Chapter 4: Collywobbles
"Well, hello," Swan greets herself in the mirror.
She looks at herself as if she were a stranger. She secretly hoped that seeing herself would help her remember who she was. She was quite naive in that regard.
She examines her features with a worried expression.
Is this really her?
She sees nothing special about herself and has no idea why Killian thought she was beautiful. She'd describe herself as ordinary. Her pale skin and hair, as well as her green eyes and sculptural features, are all cold. She's a novel's supporting character, a rough sketch, an unfinished sculpture. Someone who is shallow. That is exactly how she feels. It's as if she's a pile of blank paper with no depth. As if she didn't matter, as if she weren't important.
Is she well-liked? Does she have a family? Is there anyone looking for her or worried about her? Is anyone concerned about her disappearance? She doesn't think she has a husband because she doesn't wear a ring, but she has to belong somewhere. But where? What was she doing on the lake if she wasn't a local, anyway? Where did she come from? Will anyone look for her at all?
Her eyes become sad and her lips close. Instead, she walks to the tub, her back to the mirror. The water flows around her fingers, and the temperature is soothing. She has such a large and dense stillness within her that the sound of the water, like a fragile echo, feels quite pleasant.
She didn't use foam bath because it would remind her of the soft and dazzling white snow outside, and she craves warmth more than anything right now. She finds bath salt in a box on the edge of the tub and decides to use it instead. It imparts a soft and turquoise tint to the water, and the aroma is caressingly fresh.
She turns off the water and keeps her gaze from returning to the mirror as she undresses. She tries to focus her attention on the beige and butter-colored tiles, as well as the white furniture. She likes the bathroom because it feels homely, but she also notices that there are clothes in the dryer, towels on the rack are all different colors, and the shelf next to the mirror is stocked with various women's toiletries. The entire atmosphere is disorganized.
She carefully enters the tub and then descends gradually. It feels amazing when the water caresses her feet and then her entire body with light ruffles. Though she still feels cold, the heat seeps into her flesh, and her spirit slowly melts. She sinks fully into the tub and leans back, allowing her neck to rest on the edge. Although her knees are no longer submerged, lying in this position is far more comfortable than sitting.
She sighs deeply and closes her eyes. She doesn't remember how she used to wash, but she'll always prefer bathing to showering from now on.
Swan blinks open her eyes and stares forward, motionless, for a moment, then slowly smiles, just as a child might when daylight breaks after a night of sweaty nightmares.
She may not remember anything and may not even recognize herself, but she is in for a world of surprises. After all, she has no experience, no knowledge of life, and will be doing everything for the first time. Yes, she is terrified of losing all of her memories, but if it has already happened, why not look on the bright side? For the first time, she will be able to relive that much, even if only for a few hours or days. It has an exciting feel to it. Maybe even morbid and absurd? In any case, it's a fantastic alternative in its own peculiar, twisted way. And it's still preferable to being bitter and unhappy because nothing would change and she'd be uncomfortable in her own skin.
Tabula rasa - a clean slate.
She closes her eyes again, completely at ease. She enjoys the clean, refreshing aroma of the lavender bath salts, the caress of hot water, and the peace and quiet. She believes that the constraints, isolation, and loneliness that had imprisoned her spirit are being lifted and that millions of new opportunities and experiences are taking their place. Is she a positive person? Or is it just that her soul hasn't been crushed by disappointments and false hopes because she doesn't remember being hurt? Or, if it did happen, she doesn't recall it at the moment. She is beginning to believe that there is a benefit to this situation as well; it is simply a matter of perception.
She sits up, squirts shower gel into her palm, and scrubs herself. It feels good to wash away the astringent odors of panic as if she were cleansing herself spiritually as well as physically. The shower gel smells like cherry blossom petals in the breeze and has a lovely spring flowery scent that is silky and light.
She returns to the water and dives up to her neck but does not go any further. Despite the fact that her hair is still wet from her fall in the lake, she had previously wrapped it in a tangled bun. Her heart sinks as she imagines herself completely submerged in the water. She decides to let her hair dry, hoping that the stench of the lake will fade with it.
She pulls out the plug and stands up to find that the towel Liam had given her had been left on the washing machine, just far enough away for her to reach. She takes a cautious step out of the tub, but slips almost immediately and yells instinctively as she falls on the tiles. Her ass throbs and she tries to soften the fall with her elbow.
No, she won't be upset. It's also just a new experience, albeit not the most enjoyable one. It irritates her to be so clumsy, but she isn't seriously hurt, so it's not a big deal. She'll be fine with a little pain.
"Are you alright in there, Swan?" When she hears Killian's voice, her heart starts racing.
"Don't come in!" Her eyes widen as she yells quickly.
"But, are you okay?"
She growls, "More or less."
She notices the doorknob turning slightly.
"I'm perfectly fine!" She screams in terror.
Killian appears to be laughing at her, but she's not sure she's hearing correctly.
"Are you afraid of me?"
"No, but I'm naked, and I promised you wouldn't see me that way," she insists. She is ecstatic to have thought of such a brilliant remark on the spur of the moment, hoping to impress the man once more.
"You promised I wouldn't see you in your underwear," Killian corrects her, and she pictures the languid, one-sided smile that makes him so goddamn handsome.
She wants to respond with another witty retort, but her mind goes blank.
"Swan?"
"I don't know what to say!" She snaps unusually loud and sharp. So far, her voice has been quieter and more kind, and she had no idea it could sound like this.
This time, he makes no attempt to suppress his laughter. What a pretty sound. Swan's lips twist up as she tries in vain to hide her own smile. Even if it's at her own expense, it feels good to smile.
She stands up, takes the towel from the washing machine, and wraps it around herself. She tucks one of the tips above her chest to keep it from falling off, only to discover that she has slashed the edge of her palm.
"You know, you're quite special," Killian says abruptly, his voice soft.
Swan approaches the door, her injured hand forgotten. It's strange to have a conversation with him in this manner. He appears to be both close to and far away from her. The door gives her just enough space to give the impression that Killian isn't really there. It's almost as if she's dreaming, and it's much easier for her to be honest with him - maybe Killian feels the same way, or else why would he tell her something like this after only teasing her so far?
"Why?" She inquires with genuine interest.
"Well, I know a lot of women-"
"How am I not surprised?" Swan speaks up, then covers her mouth with her hand in alarm. She shouldn't have said that and what's with the flutter in her stomach?
Killian laughs again, and she smiles with him. She has unusual reactions to this man. He either turns her into a prickly cactus or a blushing schoolgirl in a few sentences. Which of these is her true self? Is she a different person entirely? What if she won't ever remember?
"See? You're not afraid to make a quick retort, but you sometimes blush like an innocent virgin."
Swan's face flushes again, but this time not from his comments, but because she had the same thought but from a different angle.
"I think it's because you, the real you, know what it's like to be disappointed, to be hurt," he continues, as if he's lost track of time. "You must be the type of lass who hides behind a mask every day so that no one can hurt her. Now, this duality exists within you; sometimes the true you emerge, but Swan is also present, unaware of what she needs to protect herself from due to a lack of memories."
Swan murmurs, "Definitely from you." For some reason, this makes her unhappy because Killian mysteriously draws her to him. Is this because he rescued her? Is it possible that she subconsciously regards him as a hero?
"How old do you think I am?"
"Somewhere between twenty-five and thirty, I'd wager."
She has 25 to 30 years of memories buried in her mind. But what if Killian is correct about her memories revealing her true identity? What if she fortified herself so that no one could approach her?
This is a fantastic opportunity to change, she thinks, slightly raising her chin. She doesn't want to be a woman who is afraid of life; instead, she wants to be a woman who freely enjoys it - and she will.
"How old are you?" She inquires, intrigued.
"I'll be 38 next year."
"In that case," she jokes, "I'm not sure why you call me a lass," and his soft laughter softly melts her heart.
It's time for her to get dressed, but she remains motionless. Something reassuringly intimate is going on on either side of the door right now, and she's glad she found out more about Killian. It's nothing ground-breaking, but the man appears so distant and mysterious that it's a minor miracle he didn't respond with a mocking remark or counter-question.
She feels a small pinch on her hand and recalls the scratch on her palm. Despite the fact that it doesn't bleed much, she manages to slightly smear the towel.
"Do you have a band-aid or something?"
She doesn't want to bleed on the borrowed clothes.
"What happened?" Killian's voice is tense, and he's already yanking on the doorknob, but Swan closes her hand around the knob to stop him.
"Please don't come on! I'm still not dressed."
"I've seen you almost naked and assisted you in getting dressed before; do you think seeing you in a towel will be any different?"
"I'm not sure," she admits, taking a step back from the door. He is, after all, only concerned with her, and he is correct.
When Killian walks into the bathroom, his presence fills the room. Swan is startled by the unsettling bite of sweetly bouncing sparks all over her body. She wonders if he, too, is taken aback by this strange and perplexing sensation being so close to her.
She feels Killian's gaze breathe incandescent heat into her flesh despite the fact that his face is blank and he says nothing.
"So, is it any different ?" Despite the slight trembling in her voice, she believes she managed to sound confident and sarcastic.
She swears she can hear flames hissing as he looks into her eyes, then realizes that the attraction has nothing to do with how well two people know each other or what they look like, because what she feels must come from somewhere deeper, or it wouldn't be this overwhelming. Is she the only one who feels this way? Killian is most likely unaware of the storm raging within her.
"Where do you need the bandage applied?" Killian simply asks instead of responding.
Swan lets go of the towel and extends her hand to him. Killian's gaze lingers for a moment over her breast, right where she's tucked in the corner of the towel, but he quickly takes her hand in his.
Killian is only a few inches taller than she is, but he makes her feel vulnerable. Perhaps because his arms and chest muscles show through his unbuttoned shirt and his shoulders are so broad... She looks away, concerned. Is he even aware of the concept of buttons? He changed out of his sweatpants and into a pair of tight black jeans that hang low on his hips, emphasizing his waist. She has no idea where to look to avoid blushing again, and the only safe bets are his hand and prosthetic.
She's interested in what happened to his left hand.
Her tiny hand is nearly completely engulfed in his. His hand is strong, with long, thin fingers and rings that appear masculine, devoid of any softness or lightness. Swan's legs tremble helplessly as he smoothes his fingers over her skin and moves her hand to the side to better see the wound.
Killian abruptly releases her hand and walks over to the shelf next to the mirror. He finds the band-aid package after a quick search and places it on the rim of the sink before removing a towel and lightly dampening it. He takes a step back, places her hand on his prosthetic, and uses his other hand to gently wipe the blood from her skin. Swan is aware that she could have done it herself, but it makes her happy that he looks after her.
She isn't a damsel in distress, nor does she believe she ever was, but it still feels good.
Killian has an adorable crease between his brows as he cleans her hand with touching thoroughness. Is he doing everything with such care and devotion?
Swan's gaze is drawn to his mouth as he asks softly, "What happened?"
"I slipped and fell," she admits hesitantly.
"Are you in pain elsewhere?"
Swan is lowers her gaze. Yes, she's blushing again.
"I hit my butt a little, but I'll be fine." She is attempting to sound casual, but she does not believe she has succeeded.
"Would you like me to look at that too, just in case?" Despite the cheeky smile on his lips, her heart skips a beat.
"In your dreams, buddy," she says calmly, but the mental image continues to appear in her mind. She can feel her face getting hotter and hotter until she's sure it resembles a fully cooked crab. She won't look him in the eyes for fear of inadvertently revealing her thoughts.
Killian releases her hand once more, returns to the sink, places the blood-stained towel on the counter, and then pulls a band-aid from a narrow box.
Swan is taken aback when she notices her hands shaking as she waits for him.
Killian smoothes the bandage over her skin gently, as if he's afraid a stronger movement will break her. When he's finished, he doesn't let go of her hand right away; instead, he smooths the center of her palm by running his thumb over the patch's light brown surface. He touches her involuntarily, as if it were a well-practiced movement. Her body is being bombarded with lightning strikes.
"Thank you," she says quietly, not sure why she's whispering.
"No problem," he says quietly, holding her hand and drawing lazy circles with his finger on her skin.
Swan raises her head and meets Killian's gaze. His eyes are molten mercury, as if he wants to swallow her whole. She's certain that the intensity with which he stares at her is causing her dizziness. She unintentionally licks her lips, but as she does so, she realizes how much her body craves a kiss.
What would it be like? What would happen if those full, pink lips brushed up against hers? What would he taste like?
Swan's chest moves up and down dramatically.
She's not sure how she got so close to him, but the warmth radiating from his body entices her to get even closer. The man's closeness fills her entire being; his scent creeps into her nose and sends a soft shiver through her body. She'd smelled it before on the quilt she was wrapped in. She wished to be surrounded by the scent then too.
Killian makes no sound or move, he doesn't even blink. What is he thinking at the moment? Is it possible he's also considering kissing her?
This would be her first kiss in her new life. She must have kissed before, but she has no memory of how it felt. She imagines it to be thrilling and dizzying. She's certain it would be like that if Killian kissed her. Is it such a heinous crime that she is concerned about how it would feel? After all, she's probably close to thirty years old and has no idea what it's like to kiss at this point, if she interprets it that way.
But is it right to crave it? She'd only just met him. But she can kiss anyone, right? Or would she become promiscuous as a result? I f so, does it really matter? What is it about Killian that she finds so appealing? Would she like him if she hadn't forgotten her past? Is it really that important that she lost her memories?
"I think..." she swallows . "I can manage on my own now."
Scaredy cat, s he scolds herself angrily, but she doesn't say anything else to contradict herself. She is can't exactly to say: "Oh, kiss me now, I want to know how it feels."
"Are you certain?" Killian inquires, his head slightly tilted to one side.
"Yes."
He nods, then takes a deep breath, lets go of her hand, and takes a step back. He's still staring at her, frozen in time, but a half-smile appears in the corner of his mouth. He shakes his head and walks out of the bathroom, almost as if fleeing. He closes the door behind him.
Swan shuts her eyes. She regrets everything that could have happened, but she believes it was all for the best. She has no idea who he is, has only known him for a few hours, and kissing him would have been extremely frivolous, no matter how hard she convinces herself that she can trust him. Yes, it's better this way. Or, at the very least, she wants to believe it.
She shakes her head almost identically to Killian before rubbing herself dry with the towel despite being barely wet, and putting on the clothes left in the washing machine.
She comes to a halt in the doorway as she prepares to leave the bathroom. Killian is somewhere out there. She cannot, however, stay here indefinitely. She has to walk out of the bathroom, no matter how special the moment was, and act as if nothing had happened—because nothing had happened. She tells herself that taking deep breaths will help. She needs to concentrate on her new life, its experiences and small discoveries, rather than what's going on inside Killian's head or whether or not he wants to kiss her.
She nods to herself and walks out of the bathroom, but she freezes when she sees him. Killian has buttoned his black shirt and donned a vest, and she knows she shouldn't be disappointed, but she is.
"Oh," she says as she notices him, and as soon as she realizes that her "oh" was a loud "oh," she wishes she could run back to the bathroom and hide for the rest of the time.
"Was it a relieved or disappointed 'oh'?" Killian smiles, clearly amused by her out-of-control reaction.
Swan gives a sheepish grin. "I'm not sure."
His gaze caresses her from her brow to her toes. "If it's any consolation, I'm in the same boat."
"Really?"
"Aye."
She examines his face, but it is expressionless, making it difficult to discern anything but somehow she knows he's telling the truth. Swan has no idea how Killian can think of her in that way; there is no vanity, deception, or flattery here, and she would not claim to be beautiful if asked.
"You know, you don't have to say things like that to make me feel better," she quips, still perplexed that he finds her attractive. He may be attracted to her, but not because she is so stunningly beautiful.
"I'm not sure I understand," Killian says, shaking his head and furrowing his brow.
"Well, I'm not that pretty," Swan shrugs, her tone suggesting she's simply stating the obvious.
Killian's lips form a half-smile. "Of course you are. Besides, beauty is a subjective concept."
What exactly does he mean by that? Is he truly smitten with her? Is she beautiful in his eyes because he thinks she's 'quite special'? Maybe from entertaining him?
She's only been "living" for a few hours, but she already knows that men are incredibly complicated, at least this one.
Killian abruptly turns and walks into one of the rooms.
"Where are you going?" Swan asks, almost alarmed, which makes her angry with herself. She shouldn't be so desperate for his company.
"Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere; I'll just bring you a sock."
Swan's gaze is drawn to him. His words reverberate in her mind, and a warm glow spreads through her heart.
Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere...
collywobbles
(n.) ;butterflies in stomach