Page 45 of Unapologetic Obsession
Sixteen
ROSE
Present
“The lacerations are healing too slowly,”Dr. Maxwell muttered to himself, inspecting my arms. “But the swelling on the ankle has gone down,” he declared as if someone were jotting down notes, though we were alone.
He had propped up the adjustable backrest of the examination table. I reclined against it and stretched my feet until my toes touched the edge. Dr. Maxwell reapplied my bandages in even, symmetrical layers, not leaving any wrinkles or loose edges to chance. His obsessive compulsiveness was working overtime tonight. Whenever the bandage overlap appeared slightly uneven in width from the wrap underneath, he would immediately redo his work. The way he kept smoothing out even the slightest crookedness, you would think it was for my benefit. As if I were the OCD one and it was my preference that every fold was meticulous so nothing felt “off” against my skin.
It was a far-fetched theory. I was probably overthinking things because of what Amelie let slip earlier today. Was it possible that Dr. Maxwell agreed to this cruise at the last minute because he found me on his boat? What if he had taken a liking to me and decided to stay on this boat to explore things with me?
Trying to guess what was on his mind was pure torture. The way he carried himself gave nothing away. His expressions were like a doctor’s handwriting—unreadable, even though his writing seemed perfectly legible when I peeked at his notes. His stone face was unyielding when he saw my drastic makeover, not even a muscle twitch gave away his thoughts. The only reaction was a fiery gleam in his eyes that was so fleeting I was sure that I had imagined it, like wildfire burning beneath a frozen surface.
I was being ridiculous. According to the beauticians, women weren’t even a fleeting distraction for Dr. Maxwell, and I was nowhere near the caliber of women he was used to. A strange sense of grief settled in my chest at the thought, mourning something I could never have. Once he cast me aside, I would be all alone again. Unless I could find my family.
I had won the battle—finding food and regaining my strength—but not the war—finding my identity. I had let myself become distracted by this beautiful man, who would tire of me within a few days. What would I do then?
One of the windows in my room overlooked the deck underneath. Throughout the day, I had observed guests sunbathing and visiting the shops on the boat. Proper attire or a nice swimsuit was required around the ship. While Dr. Maxwell indulged me in a spa day and dressed me in a robe made of the most luxurious material I had touched, he was careful never to provide me with real clothes I could wear to gallivant around. My chance to accrue an income and buy clothes from the shopsvanished with Jace, and when I asked Amelie if I could borrow some of hers, she quickly changed the topic after citing that we wore different sizes. The nail technician hinted she had slippers for my freshly painted toes—they were disposable but sturdy enough to walk around the deck—but Amelie’s furtive glance made the woman retract her offer.
They were adamant about my recovery, and I was adamant about finding my origins. The doctor mentioned before about putting out feelers on the mainland for any missing person reports filed under the name Rose, and a fleeting hope crossed my mind.
“Has the captain heard anything from the police about a missing person report for me?”
“No,” he answered, not a hint of hesitation or indecisiveness in his voice. Sensing my displeasure, he added, “It hasn’t been very long.”
“Oh. Can we go to the police station once the boat docks and check if anything has changed?”
“I doubt your family reported you to the Interpol if they didn’t report you to the local police.”
I didn’t know the reference, but I figured international water laws and procedures were different. With each passing second, I sailed farther away from the truth.
“Then let’s contact the local police for an update.”
His dark gaze searched mine for several moments, his stethoscope draped around his neck from when he took my vitals. “The police will reach out once they know more.”
“But they probably have hundreds of cases. What’s the harm in following up?”
“Harassing them for an answer is pointless. Let them do their job.”
“We don’t have to harass them. Can we just call them once?” I nodded at the phone, which had been ringing nonstop forhim. He had ignored the calls before finally unplugging it. The technology crash course from Amelie was educational. Cell phones only worked on the boat with the help of Wi-Fi, which was spotty, and the internal phone system connected guests from one room to the other. Only one landline on this boat could make outbound calls to the mainland. It was in his office, which I couldn’t access.
“It’s not good for your mental health to keep digging into a past you can’t remember. Just focus on getting better.” His tone was stern, and my fate sounded sealed.
Unable to help myself, I pressed, “There must be something I can do to get back to my family?—”
“Drop it, Rose,” he snapped, startling me. “There’s nothing more to be done.” The hand banded around my arm tightened with a suffocating grip while he threw away the bandage he had changed with his other hand. His face hardened with a barely hidden rage.
It was apparent that he had a temper. He was dismissive of everyone, brusque with the lady who dropped off our dinners earlier, then annoyed by another who brought us fruit for dessert. While I had seen him snap at the crew, he had only been truly angry with me after catching me with Jace. My reasonable request to reunite with a potential family shouldn’t trigger him. Nonetheless, I dropped the topic to escape the brunt of his wrath.
I watched him with hawk eyes as he continued to treat my injuries. Thick brows, a shade darker than his hair, framed blue eyes that could be mistaken for the ocean. I had the sudden urge to dive into the sea found within his eyes, and whether I could swim was absolutely irrelevant.
It was absurd to fear this man’s temper while simultaneously salivating after him. Rather than being continuously distractedby his ethereal beauty, I tried to find his imperfections. Surely, everyone had them.
Except all I saw was wavy, dirty-blond hair that fell around his eyes like the hot lead singers in K-pop videos. Those eyes were stoic by nature but would occasionally morph into something different, especially when they watched me do mundane things like eat or drink. I had been searching for the right word to describe how they transformed. I was intimately familiar with the look but couldn’t put my finger on it until now. Hunger and thirst. He looked at me the same way I looked at food.
This was a dangerous territory. A few more seconds of studying his eyes, and I would be reciting Shakespeare to him. My focus drifted to his Adam’s apple, only to be captivated by his masculine throat. His Adam’s apple was prominent and pronounced, bobbing as he grabbed a bottle for a sip of water. Up and down, it went on and on, tempting me in imaginary slow motion. Somehow, his throat turned out to be more erotic than everything else. The trifecta—Korean popstar hair, ocean eyes, and that Adam’s apple—was in full swing.
I should feel foolish for overanalyzing things between us. Someone like him wasn’t thirsty for me, but I couldn’t shake the thought. The intense and focused way he watched me was nothing like how he looked at those women in the magazine photos. They clung close to his body while his hands hung limply or were wedged into his pants pockets. He never reciprocated the warmth or touched them, let alone fed them. Why did he single-mindedly focus on me? There must be something he wanted.
