Chapter 19
ས ཊཱི 32%⪜
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ROSALIE
I woke to the sound of low voices, one of them distinctly Damien’s. The other was unfamiliar, deeper, clinical. Forcing my eyes open, I saw a man in a white coat unpacking a medical bag beside the bed.
A doctor.
I tensed, my body rigid despite the ache in my head and the fire burning through my veins. The sight of Damien standing a few feet away, arms crossed, watching everything with a furrowed brow, did nothing to soothe me.
“Good morning, Mrs. Hale,” the doctor said, his tone brisk but polite as he approached. He had kind eyes but a no–nonsense demeanor that reminded me of a teacher who expected full compliance. “I understand you’ve been unwell.”
I said nothing.
Damien cleared his throat. “She had a fever like I told you,” he supplied, his voice quieter than usual but still firm. “She’s not eating, and she’s barely said a word to me since yesterday.”
The doctor nodded, glancing at me as he reached for my wrist. I flinched instinctively, the memory of Damien’s fury the last time someone else touched me flashing in my mind.
“It’s alright,” the doctor assured me, pausing as if to gauge my reaction. “Just checking your pulse.”
I hesitated, then let him take my wrist. His fingers were cool and impersonal, but my eyes flickered to Damien anyway. He was watching, his jaw tight, but to my shock, he didn’t say anything.
“Pulse is elevated,” the doctor murmured, jotting something down on a notepad. “That’s normal with a fever.” He placed the notepad aside and reached for a thermometer. “Can you open your mouth for me?”
I hesitated again, unsure of what to do. Would Damien lash out if I complied? But when I glanced at him again, he gave me a single, almost imperceptible nod.
1 opened my mouth, and the doctor slipped the thermometer under my tongue.
“Her fever started when?” the doctor asked, turning his attention back to Damien.
“Last night,” Damien replied. “She was outside for a while. It was cold.”
The doctor frowned. “Outside? In this weather?”
Damien’s face hardened, but he said nothing.
I kept my eyes on the ceiling, willing myself not to react.
The thermometer beeped, and the doctor removed it, frowning at the reading. “102.8,” he said. “She’s dehydrated, too. Have you been giving her fluids?”
Damien nodded. “I brought her water earlier, but she didn’t drink much.”
“She needs to stay hydrated,” the doctor said firmly. “Fever this high can be dangerous without proper care. I’ll prescribe medication to bring it down, but she also needs rest, warmth, and fresh air. Keeping her cooped up in a room like this will only make things worse.”
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Chapter 19
Damien’s expression darkened slightly at the doctor’s last comment, but he nodded again. “Understood.”
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The doctor continued his examination, checking my breathing, asking Damien about my symptoms, and giving detailed. instructions for my care. The whole time, I lay there silently, watching Damien from the corner of my eye.
He stayed close, his focus entirely on the doctor’s words. There was no anger, no tension, just… concern.
It unsettled me.
When the doctor finally packed up his
rand prepared to leave, he turned to Damien one last time. “Keep her
comfortable,” he said. “Make sure she eats, drinks plenty of fluids, and gets some warm sunlight. If her fever doesn’t break within 3-4 days, call me immediately.”
Damien nodded curtly. “Thank you.”
The doctor gave me a small, polite smile before leaving the room.
As soon as the door clicked shut, I braced myself for Damien’s wrath. Surely now that we were alone, the calm façade he’d worn for the doctor would
pack
But instead, he surprised me again.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair, and then turned to me with an expression I couldn’t quite read. Guilt? Frustration? Both?
“I’ll be back,” he said, his tone low but not unkind. “Don’t move.”
Did I have a choice? My entire body was aching me and my joints felt sore.
I didn’t respond, but he didn’t seem to expect me to.
A few minutes later, he returned with a tray of food. The sight of it made my stomach churn–not with hunger, but with
nausea.
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He set the tray on the bedside table and pulled the chair closer to the bed, sitting down heavily.
“I had made this myself for you,” he
going to eat.”
fodd, gesturing to the bowl of soup and plate of toast. “No excuses this time. You’re
I stared at him, my body heavy with exhaustion and my mind swirling with conflicting emotions.
He picked up the bowl and spoon, holding them out toward me. “Rosalie,” he said, his voice firm but quieter than usual. “Don’t make me force you please because I really don’t want to. Just eat.”
I turned my
y head away, my lips pressing into a thin line.
His jaw tightened, but he kept his stubborn.”
I still didn’t respond.
Omposure. “I’m serious,” he said. “You need food to get your strength back. Don’t be
“Rosalie,” he said again, leaning closer. “I know you’re angry. I get it. But this isn’t about me or you or what happened last night. This is about your health. Eat.”
I closed my eyes, willing him to go away.
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Chapter 19
He exhaled sharply, the sound heavy with frustration. “Fine,” he muttered, setting the bowl down. “If you won’t feed yourself, I’ll do it for you.”
I opened my eyes just in time to see him pick up the spoon again.
He held it out, waiting. “Open your mouth,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
For a moment, I considered refusing. But the exhaustion was too much. I didn’t have the strength to fight him anymore.
Reluctantly, I parted my lips.
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He fed me the first spoonful of soup, his movements careful and deliberate. The warm liquid slid down my throat, soothing the raw ache.
“See?” he said, his voice softer now. “Not so bad.”
I didn’t respond, but I didn’t turn away, either.
He continued feeding me in silence, his patience surprising me as much as his earlier composure. When the bowl was empty, he set it aside and handed me a glass of water.
“Drink,” he said simply.
I obeyed, taking small sips until the glass was half–empty.
He nodded, satisfied, and stood up. “Rest,” he said, adjusting the blanket around me. “I’ll check on you later.”
As he turned to leave, I watched him through half–lidded eyes, trying to make sense of the man who had locked me outside one night and fed me with his own hands the next.
The guilt was there, in the set of his shoulders and the tightness of his jaw. But so was the anger.
And somewhere in between, something else.
I didn’t have the energy to figure it out.
Instead, I closed my eyes and let the exhaustion take over, the faint sound of his footsteps fading as he left the room.
