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633 Words
In her past memories, even at three in the morning, the corridors at home were always lit. The current darkness made her uneasy. She couldn't help but mutter to herself, "Say something, anything at all," as if this could dispel the unease in her heart.
She looked towards the end of the corridor, her heart racing, almost wanting to turn and flee back to her room. But thinking of her goal, she gritted her teeth and pressed on.
Finally, she moved as slowly as a snail to Sampson's door. He seemed to be intentionally avoiding her. Ever since giving up his master bedroom for her, he had moved into the room farthest from hers.
Eleanor took a deep breath. Just as she was about to feign fear at the thunder, another deafening clap of thunder roared. This time, she was genuinely startled, nearly biting her tongue.
She pursed her lips in embarrassment and decided to knock first before showing her fear. Yet, with a gentle push, the door actually opened?
It wasn't locked?
Eleanor was somewhat surprised. Leaning heavily on her crutch, she made her way into the room. The room was large and sparsely furnished. Despite the lights being on, it felt inexplicably more eerie than the dark corridor outside.
She noticed some water stains on the floor. Following the trail with her eyes, she saw the bathroom door slightly ajar, the sound of trickling water coming from within.
Was Sampson taking a shower?
A blush flitted across Eleanor's cheeks, but she unhesitatingly moved slowly towards the bathroom. How would someone with a "regressed mental state" understand shyness? She absolutely refused to admit it was driven by a desire to "even the score."
But the bathroom was empty. Strange, so late at night, where had Sampson gone in the middle of his shower?
Lost in thought, Eleanor returned to the bedroom. She followed the water stains on the floor to the bedside, then traced the marks to a large wardrobe. For some reason, she had a strange premonition.
Was Sampson in the wardrobe?
Her fingers trembled slightly with nervousness as she tentatively pushed the wardrobe door open.
Boom!
A flash of lightning split the night sky, its stark white light illuminating two equally pale faces.
Eleanor was nearly frightened into falling backwards by the sight of Sampson curled up inside the wardrobe. He was clutching his knees tightly, his whole body shaking, his pupils dilated—a physical reaction to extreme fear.
Another clap of thunder exploded. Sampson shuddered violently. He seemed unable to see Eleanor, unaware of his surroundings, his face terrifyingly pale, clearly scared out of his wits.
"Is this guy... afraid of thunder?" Eleanor murmured to herself.
She hesitated for a moment, then realized this was a rare opportunity. She carefully moved closer, and when another thunderclap sounded, she reached out and gently covered his ears.
Sampson jolted violently, his unfocused gaze gradually sharpening. When he saw clearly that the person before him was Eleanor, a complex emotion flashed in his eyes.
As the thunder rumbled on, Eleanor maintained her position. Her arms grew tired quickly, but knowing how fragile Sampson was in this moment, she didn't dare relax in the slightest.
Gradually, the thunder began to subside. Sampson finally spoke, his voice hoarse, "Enough. I don't need this."
But Eleanor acted as if she hadn't heard, stubbornly keeping her hands over his ears. Emotions churned within Sampson. Finally, as if afraid this dependence would make him weak, he abruptly grabbed her wrists, forcing her hands down.
The two of them stared at each other in the dim light of the wardrobe, a subtle tension hanging in the air. In that moment, something between them seemed to have shifted, in a way that was difficult to put into words.
- Writer
