Stop looking at my scars, Kern, Vanessa thought as she awoke, trying to tug her arm away from the warm breath upon it. It wouldn't move much, it was too weak, and she was too tired to try again. The warm, wet breath continued, slow and quiet, as though his face were only inches from her shoulder. She didn't like to have him looking, again, but at least the bed was soft. It felt so soft against her skin. The slave dress wasn't there anymore, she was wearing some sort of big shirt, and her legs were naked against the sheets. Oh my, did she sleep with him to get here, to the main house? She guessed so, but didn't remember. That would've been disgusting, that toad of a man, but at least the bed was soft and she didn't have to wear the cuffs anymore.
The cuffs were gone? Surely not, but yet she couldn't feel them. Maybe she'd gotten used to them, and didn't feel them anymore.
It was getting warm, probably late morning. "I want to sleep in," she whispered. No sound came out, her throat was so dry. The words stuck in the back of her mouth, and she began to cough. She tried to roll on her side, to cough, but the muscles ached so. Coughing hurt so.
She couldn't get back to sleep, she was wide awake. Relenting to wake, she opened her eyes, slowly, wincing at the sting of the crust in her eyelashes, sealing her eyelids shut from sleep. It gave way, and she stared at the ceiling, waiting for her eyes to adjust. Water, she really wanted some water.
Kern's breathing left her shoulder and the pressure on the bed meant he was leaning over her, his hands pressing into the bed by her arm. She glanced over and attempted to see his expression. Did he want her to wake up? Just a few more minutes, she thought to herself, and some water.
He was talking but she wasn't really listening. His whispers were low and serious. She waited for him to get to the point.
His hand went to her face. She pulled away, but it hurt to pull away, and his hand tried again. A callused palm rested on her cheek, turning her head to the side, to face him. He didn't look happy.
Kern must have bleached his hair, and his acne was gone. Good for Kern, but she still didn't want him touching her.
"…please, say something…" he was mumbling, before his voice cracked. He leaned in to kiss her forehead, and as he drew away, a beam of light from the garden door dashed across his face. Knives? How did he get there? Oh, he wouldn't be very happy about Kern!
'Water,' she mouthed, and in a moment water was brought, cool, to her lips, as she was pulled into a sitting position on the bed. Gulping slowly, aching all over, she took it in until it was gone, and she was panting from the effort.
His arms folded around her and he pressed her face into his chest, tight. He smelled like dirt and sweat and Knives. The grip loosened, but he kept holding her for a moment, and she breathed hot air from him. He sat back, next to her, and reached for something. Sweet fruit, he pulled a chunk of flesh from it with his fingers, making a wet, sucking sound. It came to her mouth and she weakly let it in, to dissolve on her tongue and to swallow without chewing. More morsels came, sweet, reviving her more and more, until it was through and she could eat no more.
He was offering her other food, more water, medicine, any sort of help, "…and if you want a cat, I can find you one," but she merely smiled, feebly, and shook her head 'no' very slowly.
She didn't have to sleep with Kern, and she didn't have the cuffs on, and she wasn't a slave, and she was feeling much better, thanks, so there was no need for him to do anything else. He could go back to working in the garden if he wanted to, she thought to mention, and she would join him as soon as her legs stopped aching. Words didn't come out, because they just couldn't; she just stared at him, with a little smirk.