No Love For The Villain - Chapter 41
From far away, from the place she had left behind, the sound of prayer echoed faintly in her head like a hallucination.
Breathless and overwhelmed, Sierra leaned against Eli’s chest.
His shirt had fallen open, his bare chest clearly carrying the steady thrum of his heartbeat.
Unlike her own heart, beating painfully hard, his was calm and even.
In her muffled ears, only the sound of his heartbeat remained.
The prayer was gone.
Eli quietly held her.
He stayed like that until Sierra shed all the tears she had kept buried for so long.
The man who had held her through a breaking fever also held all the sobs she had suppressed.
Leaning against Eli and crying, Sierra finally understood what she had wanted.
She wanted his embrace—an embrace where she didn’t need to hide anything.
One that accepted her shabby parts, even her worn-out emotions.
She had only ever fallen sick beside the man who cared for her fever, only ever been sad beside the man who caught her tears, only ever felt alive beside the man who made her heart beat.
Sierra rested her ear on Eli’s chest.
The low, soothing resonance that calmed her heart sounded almost like music. Music called freedom. Sierra thought of jazz.
“…My heart is beating.”
Sierra murmured.
“Like a piano…”
The beautiful sound of a piano—the melody she had wanted to hear endlessly—resembled the sound of his heartbeat.
Eli’s hand rose to her neck.
His damp fingertips pressed gently against the place where her pulse throbbed.
“Your heart’s beating too.”
Meeting Eli’s eyes, Sierra felt her pulse grow even stronger.
All the clamor in her chest would be transmitted straight into him.
“It’s too loud to be a piano…”
As Eli withdrew his hand, he kissed Sierra’s neck.
“Then like a saxophone.”
His lips traveled up her neckline and left a kiss on her tear-dampened chin.
Sierra, who had been sitting dazed on Eli’s thigh, was lifted and placed on the bed.
After settling her against the headboard, Eli checked the watch on his wrist.
“Don’t go anywhere. Stay right here.”
He spoke like a man who had somewhere he needed to be.
When Sierra weakly moved the legs that had gone limp, a pencil rolled across the blanket.
Just as the sharp tip was about to prick her calf, Eli snatched the pencil up.
His gaze lingered on Sierra’s legs.
Realizing he was looking at the wounds on her knees—the marks from where glass had cut her—Sierra drew her knees into her arms.
“How long do I wait?”
“Well…”
Eli placed the pencil on the nightstand and gathered his gloves.
He fell silent, judging the time.
“About thirty minutes.”
Instead of putting the gloves on, he set them down on Sierra’s knees.
“You can stay by yourself that long, right?”
He spoke to her like someone speaking to a child who couldn’t be left alone.
“I’m used to being alone.”
Sierra answered, clutching one of Eli’s gloves.
Waiting was something she was good at.
“Just come back.”
Their eyes met for a long moment.
After quietly looking down at her, Eli took the jacket hanging over the chair.
“Fifteen minutes.”
The waiting time had shortened.
Eli slipped into his jacket and walked past the bed.
The back of the man leaving the room grew distant.
The door closed.
Left alone, Sierra curled into herself—still unable to let go of the single glove he had left behind.
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