No Love For The Villain - Chapter 21
Mrs. Miles didn’t ask what had happened in that man’s car. It felt to Sierra as if a sin no one was accusing her of was crawling beneath her skin. Because no one asked, she had no need to make excuses, but not knowing when they might ask, she thought about it constantly.
Nothing happened. I didn’t do anything with that person.
While preparing to tell that lie at any moment, Sierra became trapped in the moment Eli had kissed her. Every time she tried to deceive herself into believing nothing had happened, that moment resurrected.
Even after washing her face, her hands, her entire body, she felt his traces wouldn’t fade. Whenever the sensation of their pressed lips and entwining tongues unexpectedly revived, her heart would sink with a thud.
The doctor Mrs. Miles brought prescribed fever reducers for Daniel. He instructed them to wash his hands and feet frequently if the fever didn’t break.
Giving the medicine was Mrs. Miles’s task; washing his hands and feet was Sierra’s.
As she washed Daniel’s feet, Sierra felt as if she had returned from a dream to reality. The dream of riding away freely in a man’s car had shattered.
This was her life, the place where her feet were rooted. The days of becoming Daniel’s wife and remaining in the Red House forever, a life of silence as if her mouth were gagged, of stillness as if her legs were lost, would continue. If she held her breath, peace would reside here, by the side of the family that was hers.
Daniel’s feet were clean, without a single blemish. She would likely have to wash these feet countless times. The mother’s precious son would become the wife’s noble husband…
Just as the impending future felt like an eternity, Sierra’s hands dropped into the cold water. Splashing droplets landed on Mrs. Miles.
Mrs. Miles sighed and dried her wet hand with a handkerchief.
“Sierra, why don’t you go and rest now.”
Mrs. Miles, her brow furrowed in a frown, seemed uncomfortable with the situation. The unspoken words between them had become thorns, making even the silence prickly and awkward.
Returning to her room, Sierra saw the window was open. The voice that had warned her in front of the open window, as if inviting anyone in, came to mind.
‘Close your window properly before you sleep.’
She didn’t believe that leaving the window open would make a stork bring a baby. But Sierra closed the window anyway. The open window reminded her of that man. The wind seemed to carry his voice, and even the cold scent of winter resembled his.
She didn’t want to remember. She lay down, but the sound of the wind hitting the windowpane persisted. It sounded like a bird pecking at the glass with its beak. A black bird trying desperately to get in…
‘Sleep well, Sierra.’
She ended up thinking of him again. Sierra covered her ears and curled up under the blankets.
She managed to fall into a shallow sleep, only to be tormented by nightmares. She dreamed of the man who would never come again.
Don’t come. Don’t ever come again. I don’t want to wait for anyone anymore. So please, don’t come.
Whenever Sierra tried to speak, he persistently kissed her, over and over again… As if demanding different words, he used his tongue to pry her lips apart.
When he searched her mouth for hidden words, lifting beneath her tongue, Sierra let out moans where words crumbled.
Don’t go.
The words she couldn’t speak became a ball of fire, growing hotter the more she swallowed them.
‘Sierra.’
Hearing Eli call her name, she opened her eyes. She exhaled hot breath under the covers.
Emerging from the blankets, Sierra walked like a sleepwalker and sat at her desk. She took out the paper hidden in the drawer. She wanted to draw something, to pour out and empty this burning emotion. It was unbearable.
She drew a line on the paper. As if praying, as if screaming, as if running wild. Her body was hot, and cold sweat dripped. Her cheeks flushed red, and her breath grew ragged.
The lines drawn by the racing pencil ultimately completed the man’s face. Her whole body pulsed before those black eyes. Her entire being screamed, simultaneously trying to forget him and to remember him.
A drop of blood fell. Sierra pinched the bridge of her nose where the blood flowed. The pooled blood trickled into her mouth, giving off a metallic scent. The lingering taste of his kiss revived.
She dropped the pencil. The sharply surging exhilaration resembled the freedom of that moment when her heart had pounded as if about to burst.
The paper, now filled with the drawing, fell from the narrow desk. It fluttered like a wing struggling to take flight, then settled at her feet.
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