Until I Really Do

Chapter Five

Sharon stirred, turning over to the side. The surface beneath her was uncharacteristically soft, she thought, even as her fingers grazed something soft as well. Confused, she opened her eyes, her fingers curling around the soft object —a pillow? She rubbed her eyes; uncertain of what it was she was staring at. But it was indeed a pillow, and as she pushed her weary body upright, she was shocked to find that she was on a bed.

A bed! Gasping, she stared down at herself in horror, her eyelids expanding the second her eyes came to rest on the unfamiliar dress that had replaced her gray dress.

Instinctively, she clutched her neckline; the blood draining from her face as she considered what it was that must have taken place. The monster! The monster had ruined her! He took advantage of her weak state and most likely forced himself on her. This was his room, wasn't it?! Her eyes glided over the closed wooden door opposite the bed, the dresser by the wall, and the fireplace on her left hand side that stood in between two windows covered with blue draperies. The room seemed a little too luxurious for Jenkins, but what other explanation did she have for where she was?

Horrified, she pushed the white covers off of her legs and scrambled out of the bed, her vision spinning the second her feet settled on the soft surface beneath. She clutched the bed frame for a second, afraid she would fall on her face.

A sound from her right caught her attention. Turning sharply to the side, her eyes immediately came to settle on an unfamiliar face. He stood by the entryway, a small frown pulling at the center of his bushy brows. Confusion shone in his hazel eyes, and his rosy lips stood slightly apart. Curly brown hair fell to his forehead, and his clean shaven face made him appear quite handsome.

Who was he? She thought, her eyes moving slowly down the length of him. Clad in a clean, white shirt, his rolled up sleeves exposed his hairy forearm. He held a tray before him that contained a bowl, pitcher and a cup. She tore her eyes off of the tray in his hands, moving them down the length of his brown pants and polished black boots.

Suddenly, a wave of exhaustion washed over her. She staggered, falling to the hard wooden floor, even as what appeared to be a frenzied sound reached her. Something took hold of her body, carrying her gently and placing her on the bed.

“Do not try to rise,” he leaned down over her, hazel eyes beholding her with concern. Confused, she stared at him; why was he concerned? When was the last time anyone gave a rat's ass about her? Who was he? Surely she couldn't trust him, even if his hazel eyes seemed to hold no falsehood in them. For all she knew, he worked for Jenkins, or at least knew Jenkins, and she could never trust anything that had to do with Jenkins. No, what she needed to do was get away from here! “You are too weak, and starved.” Leaning further down, he brushed her hair aside, a broken sigh escaping her lips.

His eyes darted to her in question. He was handsome, she thought, scrutinizing his face that was only inches away from hers. His eyes, rather than reflect hostility, seemed to reflect gentility. They were not dazed, or tired looking, they were instead clear, bright, and sober. Then he was no drunk? She wasn't sure she knew a man who wasn't a drunk.

Her eyes shifted to his nose, scrunched up slightly as a result of the small frown on his face. His warm breath tickled her skin. Slowly, she moved down to his lips, her eyes resting on them for much longer than she had intended. They were moist, rather than cracked and dry, and they were only an inch away from hers. Instinctively, she swallowed, averting her gaze to the white wall.

“What do you want?” She said.

“I brought you something to eat.”

She shrugged. “I'm not hungry. I'm not eating anything that monster has to offer.” She stuck her chin out, suddenly reminded of her anger.

“I'm not a monster.” The softness of his voice surprised her. Turning back to him, she found him kneeling by her bedside with his elbows leaning on the edge of the mattress.

She raised a brow, refusing to be pulled into whatever game he was playing with her. Certainly, he was sent here by Jenkins, and certainly he was as vile as Jenkins. “Are you not? Then why do you condone kidnap, why do you associate yourself with a man who has kept me prisoner against my will?!” She half yelled, frustrated as a wave of dizziness washed over her.

His frown deepened, and for several seconds, he knelt there silently.

Tired, she rubbed her brows in a failed attempt to ease her headache. Maybe she must accept her fate? Maybe she must reconcile her mind with the fact that she was stuck being Jenkins's prisoner.

“You are weak,” his words surprised her. She turned to find him scrambling to his feet. He crossed the room, walking over to the dresser where she noticed for the first time, he had placed the tray. He lifted it up, and carried it back to her.

Settling on the bed beside her, her eyes remained fixed on him as he lifted a spoonful of soup to her lips.

The sweet scent of lentils and pork drifted to her nose, stirring her appetite. But it wasn't her hunger that made her tear her lips apart and accept the meal into her mouth, it was the look in his eyes; the look of compassion. It was a look she had not seen in many years —since her mother died.

~*~

Matthew did not rise to his feet until he was certain she was asleep again. Carrying the tray in his hands, he made his way back down the stairs and placed the dirty dishes in the sink. He didn't think it was wise to leave her side and return to work on the farm, but he needed to instruct the farmhands on a few things. Perhaps he could count on her to sleep for at least an hour?

Deciding to check on his farmhands, he mounted a horse and rode to the field where the workers were busy building more ridges for the farming season.

Barely able to concentrate on his work for more than a few minutes, he rode back home, and made his way back to the room. She was still asleep on the bed. He carried the chair by the dresser over to her bedside, and sat there for a while. Bored, he went over the morning newspaper for the second time. When she laid sleeping until evening, he imagined she was beyond exhausted. Perhaps she would sleep the entire day away? He hoped she would, and more than anything, he hoped she would wake up tomorrow with a clearer mind, and a willingness to accept his marriage proposal.

Copyright © 2016-2020 Lily Orevba All rights reserved.