Mr. Grey-Book I

37

Emilia

I was staring at the mirror when a knock startled me. I inhaled deeply, wiped away my tears, and called out softly, "Come in."

The door opened, revealing Suzan. She stepped inside and closed it behind her. "Are you okay?" she asked, concern evident in her voice as she noticed my swollen eyes.

"Yes," I muttered, smoothing my dress. "Did you need something?"

She hesitated before speaking. "I'm heading to the store. Could you keep an eye on Damien?"

"Is he alright?" I asked, suddenly alert.

"No, he caught a cold last night," she replied.

Guilt washed over me. I should've known taking him to the lake in the middle of winter was a terrible idea. "Sure, I'll watch him," I said.

"Thanks," Suzan smiled before leaving.

As soon as she left, I composed myself and went to Damien's room. He was lying in bed, covers tucked neatly around him. I closed the door and approached. "Damien, how are you feeling?"

He sneezed in response. I quickly grabbed a tissue and handed it to him. "You shouldn't be here," he said after blowing his nose.

"I can't leave you like this," I replied, touching his forehead. It was burning up. "You need to go to the hospital."

"I'll be fine. Just go," he insisted.

"No," I said firmly. I went to his bathroom, dampened a hand towel, and returned to place it on his forehead. He groaned and tried to remove it, but I gently slapped his hand away. "Stop that."

He frowned. "Emilia, please leave. I'll be okay."

"I'm not going anywhere," I said, my voice wavering slightly. "Let me take care of you."

He groaned again, letting out a monstrous cough as he turned onto his back. I began rubbing his back, ignoring how he tensed at my touch.

"St-stop," he ordered between coughs, but I shushed him and continued.

When he turned back around, his usually bright hazel eyes were red and puffy. "Can I get you anything?" I asked.

"For you to leave," he mumbled.

I chuckled softly. "Nice try, Damien. I'm staying until I know you're okay."

He groaned and shut his eyes. I refreshed the towel on his forehead, refilling a bucket with cool water. As I placed the cold towel back on his skin, he flinched but soon relaxed.

"How about I call Dr. Jones to check on you?" I suggested.

"I don't need a doctor," he snapped, opening his eyes.

"I'm sorry, I—" I began, but he cut me off.

"Stop apologizing. Not everything is your fault," he said, his voice softer now.

"Sor—I mean, okay," I corrected myself.

He closed his eyes again, wincing in pain. I gently lifted his head onto my lap and began running my fingers through his thick, curly hair, massaging his scalp. He let out a light moan, making me giggle. "You like that, huh?"

When he didn't answer, I started to pull away. "Not there," he whined, guiding my hand back to his hair. I laughed softly and continued the massage. He relaxed, growing quiet as if lost in thought.

A few minutes later, seeing he was about to fall asleep, I carefully tucked him in and turned to leave. His raspy voice stopped me. "What did my mother say to you?"

I swallowed hard and turned back. "Nothing... she just wanted to check on the baby," I lied.

He chuckled weakly. "That doesn't sound like my mother."

"You need to rest, Damien. I'll be outside if you need me," I said, trying to leave again.

"She threatened you, didn't she?" he pressed, sounding certain.

I wished I could scream 'yes,' but fear of what she might do to my family held me back. "No, she didn't," I lied again.

He winced, and I tensed. "Come here, Emilia," he said, his voice breaking. I sat on the edge of the bed, and he tugged me closer. "Don't worry, she won't hurt you," he whispered into my hair.

I wished more than anything I could believe that.

A couple of minutes later, he was asleep. His face looked so peaceful. I carefully slipped out of his embrace and picked up the bucket from the nightstand, leaving the damp towel on his forehead. After emptying the bucket in the bathroom, I returned to find Damien shivering. I rushed to his side. "Damien..." I whispered, but he didn't respond. Without hesitation, I picked up my phone and dialed Dr. Jones's number.

An hour later, Dr. Jones arrived and examined him. "He'll be fine. It's just a minor cold," she assured me. "Can you grab me his medication, please?"

I nodded and reached for his bedside drawer, pulling out a pill bottle and handing it to her. "Thanks," she said, opening it. She chuckled slightly. "I meant Damien's medication, not yours, Emilia."

Confused, I furrowed my brow. "Those aren't mine."

She glanced at the bottle again. "How long has Damien been taking these?"

"I don't know... What's wrong?"

"This isn't the pill I prescribed for him," she explained. "I think there must have been a mistake."

"Or someone doesn't want him to get better," I added. Considering, his recent attacks, it can't be a surprise.

She rummaged through her bag and pulled out her phone. "I need to clarify this with Mrs. Grey."

"No!" I cut in, suddenly uneasy. "Can we keep this between us for now? I'm sure it's just a mix-up."

"Emilia—"

"Please," I whispered. She looked at Damien's sleeping form, then back at me.

"Alright," she conceded after a moment. "But I'll be back tomorrow with the correct medication. Please make sure he takes it."

I nodded. "Thank you so much, Dr. Jones."

She smiled. "Take care of yourself and him." With that, she left.

I walked over to Damien's side and gently stroked his hair back from his face. Who could have possibly changed his medication? I wondered, a nagging sense of unease settling in my stomach.

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