Untitled

Chapter III

I woke up to Peter moving around upstairs. I sat up and stretched, instantly regretting it. I felt a sharp pain as the wound in my side opened and started bleeding again. Well, it's not like my dress wasn't already ruined.
Peter appeared in the stairway. He immediately saw that I was awake and came over. "Mademoiselle, do you want to eat something?"
"No, but thank you. I'm not too hungry," I said, standing up. "I can go home now. I know the way."
"Are you so anxious to get rid of me? Mademoiselle, your side still needs to be bandaged."
"Oh. Well, it's already bleeding. A bandage won't help much."
Peter laughed. "I am very practiced in medicine. The fact that it is already bleeding again means, if anything, it should have been bandaged even earlier. Please, mademoiselle, it won't take long."
"Alright. Where are the supplies?"
He glanced down, not saying anything. I realised they were on the floor right by my feet. "Found them," I said sheepishly.
Peter was trying not to smile. "I brought them last night, but you were already asleep."
I nodded. Now it was my turn not to smile. I bent down and scooped the bandages up, ignoring the protest my side gave me. "Well, where can I do it?"
He looked genuinely confused. "Why not right here?"
"Monsieur, if I am going to have to bandage my bare waist, I would like to do it in private."
He stared. "Why would you do that?"
"Do you not have to bandage the wound and wrap the bandage around yourself so it actually stays on?"
"Yes, but you don't have to take your dress off." He raised his eyebrows. "Unless you want to."
I was glad for the dim light of the dying fire to hide the blush on my face at such an improper comment. "What a way you have with words, monsieur."
Peter burst out laughing, and even I smiled.
"I guess I really do know nothing about medicine. I don't exactly have knife wounds that I need to bandage on a daily basis."
He came over. "Let me help. I have more experience than most."
"Where do you work?"
He hesitated. "A factory. It's a ways away." That would explain why he was out so late, at least. Factories weren't exactly safe, either. That could explain why he knew so much about medicine. What it didn't explain was his expensive pills, fighting skills, and urge to rescue random strangers from bad situations.
He took the supplies from me and sat on the couch, instructing me to raise my arms to the side. I did and instantly shivered. With the fire almost burned out and no coat, I finally noticed the temperature in here. It must be terribly cold in a few months when it was the middle of winter.
Peter wrapped the bandage around my waist, smoothing it out as he went. It was so strange to have a random man's hands all over my waist. Except for partner dancing, I could not think of one single normal situation where this would happen. But then again, nothing about this situation was "normal".
How many other girls' injuries had he bandaged? Or boys? Was I just another project, something to make him feel good about himself? Still, most people didn't need to go so far out of their way to help others just to feel good about themselves. Not men who needed to focus on work and families and lives.
Unless it was someone who was living with an insatiable guilt.
"Your waist is too small," he said distractedly, trying to rip the bandage.
"Excuse me?" I said. I had never heard someone say their waist was too small.
"I mean, that's not a bad thing. But there is a lot of extra bandaging that you don't need."
"Could you not cut it off?"
He closed his eyes, annoyed at something I didn't understand. "Why didn't I think of that?" He looked at me. "I'm sorry, mademoiselle, I'm so distracted this morning. Here," he said, sliding a knife out from somewhere. He cut the fabric and tied it, finishing the bandage. It was tight and not only kept me from bleeding everywhere, but put just enough pressure on the wound to keep it from hurting so much. It also somehow managed to not be too noticeable, considering it matched my dress and covered any major bloodstain that might have stood out.
"Je vous remercie." I looked around. "Well, if you have to get to your work now, I should go. Thank you for everything, monsieur. I can pay you for the trouble, if you need." Regardless of everything that had happened last night, I actually did still have money in my boots.
"Of course not," he said, putting the leftover fabric on his table.
"I just figured something for the medicine, or bandages, or-"
"Absolutely not. Are you alright to go all the way on your own?"
"I am not helpless, monsieur. Besides, you have a life to continue with. I've been enough trouble. Merci, for everything." I unlocked the door and opened it a crack.
"De rien. I'm glad I could be of use."
I hesitated on the threshold. I wanted to ask him why he did this, why he helped people.
"Mademoiselle, is everything alright?" He came over to where I was standing.
"Why do you do it?" I asked, my curiosity finally getting the best of my manners. "Why would you help me? Did something happen to make you always want to do the right thing?"
His eyes darkened slightly. "I already answered that. I could ask you questions too, you know. I could ask you why that man was chasing you, or what was in your package, or what on earth you were doing alone in the poorest part of town when you so obviously come from a rich family." His voice, which had risen, dropped. "But I didn't. Some things just shouldn't be asked."
"Oh." I wasn't sure if he heard me or not. "Goodbye, monsieur." I left as quickly as I could, closing the door softly. I heard a soft thud, as if he had slumped against the door after I closed it. I hurried across the fronts of the houses until I got to the stairs. He had changed so much when I asked that question. Something must have happened. I cursed my curiosity, knowing that it probably ruined the last impression he would have of me.
Not that it mattered. I would most likely never see Peter Caldwell again.
"Anna!"
I take it back.
I stopped, almost to the ground floor. "Anna, wait!" Peter hurried across the balcony. I had never heard him say my name, and the shock of him not calling me "mademoiselle" was probably the main reason I waited. I was having a lot of shocks lately.
Peter caught up with me and stopped, breathing hard. "Look, I'm sorry, Anna. I shouldn't have been so curt. You were just asking a question." He paused to take a breath. "Curiosity is a good thing. An attractive quality. It will serve you well. I'm sorry I got mad. It's just... the last time something like that happened, I turned away and let it happen. And regretted it."
"It's alright. You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to."
But he had started something he couldn't stop. "It was a young boy, being beaten by an old man. I saw them in an alleyway on my way into town before the sun was even up one morning. I figured I could help him, but I was late for an important meeting with a coworker and I was tired and didn't want to get involved. I came back late that night, passing the same alleyway, and the boy was laying in the street. He was dead. I don't know if that old man killed him or if he was dying anyway or what. But I knew I could've done something about it and I didn't. I felt bad for weeks. I mean, I still do." He took a breath. "Anyway, that's why I helped you. I wasn't going to sit back and watch someone else get hurt for no reason. I'm sorry I got mad earlier. It's just... I'm not used to people asking those kinds of questions. Most people don't care. And I don't blame them. Living in oblivion is a lot easier."
I nodded slowly. A slap in the face one moment, a kiss on the cheek the next. Peter Caldwell was a confusing man.
"I didn't mean to pry, monsieur. I'm extremely grateful for everything you've done for me."
He nodded slowly, thoughts moving on to something else. What all had he not said just now? "My pleasure."
I walked down the rest of the steps to the ground. My bandage helped me greatly and I was looking forward to being able to curl up on my own couch and read my own book by my window over the street.
"Goodbye, Anna." I turned. Peter was standing where I had left him, still leaning against the railing.
"Goodbye, monsieur." His expression changed when he noticed I hadn't called him by his name. But really. He wanted to switch between being friendly and being cold? Well, all I wanted was to be polite and go home.