CHAPTER TWO: STUMBLES INTO MY BEDROOM
1598 Words
Melissa's POV
I rushed to him. He wasn't fully passed out yet. I helped him stand up and led him up a couch in the living room.
I placed my hand over his forehead, his body trembled, droplets of sweat lingered on his face and some shards of his back hair stuck to it.
He was really sick with a cold.
“Who are you and how did you get this sick?” I asked.
I quickly reached for his shirt to take it off. Back home, when the girls got sick, I would put a wet towel on their bodies to calm their nerves.
As I slid it out of his hand, he suddenly grabbed mine, “Call a doctor,” his voice was strained.
I hissed, “A doctor? It's just a cold,” I pushed his hand off, “Let me take off your shirt. I can help.”
“Call a doctor…it's an order.”
I successfully slid off his shirt, what sort of worker was he, and why did he think he could order me around?
I rushed to get wet towels. Hopefully he will get better soon. I wasn't sure Alison was kind enough to pay his hospital bills.
I returned a few seconds later with three neatly folded wet towels. I lifted the hair off his forehead and placed one of the towels on it.
As I grabbed another towel, I finally noticed his body, his abs, his well-defined six packs.
I gulped.
How could I be admiring his body when he was this sick?
I placed the towel on his body. I wanted to make him porridge, but I wasn't sure Alison would be fine with it.
“Where is your bedroom?” I asked, “I don't think Alison would appreciate you laying on her couch.”
He groaned, “This is my couch,”
Has the sickness gotten to his head ?
I heard the front door open and three maids in their uniforms stepped in. They were chatting with each other and didn't notice me.
I stood up to face them, “Hello,”
They all looked at me, “It's the new maid,” one of them said.
“I do not know who this man is, but he is really sick, and I need your help,” I pleaded.
Their gaze fell on the man on the chair, and they all gasped in shock, “Mr Blackwood!,” rushing to us.
B…BlackWood?
“Call a doctor!,” one of them shouted.
I turned back to look at the man on the chair.
He was Mr Blackwood? Alison's husband?
I had never seen him before.
Minutes later, a doctor arrived, and Mr Blackwood was taken to his bedroom. I sucked in a deep breath and went to make Alison's breakfast.
It was a cup of tea and a few sliced breads. Alison was always particular about what she ate in the mornings.
I walked upstairs and placed a gentle knock on her door.
“Come in,” she answered.
I clenched the tray tightly in one hand and the door with the other. Alison's bedroom almost looked like it came out of a painting.
The walls were pure white and the smell of expensive cologne lingered in the air.
I shut the door behind me. The room was cold because of the air conditioner. In the middle was a king-sized bed with pink bedsheets. The bedroom had flowers on every corner. It was magnificent.
Alison sat in front of her bedroom mirror, she wore a pink nightdress and she brushed her hair.
“Put it over there,” she instructed as she pointed at a table.
Why would she eat alone when she had a husband?
Did she have a good relationship with him?
I placed the food on the table and turned to face her, “It's done.”
She stepped up from the table, her steps were flawless as she walked to sit in front of the food.
Why did she have a special place in her bedroom to eat?
“Goodbye sir,” I heard a maid say, her voice coming from the hall.
“Goodbye,” another voice responded, it was the doctor.
She picked up a slice of bread from the plate, “That sounds like the family doctor,”
“It is, “ I responded.
She looked up to meet my gaze, “How would you know the doctor?”
“He came this morning after Mr Blackwood fell ill ma'am.”
She looked down, “He, has he returned? He told me he would be staying at work,” she said calmly.
She gestured to me to leave, “I do not want to look at you while I eat, I might throw up looking at those worn out jeans.”
I bowed my head, “Yes ma'am,”
I backed up and headed for the door.
“Argh!,” she suddenly shouted, a loud thud as she placed the cup of tea back on the table.
I turned back, my heart sank as I saw that familiar anger in her eyes, “Is..the tea not to your taste?”
“Come here,” she stood.
My legs trembled, but I didn't have a choice, so I walked to her, “Yes.”
She held out her hand, “Come on,”
I placed my hand in hers, she grabbed the cup of tea and poured the liquid on my hand, slowly, letting me feel every heat of the liquid. I tried to take my hand out of hers, but her grip was tight.
I let out a loud cry as the liquid burned my hand.
She smirked, “Oh…so it burns, huh? Then why did you think it wouldn't burn my tongue, you dimwit!,” she smashed the glass on the tilted floor and the pieces flew across the floor.
She looked around at the broken pieces, “Clean it up before I get out of the bathroom,” she instructed and walked off.
I cried as the back of my palm stung, it had turned red instantly.
But despite the pain, I fought through it and cleaned the mess before she stepped out.
Before she came out of the bathroom, I had left, I had a bandage in my bag, being around Alison and her mother meant that I needed it often. I put some salt on the burned area as I had seen on the internet a few years back and wrapped it up in a bandage.
A few moments later, the intercom in the bedroom rang. I moved to it and picked it up. Alison's voice came.
“Come upstairs,” she was briefly, and then the mine went flat.
I quickly ran upstairs.
When I got to the bedroom, I saw her on the bed with a phone pressed against her ear. She had changed into a black dress and a pair of black heels.
“Pack some clothes for me, in going away for three days,” she said.
I nodded and moved to the closet.
“Yes mom,” I heard her say as I packed, “It's a bummer that Grant isn't coming, he has fallen ill.”
I looked up from the folded shirt in my hand, Grant. Was his name?
Alison's voice dropped lower as she spoke again. “It's been two months, mother, why doesn't he like me yet?”
I placed the shirt in the box.
“Well at least we are rich,” she giggled.
I zipped up the box when I finished and dragged it out of the closet.
“Should I pack a box too?”
Her brow raised, “What?”
“I…I thought I was coming since I was your maid.”
She erupted into loud laughter, “Oh…please, I'm going to Grant's parents' home. Why would I ask you to come?”
“She would carry the smell of poverty along with her worn-out clothes,” I heard Eliza say from the phone and they laughed together.
“You are only supposed to work here you rag,” she said, “Go away.”
I bowed my head and left.
I stayed in my room that whole day. When I heard Alison leave, I felt a sense of relief. Mr Blackwood wouldn't need me so much amidst the house, so that meant three days of freedom.
That night, I bid the maids' goodbye as they walked out of the mansion and retired to the maids' quarters.
Back in my bedroom, I didn't sleep. I brought out the drawings in my bag and began to stick them to the wall. One of them was made by my mom before she died. It was a rose.
Having it here meant that she was close to me. As I reached for another one, I heard footsteps from the living room.
Had a maid come back here?
Curious, I walked to the door and opened it.
My heart jumped as I saw Mr Blackwood. He was shirtless with sweat dripping down his body, his face and his eyes barely open,
He staggered into the room and I quickly supported him with my hand. He was burning up
More than before.
I thought the doctor had said he would get better.
“The intercom isn't working…” his voice was strained, his head dropped to my shoulder and his breathing heavy, “Help…me.”
I shouted as my hands failed, and he landed on the ground.
- Writer
