Chapter 90: Dreaded Hugs

"Yes?" she asked as she couldn't catch what she said. Since the day she had been admitted to

the hospital, it was very usual for her to immerse in her thoughts at random times.

Regardless of her surroundings, her mind would push her back somewhere, and she

wouldn't focus on what was happening around her. Just like now.

"Your food is turning cold. I will help you feed," Maria said and sat beside her on the bed,

beginning to take spoonfuls of porridge to feed her.

The ceramic bowl reminded her of the one she had at her house with her parents. The bowl

was almost the same as the one engraved in her faint memory, with borders of red and blue

flowers. It was almost like déjà vu. Her mother also once fed her porridge in a nearly

identical bowl. Her eyes trailed from the white sheets of the bed to the bowl in Maria's hand,

the spoon she held out for her, Maria's arm, and all the way up to her face.

Oh, how much she wished her ammi was staring back at her with a smiling face.

"Please, I don't want to eat," her throat clogged. "Please." A small breath tore through her

lips as her chest tightened with pain. The pain of losing a beloved. Her eyes welled up.

She hadn't felt sick, but now, recalling the old times, she fell into an abyss of depression and

desolation. Tugging her head to her left side, she let her face rest against the headrest. Her

head hung almost lifelessly with a distant look in her red eyes. "Please bring me my mama,"

she whispered, and her nostrils swelled up.

"You will get better faster if you eat this," Maria said. There were orders from higher

authorities to give special care and attention to this patient. That was why almost a team of

doctors was assigned to her, who would be on their feet around her 24/7. One wince by her

side and they all would be quick on their feet. Maria wanted her to get better faster; that

was the only way to loosen the noose around the neck of almost every staff in the hospital.

"I don't want this," Sheharzaad pushed away the bowl. Her throat clenched with pain. She

was controlling her tears as he was sitting there. She didn't want to cry, yet she wanted

someone to hug her, soothe her.

"Please ma—"

"Leave," one word left his lips, and Maria was quick on her feet, placing the bowl aside and

stepping out of the room.

He appeared in front of her vision, and she turned her head away, looking at the farther

wall. She didn't acknowledge him when he sat beside her, when he grabbed the bowl, or

when he forwarded the spoon toward her for her to take in her mouth and swallow it down.

"Sheharzaad," she still didn't look at him.

He was the cause of her misery. Each and every misery.

"Look here," she turned her head more toward the left. And a second later, the bowl was

thrown against the wall at which she was staring. She shrieked, her body jolting as she put

her hands on her ears.

"Sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" she cried out, closing her eyes tightly. "Please, I'm sorry!" She

repeated it like a mantra. "I won't do it again," she felt fingers digging into her cheeks, and

her head was turned toward him. Opening her lashes, she peeked at him through her lashes.

"I'm sorry," she winced.

Dialing the intercom, he asked them to bring food for her and send a sweeper. Soon the

room was cleaned, and now he had a bowl of soup in his hands as he fed her. Quietly, she

took in every spoon quickly and with utter obedience, not having enough courage to say no

to him.

This was the first time she had finished her bowl of food. Every time, it would be left rather

untouched or half-eaten.

"Do you want to get better or not?" he placed the bowl aside, and his thumb ran circles over

her eyelids.

"It's all because of you," she mumbled. He ignored her and opened his arms slightly, flashing

his two fingers, ordering her to come forward and give in to the hug.

She looked away, staring at the floor, then at the sofa. Anything but him.

"Give me a hug," he stated his demand. Again, she didn't focus her attention on him.

She didn't want to give in.

"Tread on carefully, Ms. Sheharzaad," his voice turned darker, and now her eyes stared at

him directly in the eye.

She gave in.

His rich perfume was the first thing her mind registered once again. And soon, she felt his

arms wrapped around her. Then she heard his low rumble. Slow, dark, and unsettling. One

that would make the message sink in. "You know," his hand rubbed against her silky locks

soothingly before fixing her hair from her front to her back. "I won't hesitate snapping your

neck if you disobey me once again." Her body shivered uncontrollably in his arms as he

continued giving the threat as if he was whispering loving endearments in her ear. "Are you

getting what I'm saying?" he prompted her to respond and gently stroked her hair.

"Y-yes," her tongue moved on its own accord. Traumatized she was already, and his words

were adding more to the trauma.

"Good. Very good," he muttered, and then onward continued caressing her hair with his

palm, holding her fragile frame within his arms, inhaling her scent every now and then. At

first, she was stiff. And she remained stiff for a good five minutes, and at last, she had to give

in, relaxing in his arms. They remained like that until he heard her tiny snorts, implying she

had slept.

Never had he ever hugged someone so warmly and so gently.

He wondered what was happening to him.

Lately, the desire within him of being closer to her grew viciously.

He needed to get her off of his mind.

...