Chapter 462 Washing Hands
Emma could deny it all she wanted, but whether she had a place for him in her heart would soon be revealed.
George put on a dramatic show, grimacing in pain. "My wound hurts so much, Emma. Can you hold my hand?" His voice was weak, his eyes pleading, as if he might collapse at any moment. He watched Emma carefully, waiting for her to show a hint of compassion.
Emma hesitated, her mind clearly in turmoil. After a moment of intense internal struggle, she slowly extended her hand. George's heart leapt with joy; this was exactly what he had hoped for.
He immediately grasped her hand tightly, using his other hand to struggle with his wound. In reality, he felt no pain at all; his entire focus was on Emma. Every move was meticulously planned to elicit her sympathy.
He greedily, yet cautiously, studied Emma's face, afraid to miss even the slightest change in her expression. He hoped to catch a glimpse of softness and reluctance in her eyes.
Once the wound was tended to, he still clung to her hand, refusing to let go, as if it were his only hope.
Emma sensed something was off. "You can let go now."
George pretended not to hear, still holding on tightly, as if by doing so, she wouldn't leave.
"Let go!" Emma's tone turned cold, brooking no argument.
Reluctantly, George released her hand.
Then he noticed the bloodstains on Emma's hand, the sight of which was alarming. He didn't want her to see it.
"I'll help you wash your hands," he said, filled with caution.
Emma wanted to refuse, but the thought that the sight of blood might trigger a change in her personality made her stay silent.
George gently took her hand and led her to the bathroom.
Warm water flowed over their hands, washing away the blood. His fingers softly brushed her palm, each touch sending a subtle electric current through the air, making the atmosphere feel charged.
Emma felt something she had never experienced before. George's fingers were surprisingly gentle, their touch unexpectedly comforting. She held her breath, her heart racing uncontrollably, as if it might leap out of her chest.
George focused on cleaning her hand, his eyes filled with tenderness and care, treating her as if she were the most precious thing in the world. Every movement was careful, afraid that any force might hurt her.
After washing her hands, George intended to let go, but found Emma still holding onto him, seemingly lost in a strange sensation. George's heart raced, hardly believing what was happening.
"Emma," he whispered.
Emma didn't respond, still gripping his hand tightly.
Unable to contain his joy, George pulled Emma into his arms. But just as he thought everything was going well, Emma's rationality returned.
"Let go of me!" She pushed George away, her eyes turning cold again.
George felt a deep, overwhelming coldness, as if his heart was being torn apart. He knew he had lost that fleeting chance once more.
Suppressing his pain, he began to clean the bloodstains in the bathroom and bedroom meticulously, as if erasing painful memories.
When everything was cleaned up, George carefully removed Emma's black silk scarf.
Emma saw George's face, feeling as if she had traveled through time. That familiar yet strange face carried endless complex emotions.
"Get out!" she demanded.
"Okay," George replied.
As Emma pushed George out of the room, he complied outwardly but struggled internally. As the door closed, his heart felt like it was being ripped apart. At that moment, it seemed like his entire world was collapsing.
"No," he whispered, his voice barely audible, filled with endless sorrow and despair. Each word seemed to come from the depths of his soul.
Despite being kicked out, George didn't truly leave.
He sat down carefully against the door, his body pressed tightly against it, as if this would bring him closer to Emma. He could almost feel the faint warmth on the other side, remnants of Emma's presence.
He closed his eyes, imagining Emma just beyond the door. His heart was filled with conflicting desires: he longed to be close to her, yet feared that getting too close would make her despise him even more. This contradictory emotion was like a sharp blade, constantly cutting and tearing at his heart.
"I'm right here," he whispered to himself, "right by your side." His voice trembled, carrying a hint of humility and pleading.
Inside, there was silence, as if Emma's presence was just a figment of his imagination.
But George remained steadfast, sitting outside the door, his back against the cold wood. He believed that if he waited long enough, she would eventually forgive him. This persistence bordered on obsession, surpassing the limits of rationality.
In his world, Emma was everything. Even if rejected, even if hurt, he would never give up easily. At this moment, he preferred the pain over leaving her.
So, George locked the door with a key. He couldn't let her leave, couldn't let her disappear from his sight.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, "I can't let you go."
As the key turned, Emma realized she was locked in.
The sound of the lock was like a death sentence to her freedom. She turned abruptly, pounding on the door. "George! How dare you imprison me!"
George stood outside, quietly listening to her screams and pounding. He knew she would go mad, but he had no choice. Only by keeping her locked up could he ensure she wouldn't leave.
Emma lay on the bed, feeling the suffocating air in the room. She knew George had locked her in, and the feeling of being trapped made her body tremble uncontrollably. Every breath felt like a choke on her freedom.
Exhausted, she lay back on the bed but couldn't sleep. George's cold voice echoed in her ears. "You can't escape."
The long night seemed endless. Emma stared at the ceiling, the room silent except for her trembling breaths. She knew George was just outside the door, quietly waiting, showing no sign of leaving.
At midnight, unable to bear the feeling of imprisonment any longer, she got out of bed and cautiously approached the door, using all her strength to turn the handle. The door didn't budge. She shook it forcefully, but it remained unresponsive. The lock was an impenetrable barrier.
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