To My Surprise
"So, did you manage to down the entire bottle again?" Carl fixed his gaze on Arthur, questioning him.
"I don't know," Arthur responded nonchalantly. I shifted my eyes toward him.
"I shouldn't have to remind a doctor about the effects even a single sip of alcohol can have on your organs," Carl remarked, turning away. I stood there, stunned, watching him walk into the kitchen. Arthur stood firm, seemingly unaffected by Carl's words. He glanced briefly at me before heading towards the door and slamming it shut behind him.
Left alone, I stood there, my gaze wandering over the empty wall in front of me. I blinked, and a new image appeared in my mind—Arthur in doctor's attire, a blue overcoat paired with blue pajamas, a stethoscope draped around his neck. The revelation of his profession left me in a state of shock.
"So, Mr. Drunkard, aka Arthur, is a doctor by profession," I thought, pursing my lips to conceal the smile that threatened to emerge.
"Did you eat something?" Carl inquired.
"No, I'd like to sleep a few more hours. Plan for lunch," I replied, walking into my room and shutting the door behind me.
The raucous laughter of men in the lounge abruptly disturbed my sleep, pulling me out of my slumber. I groped for my phone, turned it on, and checked the time.
8:30 pm.
I panicked in my bed; I had slept the entire day. Hastily, I sat up and slid my feet into my bunny-face slippers.
A gathering of men was unfolding in the lounge, and I recognized only two faces among them. Carl sat on the couch, flanked by two unfamiliar men. The other familiar face was Arthur, who stood by the kitchen, leaning over the counter.
I tilted my head back, securing my hair with a scrunchie stick, and shifted it onto my wrist. In my groggy state, I walked toward the kitchen, hoping to shake off the laziness by making a cup of coffee.
Entering the kitchen, his back turned to me, I noticed all the guys in the lounge were engrossed in games and other activities. I took determined steps toward the fridge in the right corner, opening it without acknowledging him.
As I grabbed a bottle of milk and headed towards the stove, I could sense his gaze on me. Ignoring him, I focused on preparing my much-needed cup of coffee.
Engrossed in my task, I suddenly felt a sensation crawling around my waist. Reacting swiftly, I moved towards the pots piled up in a corner on the shelf and grabbed one to stir the milk on the stove.
Pouring the milk into the pot, I set it on the stove, and my attention shifted to beating the coffee in the mug. Throughout the process, I sensed the weight of his gaze lingering on me, following my every move.
'What's his problem?' I wondered, trying to shake off the discomfort. As I continued beating my coffee, the burden intensified, and I could feel him getting closer. The only part seemingly unaffected was my hands, which beat faster against the sides of the mug.
The coffee beans transformed into a fine creamy paste, and the milk began to boil. Simultaneously, a strange and exciting feeling stirred within me, like a volcano ready to erupt at any moment. Unable to bear the weight of his intense gaze, I looked towards him.
To my surprise, I found a void. Blankness covered his face entirely, leaving no space for me to decipher. His stare was fixed on me, as though I had stolen his most precious gem, and he demanded my surrender.
I became entranced by the enigmatic expression on his face.
After several attempts to decipher the meaning behind his intense gaze, I surrendered to his persistent scrutiny.
"What do you want?" I finally asked.
"Like you don't know?" a voice emanated from the void, plain, cold, and harsh.
"Yeah, I don't," I replied defiantly.
Suddenly, a hand emerged from the void, curled around my waist, and pulled me into the mysterious space.
"Really?" he said, pulling me closer. My breath became ragged, fear forming a knot in my throat.
He was proving to be a cruel doctor, and I shuddered to think how he might treat his patients—ruthless, hard, and cold.
His breath brushed my cheeks as he whispered in my ear, "C'mon."
"You were drunk, lying outside the door. I moved you aside, but you clasped my ankle, so I took you inside and laid your body on the sofa," I confessed, narrating the events of the previous night in front of him, not daring to miss a single detail and taking short breaths in between.
He released his grip on my waist, and I took a deep breath.
I anticipated gratitude, awaiting Mr. Drunkard's thanks for rescuing him the previous night. However, true to his inebriated form, he didn't bother uttering a word and simply turned around.
Not one to let him off the hook so easily, though I didn't really want to say it, my inner demons pushed me to speak up, "I can guess why she left you. What's her name? Oh, yeah. Bella."
He pivoted swiftly, his gaze narrowing. In that moment, it felt like Lucifer himself had entered his cold body. At first, I hadn't regretted saying it, until he started approaching me.
His eyes seemed devoid of emotion, yet there was something behind that cruel facade that I couldn't help but notice. My God, I regretted that moment deeply, for I had impulsively spouted words without a second thought.
How could I be so mean?
No, no, I shouldn't have said that. The regret surged within me, but the damage had already been done. There was no escaping it now; I had to face the consequences.
His stare fell heavily on me, piercing down my body, and then, silence. Not a single word escaped his mouth. The impact of his silence surpassed the damage caused by his earlier words.
He stepped closer, Lucifer in his casual attire, reaching me. There was no way to sneak out; I had to confront the devil. He stood right in front of me, his scent enveloping me, and his anguished stare robbing me of all courage to say something that might stop him, though I presumed he would.
To my surprise, he proved me wrong.