15. ALISTAIR
1433 Words
As I came out from under the sink, I felt something warm running down my face. As long as it’s not...
“Oh my God! You’re bleeding!” exclaims Romy, rushing towards me.
If in normal times, I would surely have appreciated a pretty girl rushing to my side, the rational part of my brain, however, took over and I shouted:
“Go get something to make a compress! Hurry up!”
I see that she’s annoyed at my dry tone but complies. She rushes to a cupboard, opens it and pulls out what looks like a first aid kit. She rummages around inside, while I try to see what I could use around me, but my T-shirt is pretty dirty and I don’t have anything else.
Romy finally finds what she’s looking for, and comes back to me with a sterile compress. She rips the wrapper off and hands it to me.
“I’m going to need a little more than that,” I said.
I don’t know how big my wound is, but I know I haven’t finished soiling compresses. So we might as well prepare.
Romy comes back with the first aid kit.
“Let me help you,” she said softly, crouching down in front of me.
It’s silly, I should be focused on my wound, but I can’t help but notice that she smells like vanilla. It suits her, I think. Sweet and intense.
She opens another packet of compresses, I lift the one on my forehead to replace it.
“We should disinfect the wound, don’t you think?”
“We need to stop the bleeding,” I said.
She doesn’t insist, she sits on her knees right next to me and doesn’t take her eyes off me.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“About what?”
“That you hurt yourself and it’s my fault.”
“It’s not your fault; I didn’t pay attention.”
“Yeah, but you’re still here because of me and my inability to fix a tap.”
She looks at me with her big eyes, and she looks really worried. I try to relax the atmosphere.
“I’ve never been so happy for a woman to have problems with leaks.”
She makes a funny face. I then realised that my sentence had a double meaning.
“I meant to say: I’m glad your sink is having problems. It allowed me to see you again today.”
Her cheeks colour slightly, she pretends to be absorbed by something by her side.
“Romy?”
“Yes.”
“Look at me.”
Her green irises are finally facing me.
“Why are you embarrassed every time I give you a compliment?”
She opens her mouth and hesitates, giving me time to add:
“Okay, the first time we spoke, I commented on your buttocks. I understand that it could have been disturbing.”
“It was inappropriate,” she replies in a mock annoyed tone.
“I like being inappropriate,” I smiled. “And honest too. You have the most beautiful pair of buttocks that…”
“Stop!” She cries.
But her embarrassment only increases my satisfaction.
“Actually, I think I’m going to keep doing this. You’re awfully cute when you’re embarrassed.”
“Do you really think that?!” she replies, rolling her eyes.
“You didn’t answer my question. Why don’t you like compliments?”
She still avoids my gaze.
“It’s not that I don’t like them, it’s just that... I’m not used to it, that’s all.”
“Not used to it? A woman like you should get compliments regularly.”
“You don’t know anything about me,” she said dryly.
I decided not to let myself be discouraged, and replied as seriously as possible:
“I just want to know more.”
She sighs.
“Could you stop it?”
“Stop what?”
“Your charm number.”
I find it hard to stay serious. Without being able to control myself, I feel like joking again:
“Do you think I have charm?”
“I find you especially exasperating, right now.”
I know she doesn’t think so. She pretends to be interested in my injury.
“Let me look, it must have stopped bleeding.”
“I don’t think so.”
“How can you know?”
“I know, that’s all.”
“You’re stubborn, aren’t you?”
“Unfortunately, just a little too used to this kind of situation.”
“Do you get hurt often?” she wonders, lifting the compress, then replacing it immediately.
“No more than others.”
I hesitate to explain the rest to her. Not that I’m ashamed to talk about it or because I want to hide it, but just because I’ve gotten into the habit of not discussing it. People often have funny reactions to illness. Some look at me like some kind of weird beast, those who take pity on me and, finally, those who panic. And quite often, that leads to a lot of questions that I don’t always want to answer.
Questions I know Romy is already thinking about right now. Just look at the little wrinkle that has formed between her eyes. So I might as well tell her a little about myself. Who knows, maybe it will help to find out more about her?
“I have haemophilia. I take a long time to heal.”
She doesn’t hide her surprise, and I’m somehow grateful to her. There’s nothing worse than people who pretend they don’t feel anything. Her eyes scan me from head to toe.
“I would never…”
“… have known?” I finished for her.
“Yeah, you seem so…”
“So what?”
“I don’t know, so strong... healthy.”
“I’m in good health.”
I raised my eyebrows and added:
“And if you need proof, I can easily…”
“No, it’s okay, it’s okay, I get the idea,” she laughs.
“You understand, but you’re sure you don’t want a little demonstration?” I insisted, just to destabilise her once again.
She opens her mouth, surprised. So I made it easy for her, joking again:
“Well, I would have to heal first, because I can’t hold the compress and take care of you properly. And if I let go of the compress, it will continue to bleed and it will quickly become very, very ugly.”
She sighs.
“You never stop making s****l allusions. Do you do this with all women?”
“Only with the ones I really like. I don’t want to mislead others.”
“Lord… Alistair, that’s enough.”
She took her head in her hands.
“Stop!”
“You want me to stop what exactly?”
Her green irises stunned me on the spot. But I know she’s pretending to be mad at me to hide what she really thinks. My little declaration affects her much more than she wishes to let appear.
“I should let you bleed out here alone, and go mind my own business.”
“But you won’t.”
Her expression softened.
“No, I won’t.”
“If you stay it’s because, despite everything, you appreciate my company.”
I punctuate my sentence with a little nudge on her arm.
“I’ll let you believe that for now, I wouldn’t kick a man already down.”
“Too kind.”
She hesitates for a second, then asks:
“Is your illness serious?”
“Yes and no. It’s fine as long as I don’t hurt myself.”
“You still take risks with your work... right?”
I shrug my shoulders.
“I’m careful. Except when I’m helping a pretty woman. When she calls me I can’t resist the sound of her voice.”
She shakes her head, I know she thinks I’m kidding. That I flatter her to please her, to make her smile. There is that, but my words are sincere. She’s really very beautiful: her coppery hair, her diaphanous skin dotted with freckles, her sublime jade-coloured eyes. But it’s her smile, the way she tilts her head to the side when she laughs, the way she pushes her hair behind her shoulder, the intensity of her gaze that makes her so charming. And even if I’m just beginning to know her, I know full well that I have already succumbed to her attractions. And I’m pretty sure the converse is happening.
- Writer
