Chapter 523 Fever
Emma was gently placed on the bed, the waterbed swaying slightly under her weight, making her even more dizzy. She struggled to open her eyes and saw George fumbling to get a thermometer from the first aid kit.
"Open your mouth," he said.
Emma obediently opened her mouth, and the thermometer was gently placed under her tongue. George's fingers brushed against her lips, causing both of them to shiver slightly.
"102.6 degrees Fahrenheit," the electronic thermometer announced moments later. George frowned deeply. "I need to get some medicine."
"No," Emma struggled to sit up, "your eyesight..."
"Stop it," George cut her off, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Lie down."
He turned and grabbed his cane, moving swiftly towards the door. Emma watched his tall figure, feeling a mix of bitterness and sweetness. Even though he said he wanted to push her away, his actions always showed his concern for her.
In the hotel hallway, George's cane tapped the floor as he walked steadily. Despite his blindness, his sense of his surroundings was strong, and he quickly found the elevator.
"Do you need help, sir?" the receptionist asked, seeing a blind man alone.
"I need fever medicine," George said curtly, "and cooling patches."
"Alright, please wait a moment." The receptionist quickly retrieved the items. "Would you like me to bring them up for you?"
"No need," George declined firmly, paid, and turned to leave.
The receptionist watched him walk away and muttered softly, "What a strange man."
Back in the room, George navigated around all obstacles and went straight to the bed. Emma was already burning with fever, her cheeks flushed, and her forehead covered in sweat.
"Take your medicine," he said, lifting her upper body and bringing the pills to her mouth.
Emma groggily swallowed the pills and was given a few sips of water. The cool water soothed her throat, and she sighed in relief.
"Thanks," she said weakly.
George didn't respond. He awkwardly tore open the cooling patch and carefully placed it on her forehead. His fingers accidentally brushed her hair, and he quickly pulled back as if shocked.
"Sleep," he said, turning to leave.
"Don't go," Emma instinctively grabbed his sleeve, her voice trembling with fear, "I'm scared."
George's back stiffened. After a moment, he sighed and sat down in the chair by the bed. "I won't leave."
As night deepened, the room was filled only with Emma's faint breathing and the ticking of the clock. George sat motionless in the chair, like a statue.
"Water," Emma murmured in her sleep.
George immediately got up, carefully poured a glass of warm water, and gently lifted her head to help her drink. Water trickled down her mouth, and he wiped it away with a handkerchief.
"George," Emma called his name unconsciously, her voice soft as a feather brushing against his heart.
George's fingers trembled slightly. He forced himself to pull back and sat down again. In the darkness, he couldn't see Emma's face but could clearly hear her every breath and feel her every movement.
Time passed slowly, and George's eyelids grew heavier. He hadn't rested properly for days, and exhaustion washed over him like a tide.
Just as he was about to fall asleep, a sudden knock on the door startled him awake.
George stood up cautiously and walked quietly to the door. "Who is it?"
"Michael Russell," a stern voice replied from outside.
George's expression darkened instantly. He hesitated for a moment but opened the door.
Michael stood in the doorway, dressed in a black trench coat, his gaze sharp as a knife. He looked past George's shoulder and saw Emma sleeping on the bed, his eyes immediately turning dangerous.
"What did you do to her?" Michael demanded in a low voice.
"None of your business," George blocked the doorway, refusing to budge.
Michael sneered. "Didn't you hurt her enough three years ago? Now you're bothering her again?"
George's fingers tightened around his cane, his knuckles turning white. "Get out."
"The one who should leave is you," Michael pushed him aside and strode towards the bed. "Emma, wake up. I'm taking you home."
Emma groggily opened her eyes. "Michael?"
"It's me," Michael said gently, helping her sit up. "You have a fever. I'm taking you to the doctor."
"How's George?" Emma, delirious with fever, was still worried about George. She weakly grabbed Michael's sleeve, her voice barely audible. "He's still hurt."
Michael's movements paused, a shadow passing over his eyes. He suppressed his jealousy and replied gruffly, "He's fine. Don't worry about him."
He roughly scooped Emma up, his actions a stark contrast to George's earlier gentleness. Emma whimpered in discomfort but was too weak to resist, leaning limply against him.
Michael carried her towards the door, deliberately slowing down as he passed George. "Remember your place. What right does a blind man have to compete with me?"
George's fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles cracking softly. He couldn't see Michael's smug expression, but could feel the taunting and contempt in his words.
"Emma needs professional medical care," George said hoarsely, struggling to keep his anger in check. "Don't delay her treatment."
"Stop pretending to be the good guy," Michael sneered. "If it weren't for you three years ago..."
"Michael," Emma interrupted, squirming uncomfortably in his arms. "I feel awful."
Michael immediately softened his tone. "Hang in there. We're going home."
He carried Emma out, slamming the door behind him. The deafening sound echoed in the empty room, like a heavy blow to George's heart.
The room suddenly became eerily quiet.
George stood still, Emma's faint moans and Michael's departing footsteps still ringing in his ears. He slowly walked back to the bed, his fingers brushing over the sheets that still held her warmth.
The air was filled with her faint jasmine scent, mixed with the bitter smell of fever medicine. George took a deep breath, as if trying to etch the scent into his memory forever.
He lay down where Emma had been, burying his face in the pillow. The soft fabric still carried the feel of her hair, reminding him of the nights they had spent together three years ago.
"Emma," he whispered, his voice filled with longing and pain.
Whether it was psychological or he had really caught her fever, George suddenly felt dizzy. His forehead was burning, his breathing became labored, yet all he could see was an eternal darkness.
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