For Me,There Is Only You |18+|

13.Whose Fault?

The burning sensation coursing through my body was all too familiar.

I was in so much pain that even lifting a finger made me groan. Attempting to turn my head to the right side, I winced as pain shot through my shoulder. My throat felt parched, but I forced myself to get up. I heard hurried footsteps approaching, and a hand gently pushed me back onto the bed. "Don't get up," I heard the voice say.

With great effort, I managed to open my heavy eyes. The room was dimly lit, and there was a face I recognized staring down at me.

Memories of what had happened rushed back, flooding my mind like a torrent of painful recollections. I began to hyperventilate, attempting to scoot away from him in fear of what he might do now that I was awake.

The night still seemed to stretch on, as if it had never ended. I tensed up when he placed his large hand on my shoulder to stop me from moving.

His chest was bare, and he was only wearing pants. Was it not over? Would he do it again? "Please... no more," I pleaded, looking at him with fear in my eyes. My voice came out hoarse, and it hurt to talk— a reminder of my screams.

He brought a glass of water to my lips, supporting my back slightly so I could sit up. I gulped down the cool liquid greedily, feeling the soothing relief in my dry throat.

Placing the glass on the nightstand, he picked up a bowl of porridge and sat at the edge of the bed again. Holding the spoon near my lips, he urged me to eat. I just stared at him, wondering what kind of sick game he was playing. He had already shown me his true face.

His eyes, which were sapphire blue now instead of golden, met mine. I couldn't trust his sudden gentleness. What was his motive?

"Eat. You haven't eaten since yesterday morning," he said calmly.

"Y-Yesterday?" I whispered.

How long had I been unconscious?

"Yes, after..." he trailed off, looking uncomfortable. "You scared me, amina. You weren't even breathing," he admitted, showing a hint of concern.

After everything he had done to me, he had the audacity to look worried?

"What time is it?" I asked, ignoring his bothered expression.

"It's past midnight," he replied, gesturing to the spoon. "Now, eat. You need to regain your strength."

I realized I had been unconscious for over 24 hours.

I wasn't going to argue with him, not after the brutal demonstration from last night. So, I ate in silence, trying to lie down afterward, but a wince escaped my mouth. That mark on my neck was hurting like hell!

I instinctively lifted my hand to touch it, but he caught my wrist. "Don't," he warned. "It's still healing."

Gently, he placed his hand behind my head and laid it on the pillow, then covered me with a quilt. "Rest," he said before turning his back on me.

He seemed different from what I had known so far.

I had never noticed it before, but as I observed him, I noticed old marks on his back—long, swollen, thin strips parallel to each other, almost like whip marks. He collected all the utensils, an empty jug, and left. I remained staring at him, unsure of what to believe anymore. Closing my eyes, I let my mind rest. It had been an exhausting ordeal.

After just about an hour since I closed my eyes, my body started burning up again.

Sweat beads prickled all over, and I kicked off the quilt in hopes that the cool air from the window might bring some relief.