and bruises. The simple act of trust and vulnerability shattered Orm's composure. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she gazed at the woman before her, so strong yet so fragile.

Ling remained silent, allowing Orm this moment of raw emotion. Her own eyes glistened, not with pain, but with a complex mixture of gratitude, relief, and a blossoming warmth she wasn't quite ready to name.

"I'm sorry," Orm repeated, her words barely audible through her sobs. "You didn't deserve this."

In the quiet of the room, punctuated only by Orm's soft sobs and whispered apologies, a profound connection deepened between them. Ling's injuries, rather than pushing Orm away, had drawn her closer. And in that closeness, Ling found an unexpected balm for her wounds in more ways than one.

As Orm's sobs trailed off into silence, Ling found herself overwhelmed by a tidal wave of emotions. Gratitude, relief, affection, and a myriad of other feelings she couldn't quite name swelled within her chest, rendering her speechless. Words seemed inadequate, almost trivial, in the face of what she was experiencing.

Instead of speaking, Ling acted on impulse. She leaned forward, initiating the hug this time. Her arms reached out, wrapping around Orm's shoulders, pulling her close.