Untouched
1083 Words
HAZEL
When I was finally lowered into the bath, the warm water hit my skin like a shock. I sucked in a breath, the sting burning through every bruise, every scrape.
Angela didn’t look away. She didn’t apologise. She didn’t say it would be okay. She just waited until I adjusted, then rolled up her sleeves and reached for a clean cloth. Her movements were slow, almost methodical. She washed the dirt off my arms, my shoulders, my hands, avoiding the rope burns with a precision that made my throat tighten.
She wasn’t being tender. She was being careful. And somehow that was worse. It meant she understood exactly how much I hurt without me saying anything. Every now and then, she paused and looked at a mark a little too long. Not with sympathy, more like assessing damage. Cataloguing it. Knowing what needed ointment, what needed wrapping, and what needed to be left alone.
I kept my eyes on the water. Watching the dirt swirl out like smoke. Minutes passed. Maybe more. When she finally spoke, her voice was low and practical.
“Tilt your head back.”
I did. She poured warm water over my hair, her fingers moving through it to free the leaves and dried mud. Nothing else was said. The only sounds were the drip of water, the faint splash of movement, and my own breathing.
After a while, she stood. “I’ll get clean clothes.”
No emotion. No opinion. No question. She wiped her hands on her apron and stepped out of the bathroom.
And although she didn’t say a thing, the silence she left behind carried a weight heavier than sympathy, heavier than pity.
Minutes later, I was already dressed.
Angela had gone downstairs and come back with a tray. She didn’t ask if I was hungry. She didn’t ask what happened in the forest. She didn’t say anything. She just placed the tray on the bedside table and said,
“Eat.” I tried to take the bowl myself, wanting some control over something, anything but she simply said, “No.”
And that was it. She took the spoon, scooped up the warm soup, and fed me slowly, patiently. When the bowl was empty, she handed me two pills.
“Painkillers,” she said.
I swallowed them without question.
Then she tucked me under the covers and sat down at the edge of the bed, not looking at me, not watching me, not comforting me. Her gaze stayed fixed on the window, her posture stiff, almost military. She didn’t fidget, didn’t sigh, didn’t speak.
She just… stayed. It's almost like she didn't want me to be alone right now.
Somehow that made everything real.
At some point, my eyes drifted closed without my permission, exhaustion dragging me under.
When I woke up again, it was dark. Completely dark. I didn’t know what time it was. I didn’t even know how long I’d slept. My head felt heavy. My body felt heavier. I sat up slowly, staring at nothing.
I had no reason to go out of the room.
No desire to see anyone.
No words to say.
My chest felt tight, too tight. My thoughts wouldn’t settle. They spun, and spun, and spun until all they formed was anger.
If I thought I hated Axel before… I was wrong.
I didn’t hate him before.
Right now, I truly, deeply hated him.
What the hell did he want from me?
Why would he do that to me?
Was it some kind of warning—Don’t run, or you’ll suffer?
A demonstration of power?
A punishment for stepping outside the house?
Or was this another twisted mind game like the first night, just a setup for another party, another transaction, another thing he could use me for?
Would he drag me out in front of his rich friends again?
Would he auction me off again like a prize?
My throat tightened again. Tears slid down my cheeks silently. No sobs. No sound. Just liquid heat carving lines down my face.
I didn’t even know how long I stayed sitting there. Hours, it felt like. Until eventually, the sun crept up, thin light pushing into my room.
A few minutes later, the door opened and Angela walked in. She stopped when she saw me awake. Her expression didn’t change, Angela never changed expression....but her pause said enough.
“You’re awake,” she said quietly.
I nodded.
“Good. I brought breakfast and more painkillers.” She walked to the table and placed the tray down. “How are you feeling?”
I shrugged. What kind of question was that? What did she expect me to say? That I felt perfectly fine after being hunted through the woods like prey?
Angela continued, “Do you have any bad injuries? Should I call the doctor?”
I snapped, “I don’t know. What does your boss think?”
She didn’t flinch. She didn’t defend Axel. She didn’t react at all. She just lifted her eyes to the ceiling for a moment, then looked back at me.
“Well,” she said calmly, “Axel isn’t here. He told me to take care of you and make sure you’re all right. So I need to know if anything looks concerning. If it does, I’ll call the doctor.”
My jaw clenched shut.
So what? Axel wasn’t here.
What difference would it make if he were?
Angela exhaled softly. Not annoyed, just tired.
“Come on,” she said. “Go brush your teeth. Your breakfast is here. After you eat, I’ll call the doctor.”
“I’m fine,” I said.
“Are you sure?”
“I said I’m fine.” I snapped
Angela nodded once. “Okay. The food is here. Eat when you’re ready.”
I snapped again, “Just leave me alone.”
She left without a word.
I pushed myself out of bed, limping into the bathroom. I stared at my reflection for a long moment. My face… wasn’t too bad. A faint mark on my cheek where Luca had slapped me, but that was it.
But when I looked down… My arms were scraped raw.
Thin cuts from branches. Red, angry marks from the rope. Bruises blooming in patchy colours.
My legs were worse. My knees were scuffed and torn. Scraped from being dragged.... A mess. I looked like a mess.
But hey.. at least Luca had left my face mostly untouched, right?
- Writer
