Chapter 6

When Cynthia woke up, she found herself in the hospital. The sharp smell of antiseptic pierced through her nostrils, snapping her out of the murky darkness of sleep. "Finally awake?" a doctor said as he checked up on Cynthia. "You're incredibly lucky, you know? You fell three stories but only broke a leg, nothing more." Cynthia's dry, cracked lips were about to curl into a smile when it tugged at the wound on her forehead, making her hiss in pain. Lucky? Here Cynthia was thinking what a pity that she hadn't been able to drag Alice and herself to their deaths. Instead, Cynthia got bested by Alice and even injured herself in the process. Damian gently opened the ward door and walked in once the doctor left. There was a nearly imperceptible trace of exhaustion on his face. Cynthia turned away from him. Her voice was quiet and hoarse from how weak she was, but it was still heavy with sarcasm. "The mighty prosecutor Damian Gray has arrived. Are you here to check on whether I've died yet?" Damian walked over to the bedside, his complicated gaze flitting between Cynthia's frail face and her plastered leg. Something seemed to flash very briefly in the depths of his gaze. It vanished so quickly that one would think they'd mistaken that it was ever there. "You shouldn't have gone to such extreme lengths even if you didn't want the therapeutic aid, Cynthia. Do you have any idea how much trouble that little jump of yours has caused the hospital and… And everyone else?" Damian asked. His eyes swept over Cynthia's bandaged leg, tone growing quieter as he said, "Alice broke the fall with her hands in order to protect you. The doctor… The doctor said her hands might never recover from the injury." Protect Cynthia? What an amazing liar Alice was. Cynthia was almost in awe of her acting skills. "If you're just here to point fingers at me, then you can go now. I'm not interested in listening to a word you have to say," Cynthia said. Cynthia no longer wanted to waste her energy on Damian nor give him any further explanations. She'd given him too many explanations in recent years, yet he only ever returned her repeated words with firm refusal. Both loving and hating someone required effort, but Cynthia was tired now. Since there was finally some respite for her father's situation, she no longer wished to converse with Damian anymore. However, Damian didn't leave. Instead, he took a cotton swab and antiseptic cream from a tray nearby. "The wound on your leg needs redressing," he said, no longer continuing the previous conversation. Cynthia instinctively ducked away from him upon seeing him come close to her. "Don't touch me!" Damian seemed to not hear her. He clasped her injured leg and slowly unraveled the bandages around it. Though his fingers were gentle and tender on Cynthia's skin, his grip on her was so strong she couldn't get away. Cynthia jerked slightly, struggling to get away from Damian. Yet he only ended up tightening his grip around her leg, causing pain to lance through her leg from the wound. But Damian thought Cynthia was struggling because her leg hurt in the first place. So, he leaned in and gently blew on her wounded leg just like he used to when they were still in love. "It'll heal up soon," Damian said. His familiar gesture stunned Cynthia. Her eyes began stinging almost immediately. Why? Why did Damian have to care for her like this while doing such hurtful things to her? Why was he doing this? The hate in Cynthia's heart reached its peak as she compared the harsh and cruel reality of their marriage today to their sweet and loving past. She swiftly leaned in and bit down hard on Damian's shoulder, which was right beside her face. Damian's body stiffened instantly as he let out a low, pained grunt. However, he didn't stop tending to Cynthia's wounds at all. He continued applying the antiseptic onto her leg in a rhythmic motion. "It's going to hurt a little, so hold on for a bit, okay?" Damian said quietly. "Don't ever use self-harm as a way of fighting back again." Cynthia continued biting onto his shoulder as the faint taste of blood began spreading in her mouth. She was still unable to stop past memories from flooding in. Whenever Cynthia got injured in the past, Damian would furrow his brows and gently tend to her wounds while telling her to be more careful next time—just like he was doing now. Cynthia often asked Damian why he was so careful and gentle when tending to her wounds. It wasn't like Cynthia was scared of pain. "But I can't bear to see you feel any ounce of it," Damian would answer solemnly, crouching down before her. Damian used to indulge Cynthia all the time. He'd let her warm her ice cold feet in his arms during winter, cupping them with his hands even as he flinched from how cold they were. He'd let her put on his uniform and play around in it, watching her make a mess of his organized study. Those scattered but tender memories that Cynthia had purposely forgotten now flooded back into her mind at this inopportune time. Something rippled in her desolate heart as she gazed at the traces of blood that were beginning to seep out of Damian's shoulder. Cynthia stopped biting him suddenly, as if on instinct. While in her dazed state, Damian finally patched up her wound with the final piece of gauze. He looked up and calmly gazed at Cynthia. Then, in a tone so calm it was almost cruel, he said, "Alice's nerves in her right hand were torn beyond repair. Only a tendon graft can restore its function." After a brief pause, Damian continued saying, "Why don't you donate your tendon to her, Cynthia?"