CHAPTER 13: Your Hand
(Betty's POV)
"What are you doing to me?"
I whisper the words to the empty kitchen.
No one answers.
The coffee mug is warm in my hands. Black. No sugar. Just how I like it.
He noticed.
I do not know what to do with that.
I hear movement in the living room.
I walk out of the kitchen.
Adrain is sitting on the couch. His shirt is off. The bandage on his side is loose. Peeling at the edges.
He looks up at me.
"It needs changing," he says.
I nod.
I grab my medical kit. I sit on the floor across from him. Like always.
He watches me as I open the kit.
I peel back the old bandage.
The wound is healing. Slow. But healing. The skin around the stitches is red but not swollen.
I reach for the antiseptic.
My fingers brush his skin.
He goes still.
I go still.
Neither of us moves.
His stomach is warm under my hand. I can feel his muscles tense.
I should pull away.
I do not.
He looks at me. His dark eyes. Unreadable.
"Betty," he says.
"What?"
"Your hand."
I look down.
My hand is flat against his stomach. Right above the wound.
I am not cleaning it. I am not checking the stitches.
I am just touching him.
I pull away.
My face is warm.
"Sorry," I mutter.
He says nothing.
I clean the wound. Fast. Focused. I do not look at his face.
I apply a fresh bandage. My fingers are steady now. Doctor hands. Not whatever they were before.
"There," I say. "Done."
I stand up.
He catches my wrist.
I freeze.
His fingers are wrapped around my skin. Not tight. Just there.
"Adrain."
"You touched me," he says.
"You are my patient."
"That is not why."
I look at him.
He is right.
I pull my wrist away.
"I am going to make lunch," I say.
"Betty."
I walk to the kitchen.
I can feel him watching me.
My hands are shaking.
I grip the counter.
I do not know what that was. I do not know why I touched him like that.
He is a stranger. A criminal. My husband on paper only.
But his skin was warm.
And I wanted to keep my hand there.
That is dangerous.
Not because he is dangerous.
Because I am starting to forget that he is.