Chapter 33

"Thank you." She breathed in relief and dropped her gaze to his hand. She reached for it gently and brought it to her hands. He held his breath at her touch. Her fingers were cool and soft against his heated skin, soothing as much as arousing at the same time. He marveled at her soft, delicate fingers as she undid the strip binding his hand. Contrasting with his, her hands looked small and fair, her skin was the color of snowflowers.

"It looks terrible. You may suffer some serious infections. Is it painful all the time?" Her anxious voice interrupted his imaginings. The strip was completely undone, exposing the wound in his swollen flesh.

Looking down on the severe injury, a tender feeling for him rose inside her. He must be in pain all the time. She caressed the outer side of his wound reflexively to ease the pain.

"A little..." He replied shortly, the sensation of her touch thrilled him and he feared a tinge of tremor would escape his voice. She pulled out the pot again and opened the small cloth covering it.

"Christ! What is that? It stinks like hell." He exclaimed instantly at the smell of the ointment.

"I assure you this is a very effective medicine. Please allow me to apply it to your hand." She felt a surge of panic, she prayed he wouldn't reject it right now.

He cast a suspicious glance on the tiny pot in her hand. Seemed like it was the Gypsy woman's stuffs. The Gypsy medication was quite popular in this town. To his knowledge, apart from its efficacy, it was proven to be harmless. Yet the smell was extremely unpleasant. Ashton resisted a nauseous feeling that suddenly swept over him. It would be a total embarrassment to vomit in front of her.

"I pray you didn't put poison in that foul smelling... mud." He grumbled, but he didn't withdraw from her.

Strangely, his annoyance got her amused like a silly joke, and before she knew it, she grinned and replied on a whim.

"Now that you mentioned it, I would be tempted to do so if it occurred to me earlier."

Her reply took him by surprise. No one dared to respond him like that, especially a woman. He looked at her instantly and found a twitch of smile curving her lips. What the devil? He meant to intimidate her, not to amuse her.

She got aware and tighten her lips at once, checking him with a quick glance. She shouldn't spoil his mood in this critical moment. But he seemed rather surprised than irritated. Relieved, she pretended to be busy with the ointment.

"May I?" She took his hand carefully and brushed the ointment on his wound. The stinky cream was cool on his skin, and the sensation of her soft fingers rubbing his skin was incredibly good. He would not care if the ointment was a poison indeed, as long as he could feel her caress.

"It would be a little uncomfortable..." She warned him with a careful glance. A second later, a searing sensation struck in his wound. It felt like his hand was burning, hot and painful.

"But it won't last long, only at first. Less than two minutes. Please hold on a little longer."

"Is it that bad? Are you quite all right?" She asked anxiously. Ashton said nothing in response. It was painful indeed, terribly painful, but he'd rather slay himself than wail and whine in front of her.

"It won't be long." She assured him and rubbed the edge of the slash with her thumb gently somehow it distracted him from the pain. She squeezed his hand in her grip lightly as if she wanted to give him strength.

Unexpectedly a warm tenderness crept over him. No one had ever done this to him for a long time. No one had taken care of him. He never knew he was still yearning for a simple kind of affection, that his heart was still beating for it. He had been dead in places, he was numb, his heart so frozen that it ceased to feel at all. He didn't feel pain or sorrow anymore. He felt nothing. Once he was even grateful for it, for the pain was too hard to bear, unbearable to endure.

He was living everyday only to do his duty, to serve his purpose, to fulfill what was expected and required from him, which his father had failed to do. All his life, he had been striving so hard to do it well, and it was not to redeem his father's nonfulfillment. No, he didn't care about that selfish, irresponsible bastard.

He determined to do it only for one significant reason, to give meaning to his mother's short and tragic life. That his mother would not have suffered living in a loveless marriage and bearing him for nothing, that all her sacrifice would be fruitful.

But why, at her fingertips, something was unexpectedly awaken. Some kind of strange yet familiar emotion, old and new at the same time.

The hot stinging pain faded gradually with the passing time. She stopped caressing his hand as if she could feel it. She took some new cloth from her pocket, then began to bind his wound again. He watched her in silence. Her eyes cast down on his hand, so he was safe from their magical charm, but her long eyelashes swayed gently caressing her cheeks everytime she blinked, and it had the same sort of effect on him.

She released his hand when she finished the job. Far too short, he thought with regret. He wished he could make the pain last a little longer. If it what it took to feel her touch, it's a pain worth bearing. Pain never felt this good... He would be damned, he couldn't help the sinfully irrational thoughts occurred to him relentlessly in the past three days.

"Your hand will heal in two or three days. Please take it with you, you can apply this again after you clean up the wound tonight."

She handed the pot to him, praying he wouldn't reject it. He said nothing in response, but he took it anyway. She felt a great relief.

"I will no longer bother you. As I promise, this is the last time you see me."

One last look and she spun around, stepping away from his place, and from his life as well, eventually. He watched her as she left him alone with the quiet sound of the blowing wind. After the sight of her back disappeared at the end of the road, she would be gone from his life for good, forever.

A single golden leaf blew past his face. It swirled and flew in a soft autumn breeze, drifting away through the air. In any second it would be gone, and it could never be found again.

He would never see her again after this. He should feel a great relief, for at last he got rid of a terrible distraction. Finally he would be able to breathe easily again.

He inhaled the first air of freedom and felt his breathing hard and aching. Something beneath his chest squeezed, painful, he didn't know what it was. His heart, perhaps. He knew this feeling before a good long time ago. He was feeling like this when sometimes he saw his mother's belongings accidentally after her death. Her old shawl, her comb, her gloves.

"You said you want to redeem yourself for the trouble you caused me."

She halted her step at his words, but she didn't turned to him immediately. Instead, she just turned her head aside.

"I'll consider your debt paid in full if you do something for me."

She turned around and looked at him straight in the eye. Unexpectedly his heart skipped a beat.

"I will do anything."

"Let me paint you."

The words hovered in the quiet air like a spell, caught them both in a stunned silence.

"Be my muse."