Page 23 of Unapologetic Obsession
ROSE
Present
The face was blurry.I could make him out if he were closer, but the last thing I wanted was to be near him. He threw me to the ground. I screamed, crawling backward on my elbows to get away from him.
I sat up with a jolt, dragging in ragged gasps of air. It was the recurring nightmare that had haunted me. My panic subsided upon realizing I was under the protection of a handsome doctor who made me feel safe.
“Dr. Maxwell?” I called out.
The room was dead silent. It was also shrouded in darkness.
My arms were free to move, so he must’ve taken out the IV line. Snippets of flashbacks from last night crept into my mind. My ankle had flared up throughout the night. Every time the pain woke me up, I found him tending to my injuries with dexterity such rough hands shouldn’t possess.
He’d worked on me for hours, treating every wound like the black plague he needed to eradicate and me like frail glass he needed to keep from breaking. He must’ve been exhausted by the end of the night. I was spent simply by watching him.
Finally, he had passed me a new hospital gown, and I had pulled the sheet over my head to put it on. He helped me to the bathroom, and later, administered a shot that took the pain away and let me sleep through the night. The effects must’ve worn off. My ankle throbbed, prompting me to grope for the table lamp and flick on the switch.
The silky curtains were drawn over the window, but the soft light from the lamp revealed a pretty room painted in soft whites. The details of the room had escaped my attention last night. Everything was a shade of white or beige, even the paintings decorating the walls. The nightstands on either side of the bed, the cabinets, and the armchairs were modern with a clean look. Understatedly wealthy.
A faded memory slipped into my mind about being rich versus wealthy. There was a difference somehow.
Rich people show off their money because their status depends on an income that can disappear at any time.
Wealthy people are discreet about their assets and can maintain their lifestyle without an income.
Whoever said it must’ve been a snob, though looking around, I couldn’t argue with the theory. This room screamed discreet wealth with beautiful, minimalistic items. Rich people didn’t fashion rooms like these, only wealthy folks did. Who the hell was wealthy enough to own this boat? It never occurred to me to ask.
I reviewed my surroundings for clues before catching sight of the bed’s state. The side I hadn’t slept on was marked with dents and creases. It also smelled of the outdoors, cashmere, and warm firewood.
Did Dr. Maxwell sleep next to… No. I wouldn’t entertain such preposterous ideas. He didn’t do anything wrong. I was the one shamelessly moaning. Ugh!
The door creaked open, and the man in question entered with a cart. Like last night, he was composed and unruffled, quietly surveying my appearance. The intensity in the look nearly unseated me, and I gulped.
This morning, he wore a white linen shirt with chinos. Everything down to his shoes had the same look as the room—classy and understated. The subtlety in his expensive clothes confirmed it for me—the doctor was wealthy, not just rich. Only affluent people dressed so effortlessly.
I noticed my outfit—the new hospital gown. It was softer than the previous one and mimicked a plush bathrobe with ribbons tied together on the side.
Our class difference was swiftly cast aside when he wheeled the cart closer. I nosily leaned over to see it was full of food. Saliva pooled on my tongue. No matter how much I ate last night, I’d never be full. A part of me would always remember the hunger, yearning for food like a bottomless pit.
“I expect you’re feeling better,” he said, pushing the cart against the nightstand to feel my forehead with cool fingers.
The touch doused me in vivid images of the sponge bath. Heat crept up my neck, and I timidly nodded, unable to hold his gaze.
He showed no signs of awkwardness, concerned only with my sustenance. He sorted through the cart, explaining the purpose of each item. The delicious dishes from last night had been replaced with flavorless hospital food meant to counteract dehydration.
When he took the lid off an individual serving cup of Jell-O, I knew he meant to hand-feed me again. I didn’t protest when he lifted a spoonful. My lips parted to taste the raspberry gelatin.I ate quietly. That was until I realized the ship was moving differently than last night. The boat had rocked back and forth gently on the still water, but today, it swayed like it was being pulled against the current.
“We’re moving,” I exclaimed.
He studied me curiously over my sudden outcry. Why did my voice always puzzle him?
I didn’t have time to dissect the reason because… “We are moving,” I pressed. “Why?”
“We left the port earlier today,” he replied calmly.
Icy tentacles gripped my heart. “What?”
Casting the comforter aside, I kneeled on the soft mattress and knee-walked to the window closest to the bed. I reached out to draw the curtains.
