Gilded Truth

Chapter Five

The strong scent of antiseptics and fresh linen lingers around the ward. The calm and soft sound of curtains flutter in every sway of the winds, and the soft glow of the sun peeks through the windows. Tired colleagues sleep by the beds, their legs hanging on the edge of the bed; some snore soft, some loud. It assures me—while threading through the hall and seeing these people feel safe around our company—that our long and tedious fight for freedom will be worth it. My hands are full with a tray of medicine and bandages, scissors, and forceps.

I offer a hand to those who are assigned to rehabilitation and recuperation of those we rescued and our allies who are also injured from missions and bounties. I stop beside Rohan's bed, placing the tray by the bedside table. He's struggling to sit up from his bed.

When he finally sits upright, he leans by the metal frame of his bed. His eyes survey the place and eventually me. "Your boyfriend seems to not be around."

My hand starts to find the square knot on his sling and strips his arm of it. I try to move his arms, waiting and watching for any reactions from him, but he only stares at me, as if he could not feel pain, or the pain in his body already subsided from the pain killers we gave him. "I don't have a boyfriend," I say simply, replying to his comment from earlier. My hands reach for sterile scissors, find a loose end of his bandage and start cutting it. It's time to change his bandage, and despite him showing miraculous signs of recovery, we will not dare risk his injuries worsening.

Rohan snickers as I cut and remove his bandages. Though his pale skin shows signs of being badly bruised, some of it came back to its original color. I can now clearly see how his face looks; and with it no longer swollen and bruised, one will not dare deny that he indeed has a striking face, one that will easily be remembered, a face that probably a lot of the girls from the society dreams of. He possesses unique copper red hair, paired with a gorgeous set of ocean blue eyes that look like sapphires when light touches them. His nose bridge is high and his lips emanate a playful smirk. On his left ear are three piercings that I didn't notice when we first met. Out of his bandages, a lotus tattoo with a crescent moon is on his neck, its vines crawling down from his shoulders down to his collarbone.

My fingertips trace down the lines of his tattoo that traces down to his shoulder. But even before I finish tracing his tattoo, his hands reach for mine, leaving me off guard. I hiss when his hand tightens around my wrist, my pulse throbbing against his skin. I gasp, it's as if his touch is electrifying, his palms feel like it is scorching my skin, like he's running a fever. His intent gaze on me, dwelling deep in the windows to my soul. His ocean blue eyes are as deep as the depths of a trench—they are mystical yet mysterious as one stares deeper into them.

"Let go of me." I pry my hands off his touch. The longer he gazes and touches me, the longer a sense of fear stirs within me. I have long forgotten how fear feels like—like being drowned in an ice-cold sea, like I am being enclosed in a chamber till I suffocate. It is the very first time I have felt fear because of someone again.

Rohan probably realizes that he's holding my wrists tightly that he abruptly let it go. "I'm sorry," he says in a hushed voice. The crimson marks of his long, slender fingers linger on my skin, I massage it to make the blood flow back to it. Rohan's hand reaches for his neck tattoo, his eyes refusing to meet my gaze.

"That's a beautiful tattoo you have on your neck." I do not know how to ease this tension between us, probably due to my curiosity that I instinctively touch his neck tattoo without his consent. And by the way he grabbed my wrist, I can feel that he doesn't want anyone touching it. So even when my curiosity is at its peak, I decide not to ask the story behind it.

I silently grab a sterile towel and hand it to him. "Clean yourself. If you don't want anyone touching your body, then it's best for you to do it." His eyes are still averting my gaze when his slender hands reach for the towel. His skin is hot to the touch, almost electrifying. I then go behind the curtains and sit by a vacant bed. I can see his shadow behind the sheer curtain, it is as if I am watching someone bathe himself. I avert my gaze and focus to look outside the window, watching the birds soar on the wide horizon, and listening to the gentle breeze of the wind. It is comforting to know that this abandoned building, hiding behind the tall trees away from the capital, serves not just as our headquarters, but our home.

"Red carpet for the forty-third celebration of First Lady Adira officially started, with highly influential people and artists given an invitation to the Ivory Palace—reminding us of a retro gala that happened from the past century, with haute couture from renowned designers."

I wince as I listen to the news reverberating around the room; the buzz halts in the middle. Everyone watches my reaction, their eyes with pure disgust with the news they just heard. One of them takes the initiative to turn off the radio. Every word from the news feels like vermin, a propaganda that is nothing but songs of praise for a corrupt family. Every word of it makes my stomach churn. The integrity of the news is now gone, nothing but an instrument to spread widespread lies, brainwashing poor citizens into believing that they are saints, but they are nothing but filthy sinners.

Especially Hilda Adira...

"Disgusting, isn't it?" Rohan's voice pulls me out of my trance. My eyes stare at the sheer yet void curtain, waiting for another word from the person behind it to speak, waiting for what he thinks of the kingmaker of this current system. I want to know his side as someone who has barely escaped life and death at the hands of this cruel administration. I don't reply, but I heave a sigh. I have no words to describe how disgusted I am with this administration. There are no words enough to speak of my dismay at them and of how dirty this country went under their rule. We are getting lower than ever, not just in economics and political power, but this country is slowly forgetting that there are people who should, at the end of the day, be shielded by their laws.

"They are basking in bright disco lights, and the smell of expensive champagne and wine is probably emanating in the air. They are flaunting their diamond rings and probably wearing tiaras that are embellished with priceless stones that could feed those in the slums."

I'm amazed at how he can put into words every ugly culture of the elites in this country. I want to look at his face while he's saying those words. I am curious if just like me, he is filled with disdain, contempt, and hunger for revolution. Because every word I write is a call for freedom, and every paper I publish is a movement I wish to start.

I bite the insides of my cheeks as I trace the words tattooed on my arm. He has potential, but every time I look at his eyes, they remind me of his ocean blue eyes, of those eyes that fall as deep as an abyss. If I dare to face his eyes, I am sure to be lost in them, mesmerized by their beauty but at the same time, curious about their mystery.

"Are you done cleaning yourself?" I try to avert our conversation back to its course. I don't want to talk about the corrupt Adira family because it reminds me of what I have to go through and of why I am here. They did not just rob me of my life, but they robbed me of my family and future. They robbed me of everything I have.

"I am." His baritone voice. I lift the sheer curtain in between us and his copper locks immediately catch my attention. I was never able to study his physique in our first encounter and today he proved me right. He is the type of person that a woman from the elites will seek. His deep gaze can easily mesmerize and put one into his spell. His copper locks are a vivid rustic color when the light touches them and his body is not as lean and muscular as Ivo's, but one can notice his broad shoulders. His neck tattoo adds more to his mysterious charm.

I sweep the thought away from my mind and walk toward the other side of the bed and grab a fresh set of bandages. This time, I make sure that any contact with his skin is limited and that I will not touch him in places where he will stiffen. Yet I can't help but notice the fading scars on his shoulder, hidden beneath his tattoo. I can already imagine the story behind his neck tattoo, but I will not dare jump to conclusions. But the mystery behind Rohan's identity remains and grows the more that I spend time with him. Those ocean blue eyes surely hold more stories than they can portray. Just like me, he might be hiding behind his tattoo the way I hide behind another name.