✔ | PAINTED IN CRIMSON | T. SHARPE

TWELVE | ROOM 209

 ❝It's not a cruel trick of the heart
'cause your heart is pure gold. ❞

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TWELVE | ROOM 209

The next thing I remember is a blinding light coming from a large window, I struggled to keep my eyes open but the light wouldn't let me. Little by little I became aware of everything; the sound of the beach and seagulls in the distance filled my ears. When my eyes got used to the light coming through the window, I distinguished the white curtains that floated thanks to the soft breeze, the cupboard on a side and a plant on the corner of the room I was in.

I winced at the sharp pain on my finger and quickly looked at my hand, I jerked and sat up in the couch with a scream when my eyes met the man that looked exactly like Sir Thomas so close to me.

"Get away from me!" He was kneeling by the couch and had placed a bunch of stuff on the couch arm, I grabbed the first thing I saw.

"Hey, hey!" He managed out, standing up and raising his hands in surrender, taking a step back. I would have done the same if some crazy woman had threatened to hurt me with a scalpel, "It's alright, I won't hurt you!" I observed every move he made, "put that down, or you'll hurt yourself." He said.

"What the hell are you doing?" I glanced at the surgical kit and everything on the coffee table.

"Your finger," he uttered, slowly getting closer, "it's infected, I was starting to clean the cut, listen, I'm a doctor," now it made more sense, "please, give it back . . ." He held out his hand for me to return the knife, when I did it, he put it away on the coffee table along with cotton pads and more stuff, he quietly and slowly inhaled and exhaled. Another doctor, sure it ran in the family. I saw him gathering the dangerous stuff and putting it away from me, "Sorry, but I have to finish otherwise it'll get worse," he sat by me and took my hand in his while his other hand took a wet cotton pad from the coffee table.

I had my eyes fixed on him as he gently touched my cut with the cotton. Honestly, I couldn't stop looking at his face, he had the same features as the Baronet, his ancestor. Thin lips, straight nose, chiselled jawline and cheekbones and, of course, those eyes. I could have sworn it was Sir Thomas Sharpe sitting by me if the raven-black hair hadn't been replaced by the strawberry-blond curls on his head.

"How did this happen to you?" His soothing voice dragged me out of my thoughts and introduced me to reality again. I had a couple of seconds to decide whether to tell him the truth right there or make up something and wait.

"I was mugged a couple of days ago," I said. It wasn't the moment nor the way I wanted to tell him about Allerdale Hall. He looked surprised at me, "yeah, I was wearing a ring . . ." I trailed off.

"God," he whispered to himself, "with the strength they ripped it off, they could've dislocated your finger," he said while shaking a spray bottle and then spraying the medicine on my finger, making me flinch, "sorry, it's cold," he uttered, apologetically smiling and letting go of my hand.

"Thanks . . . I'm sorry for what happened a while ago, it's just . . ." I nervously scatched the back of my neck, "I got surprised." By him.

"Oh, that," he smiled, "there aren't too many women fainting at my door."

"No, I meant," I couldn't help but chuckle, "the scalpel thing, sorry about that."

"It's no problem. By the way, is there any medication you should have taken today and you didn't?"

"No, I guess I'm just exhausted," I said and he nodded.

"Right, are you feeling better now?"

"Yes, thank you." I said, smiling.