'Logan'
What's wrong with me? Why am I like this?
Stupid temper.
I let her do something that even some of the men had struggled to do, and I knew about her health on top of that. Yet somehow, I had forgotten about it.
How could I forget?
Even after apologizing, the guilt refused to leave me.
I should go back and say sorry again. Well... I wanted to.
Knock.
Without waiting for an answer, I opened the door and stepped inside.
She was already sound asleep.... And still wearing her wet clothes.
A living idiot.
I sighed and looked around, trying to find something she could change into. After searching for nearly a whole minute and finding absolutely nothing useful, I gave up.
I carefully removed the wet outer layers one by one, making sure not to wake her.
She was incredibly thin.
That was the first thing I noticed.
But then my eyes caught something else.
Scars.
There were marks across her small frame. Thin, uneven lines, some older than others. I slowly turned her over, wondering if there were more.
There were. Her entire back was covered in scars.
For a moment, I froze. The sight sent an unpleasant feeling through me.
It reminded me too much of myself.
"I'm tired..." she mumbled in her sleep.
Her body barely moved as she was on her back.
"I know," I quietly replied. "We're on the same page."
She didn't react.
Of course, she didn't. She was half-conscious at best. Apparently, if you exhausted her enough, even her instincts stopped working. Normally, she would have woken up the second someone entered her room.
But now? Nothing.
She didn't flinch. question my presence.
Didn't even seem aware that I was there. I pulled the blanket over her, covering her properly.
Not because I hadn't seen anything.
Because I had.
And that thought made me look away.
I wanted to ask her how she had gotten those scars. But who was I kidding?
She told me nothing about herself. So why had I ever assumed she would answer that question?
"What are you hiding?" I murmured. "And why?"
I really wanted to know.
The girl I had seen seven years ago...
I knew it was her.
The only thing I still couldn't understand was what she had been doing at the Nightingale residence. And more importantly, why was she here instead of the real Rosen Nightingale?
I hadn't known who she was back then. And somehow, after all these years, I was still just as clueless.
I couldn't even tell her that I knew. Not yet.
That birthmark of hers had given her away long ago.
I never thought I would see her again. The distance between our districts alone had made that possibility seem almost impossible.
And yet, here she was.
Right in front of me.
After all these years.
Only to have someone else in her heart.
I had loved her for years.
And what did I get?
I was still lost in thoughts of her when she suddenly shifted in her sleep. The blanket moved, exposing both of her knees.
My eyes immediately went to them.
Scratched.
Bleeding.
The sheets beneath her were already stained.
I cursed myself.
First silently.
Then internally with much more creativity. How had I not noticed?
I carefully checked her wounds. Just by looking at them, I could tell they hurt.
A lot.
How had she even managed to fall asleep with injuries like these?
I got up and left the room to find the first-aid box.
When I returned, I was greeted by an entirely new problem.
She had thrown the blanket onto the floor.
I stared at her. Then sighed.
Of course.
If anyone walked in right now, she would probably die of embarrassment. She was lying there in a well, something small and shorts, completely unaware of the danger she was putting herself in.
A heavy sleeper.
And an idiot.
A dangerous combination.
I rolled my eyes, picked up the blanket, and covered her again, leaving only her knees exposed so I could treat them.
I carefully cleaned the wounds and dressed them.
She needed something dry.
My inner shirt would do.
It was far too big for her, but at least it would keep her warm.
Putting it on her felt strangely similar to dressing a child. Not that I had ever had the privilege of doing something like that before, but I imagined this was probably close.
Once she was properly covered, I pulled the blanket over her again.
Then I stood there for a moment.
Just looking at her.
I quickly turned toward the door.
Because I knew that if I stayed any longer...
I might not want to leave at all.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I really didn't want to wake up.
My entire body was protesting against the very idea of moving. Even sitting up felt like a task designed specifically to torture me. I slowly moved my neck from side to side, searching for my phone.
There.
On the right side of the bed.
Of course it had to be just far enough for me to actually move.
With a slight struggle and a great deal of unnecessary suffering, I finally managed to grab it. I turned it on.
And screamed.
Then came the curses.
I sat up so quickly that my body immediately reminded me why that had been a terrible decision.
It was almost afternoon.
Almost afternoon.
And I was still in my room.
Then I looked down. I was wearing only a shirt.
No pants.
My brain froze.
How could I be this careless? If someone had seen me like this, I would have been done for.
Wait.
and this... This shirt wasn't mine. Panic could be felt accumulating maybe.
No, it's kicking in.
Now my mind was officially in a state of panic. So much so that I had completely forgotten about the condition of my body.
Then came another shock.
My knee wounds had been properly dressed. I stared at the bandages.
Okay.
Calm down.
There had to be a reasonable explanation.
I must have done it myself.
Yes. Think positive.
Maybe I had dressed my wounds before falling asleep. Maybe I had this shirt somewhere in my room. Maybe I had changed into it myself.
But then...
Why didn't I remember doing any of that?
And these wounds were dressed far too neatly. Too well for my expertise.
I didn't even know how to properly take care of a small cut, let alone bandage my knees like this.
So who had done all of this?
The General?
If it was him, then I suppose it didn't matter that much. He already knew I was a girl.
But what if it had been someone else?
No.
If it had been someone else, I probably wouldn't be sitting here right now. I'd either be behind bars or, considering my luck, already on my way to my own funeral.
So, logically... It had to be the general.
None of the other possibilities had happened.
Then another thought hit me.
Oh.
If it was him...
Then he had seen me like this.
And by like this, I meant without proper clothes.
Bravo, Rose.
Now I definitely won't be able to make eye contact with him.
For the time being, though, I needed to forget about all of that.
And then go meet my doom.