Titanic: True Love Forever

Chapter 37: The Only One

Carl got up from the carpet and then bent over the table where the lamp was placed and sat down with his hand propped up on the red leather chair. His movements were so slow they set my teeth on edge, I actually thought he could use a doctor's visit in the infirmary, I hadn't shown any mercy with my movements earlier.

But he was grimacing in pain, and the first thing he could do was to purse his lips to smooth out the traces of pain at the corners of his mouth.

He opened the bottle of wine with trembling fingers, and without even using a glass, he wrinkled his brow and took two big gulps. He was very familiar with tobacco and alcohol, and never saw anything wrong with the habit.

Habits that were rotten to the core, a hell of a short-lived look.

I tried to move my hands a little, and the old poodle had no graciousness whatsoever in tying me up; he tied it extra strong, and it probably didn't matter to the old poodle that I was tied up and wasted.

Then Carl looked like he was slowing back down, he was holding the bottle and glancing at me cautiously, but he didn't have anything to say. Maybe he was so embarrassed by the way he had just looked that he finally came around and realized he was embarrassed.

My endurance is considered strong, the bones have been broken can not say anything, but still the first time to be tied to the wrist blood circulation stagnation, tied to the place of soreness and numbness as tens of thousands of ants in the top of the gnawing my flesh and blood.

This kind of feeling, can really make me cranky.

Almost unbearable to turn down the head, and see Karl Hockley that unlucky head tilted to the side of the table, face that kind of alcohol slightly drunk feeling even more serious, his expression to maintain on a kind of frustrated state, looking at me feels like looking at a piece of broken brass do not know how to arrange.

I felt sure my hand would be finished if I didn't try to struggle.

Tried to open his mouth to discuss with the only living person present, "Hockley ......" opened his mouth only to realize that even his voice has lost its spirituality, so fragile that it is close to the point of losing its voice.

That sound woke Carl up at once, and he c****d his head in a posture that was about to get drunk and froze violently, then sat up straight out of habit, the sleepiness in the bottom of his eyes covered by a terrible sobriety. The sitting position made his facial muscles twitch for a second, as it tugged at his lower back. But he quickly stood up, threw the bottle back in his hand, and sauntered over to the bed, looking at me with a half-doubtful, half-convincing look.

"Help me untie the ropes, you can tie them somewhere else first." I hadn't bothered to communicate with him about letting go or not, I just didn't want to wake up tomorrow with necrotic muscles in my hands, and while I wasn't sure how I looked, the weakness in my voice was serious.

"What happened to you?" He finally realized that I wasn't acting, but was actually asking for help. Carl couldn't care less if he would get another kick from me, he sat right down on the bed and reached out to touch my face hard, "Your skin is so cold, I should have had them light the fireplace as well, and cover up first."

He rubbed my face hard in an attempt to rub the cold off of it, and then as soon as he could, he pulled the crumpled quilt over me, moving fast and hard. He looked a little panicked and hadn't even heard me plead.

"The rope ......" I moved my hand, and all at once that unbearable numbness returned.

It was only then that Carl noticed my hands, he hadn't looked at the color on my wrists at first so he hadn't eased his grip on the rope that bound me. I wince and tremble a few times in his grip before Cal realizes what's wrong. He raises an eyebrow and his eyes widen, anger changing the disheveled look on his face in an instant.

"Bloody hell." The movement of his hands intensified, very anxious to undo the strong knot. After a few hard tugs, I felt that by the time he yanked the rope free, my hand would be broken by his uncontrolled force. Seeing the hard endurance on my face, Carl's fingers twitched a little afterward, and he gasped a few times, stopping his snowy movements in a hurry. Then I hear him curse something low again with great empathy and say to me, "It's okay, I'll untie it for you."

After saying that, holding his back and stumbling a bit, he went over to the red sofa chair, opened a table cabinet, and rummaged around in it a dozen times. Probably too anxious that he hadn't found what he was looking for, the man with a complete lack of patience violently dragged the entire drawer out and dumped it onto the carpet.

I could see the papers inside, small items to play with, and a couple of pocket watches all trampled under his feet. Finally Carl found what he needed, an antique pocket knife, and he flung that drawer open and quickly returned to me, taking the jeweled knife and bringing it up to the cord around my wrist. He pressed one hand very gently against the underside of my wrist and then tried to cut the rope with the knife.

I have to say that the old poodle was a master at tying people up, and it would have taken a lot of time for someone else to come and untie them, not to mention the person being tied up himself. Carl obviously didn't have that kind of patience, so he cut it directly with the knife. He was afraid of cutting my hands, and his eyes were focused on my wrists, the sleeves of the nightgown he wore on me falling all the way down to where my shoulders were because my arms were up. His fingertips, pressed against my bare arm, never stopped twitching.

After a few trial cuts, he asked me softly, "Does it hurt?" That trembling of his fingertips almost involved his vocal cords, making his inquiry sound subtly weak.

His eyes didn't linger on my face, but instead looked very intently at his knife, and because he was so close, he could see the inconspicuous bruise at the corner of his mouth. I suddenly felt that he wasn't that unpleasant, at least now he finally didn't have that condescending expression he habitually put on, and the hostility in his face softened.

One of the ropes was cut open, and I felt my wrists loosen, that numbness tumbling out violently. Just when I thought another rope cut would completely untie me, the movements of Carl's hands stopped violently, even as the fingers pressing into the skin of my wrists tensed up, almost turning into another rope that gripped my hands fiercely.

Instinctively, I tried to struggle, attempting to pull my hands free, but when that movement occurred, the man in front of me suddenly overreacted, that sense of concentration on his face replaced by a paranoia.

"You want to run don't you?" Carl asked me with a sharp blade in hand and an expressionless face.

His eyes took on a menacing look, similar to that of a large beast staring at a rabbit.

"Can't run." I honestly said, it's not like this body is malnourished for a day or two, I was chased by him and the old poodle to the point of physical exhaustion in order to get rid of the Titanic, and I'm not able to recover for the time being. Even if he untied the rope now and opened the door by the way, I couldn't run from him as long as he was still sitting in this room.

"The doctor said it would be best for you to lie down and rest all the time and wait until we get off the ship to get someone to nurse you back to health. You're in bad shape, so don't toss yourself around anymore, understand?" Carl coldly lowered his voice to a threatening smile and spoke to me commandingly.

I glared at him and he smirked and glared back at me, dying anyway just not to show the kind of mess he had just sprawled out on the floor. He felt like he was finally back to normal, so his smile became especially menacing.

Then I nodded very calmly and he confirmed incredulously, "Nodding means good, right?"

"Uh-huh." I resisted and resisted the twitch at the corner of my mouth.

Carl smiled again, his eyebrows arched along with it, looking like he felt good about being able to scare me.

Laughing he struggled to purse back the silly grin that didn't suit him, then looked down and used the knife to cut all the ropes bit by bit with effort and gentleness, the restraints coming apart at once and he threw those ropes to the ground in disgust. The moment the ropes came loose, my body followed at once, my whole body muscles not at all relaxed when I was tied up. I changed from a lying position to a sideways, curled up position, my arms so numb I could barely feel my instincts.

He grabbed my hand in a hurry, looking at the bruises on it; the old poodle had probably been looking at me for a long time, so he'd come down hard on me while tying it up. Carl ran his fingers over the bruises, and there was a sense of forbearance and grumpiness in his demeanor, as if the injuries on my hand hurt to his own.

I disengaged from the ropes and stayed still for a moment before I felt some sensation in my hand, though it was unpleasantly numb. Trying to draw my hand back, I was seized by the other and would not let go, and before I could get him to let go, Carl had frowned and rubbed my hand with a forbearing force, and as he did so he whispered to himself with a scowl on his face, "Why it's so bad, we'll have to have a doctor look at it. That old man Lovejoy can't even tie a man right."

I looked at him quietly while he struggled to get his head down to help me rub away the bruises on my wrists.

For a moment, the atmosphere around us cozied up. The light fell on his short hair and his downcast amber eyes.

He grumbled disgruntledly as he rubbed, "You're so skinny, you don't have any meat on you."

I suddenly felt that this atmosphere was perfect for sleeping, and couldn't help but yawn, he immediately reached out and stroked my hair, "You go to sleep first, let me know if you're hungry later, I'll have someone prepare some bread for you."

There was a bread chef on duty twenty-four hours a day in the large kitchen's baking room.

After saying that, he rubbed my wrists seriously again, his expression was so serious that it was like he was doing a big business, if he was distracted millions of dollars would have slipped away with a splash.

Concentrated to the point that I could not bear to disturb, so I had to be dragged by his hands, let him rub to and fro. Slowly, I closed my eyes and dozed off sleepily with my head sunk into the pillow. Perhaps after a while, there was a sudden sharp knocking on the door in my ears, and then the door opened, this kind of cluttered sound woke up my nerves that had been tensed. I opened my eyes immediately, and the close-up face that appeared before me almost startled me. It was Carl, and at some point, he leaned over and approached, looking like he was planning to give me a goodnight kiss.

Seeing me open my eyes, Carl got up somewhat sardonically and then looked as if nothing had happened.

The one who came in was Lovejoy, who was going to walk right in when he opened the door, but when he saw the two of us in a weird and intimate position, his footsteps paused for a few seconds, and the expression on that face-palmed face froze for a moment. Then he said in a hoarse voice, "Excuse me, Mr. Hockley, but I have an urgent matter here that I need you to take care of."

"What is it?" Carl asked in a bad tone, with none of that hand-rubbing patience left from earlier.

"It's about ...... Miss Rose." The old poodle didn't seem to want to bring up his fiancée in front of me, so even his words broke off incoherently.

"Rose?" Carl looked as if he'd just remembered he had a fiancée, and he gave me a quick glance, wondering why his expression carried a palpable sense of weakness. Then he let go of my hand, tucked it under the covers, and told me, "I've got some things to take care of, so go to sleep."

I moved my hand, the numbing pain gone, and said to him with little expression, "Thanks."

Carl seemed to be surprised at my softening attitude as he smiled at me as he rose to his side, "It's no thanks, remember to order the waiter if you want anything, I'll be out for a bit." As he smiled, he stepped back and walked away, not afraid to hit the wall. Lovejoy duly reminded next to him, "Your hair." Then the old poodle familiarly took an overcoat from the room's coat rack and draped it over Carl, admonishing him, "It's cold out there."

Carl accepted his arrangement out of habit, then with his hand pressed unnaturally to his waist, he said to him, "You stay and I'll go and be fine." As he said it, his eyes were on me.

Immediately aware of his new assignment, Lovejoy headed for the door and nodded, "Yes, sir."

As Carl walked out, he suddenly remembered something and said, "Don't tie her up, just watch."

The old poodle was silent for a moment before retorting softly, "I don't like tying people up."

When Carl finally left after a few steps, the old poodle closed the door and then just stood by it looking at me.

I lifted the covers off and sat straight up on the bed with my legs crossed and my arms crossed over my chest, looking away from him. We looked at each other breathlessly for a conference before I finally asked curiously, "How many mistresses does your employer have?"

"None." The old poodle answered without hesitation

Hell no, that guy is just about as bad as a bully when it comes to chasing women.

After the old poodle answered, he realized he had said it wrong and he immediately changed his words, "There was one."

One ah, I nodded without much surprise, not really any of my business. I then asked, "He likes to buy houses for his mistresses, jewelry for a costume designer, and art?"

The old poodle looked at me with an expressionless face, looking at me I finally felt something was wrong, and as an afterthought, I followed his line of sight, and I finally realized that he was looking at the Star of the Sea on my chest. I'd just been tossed around by the guy so much that I'd forgotten I was even wearing it, and without caring, I reached down to unclasp the necklace and tossed it straight into the box on the chair.

As if the old poodle had just come back to his senses, he nodded his head and uttered a plausible answer, "Maybe." Having said that he continued additively, "He didn't keep a mistress."

No? Wasn't there one?

The old poodle continued to be silent, silent until my attention slipped elsewhere, forgetting my earlier curiosity, when he spoke again, his voice taking on an inexplicable melancholy, "Only you."

Only you ......

I looked over at him with some returning suspicion as Lovejoy's face took on a tired old look and he recited somberly, "He hasn't kept anyone but a sum of money for the Butkers. It looks like he's going to start raising you."

At last the old poodle went on, in a tone of employer depravity, "Only you at present."

I, ......