Chapter 68: Chapter 66

Song: 'Cut' by Plumb

I'm not a stranger

No, I am yours

With crippled anger

And tears that still drip sore

A fragile flame aged

With misery

And when our eyes meet

I know you'll see

I do not want to be afraid

I do not want to die inside just to breathe in

I'm tired of feeling so numb

Relief exists I find it when

I am cut

........................................................................

ELIJAH’S POV

“See, now, this is what I was talking about, Marge. This is your potential. Good work." I subtly complimented her for the design she came up with just over the weekend. I’m usually not so generous with my compliments, especially with my employees, but Margaret is different and very angry at the moment.

She’s the best person for the job; I can’t imagine her losing to the company. Our rivals can benefit a lot someday if she decides to join them.

But more than being a star employee, she’s a dear friend, one of the very few.

“Are you sure you like it?” Her question was rather a taunt that I chose to ignore.

“Of course, this is what we stand for. Innovative designs are par excellence. We can definitely run with this; we’re on to a good start, Marge; there’s no better person than you to get a job done.” I tried my best to soften her up, but she didn’t budge.

“Really? Because this is not my design, Mr. Norman,” she hardly ever calls me that, almost never.

“What, whose is it then?” If not hers, then whose?

“Hannah’s,” she said, her eyes scrutinizing me and her unflinching expressions challenging me to go back on my words.

“You’re not serious, are you?” How can she do it? Especially after that day.

She said nothing; she just showed me her email sent at 4:51 a.m. today.

Did she stay awake all night?

I know she didn’t sleep during the weekdays either because of the presentation.

“Ah, and before I forget,” she said, opening her table’s drawer. “She sent this, too," and she handed me an envelope.

“What is this?” I asked nonchalantly as I proceeded to open it.

“Her resignation letter.” My hands stopped midway, and my eyes shot up at her. She nodded in confirmation, gauging my reaction with hawk eyes.

My heart dropped. I opened the letter just to be sure, and indeed, it was her resignation.

Fuck!

“Where is she?” I maintained my stoic expression, unreadable as always as I clenched at the paper hard in my palm.

“I don’t know; she didn’t come today,” she shrugged. “This is the first time in all these months that she has taken an off; I don’t blame her though.”

Is she alright?

“But congratulations to you, though; you did it,” she applauded. I looked at her to explain what she meant. “You completed the task yourself that I failed to do; you wanted me to wreak her and fuck her up. It turned out you were capable of doing it all along,” she said sarcastically, not hiding her bitterness.

“You know I didn’t mean anything I said to you that day, right?” I asked after a long pause.

“I can see you’re stressed; it was so unlike you, Elijah,” she huffed with sadness. “What’s going on in your head? I might have an idea why, though,” she said with determination.

“No, I’m alright, I just...”

“Yeah, right,” she said, rolling her eyes before I could deny her claims.

“Don’t worry about me, Marge; I can handle it. But I’m sorry,” I said earnestly.

“Well, that’s a first, you saying sorry,” she wondered. “It’s okay, but it’s someone else you should say sorry to,” she said genuinely this time.

After a few seconds of complete silence, I walked out of her office without answering her.

“And, yes, I will take a 20 percent raise as an apology, thank you.” I can hear her smiling as she shouted it out.

“Make that 10, Marge,” I agreed without turning back.

………………………………………………………

“Hannah,” I knocked on the door of her room.

Her cell phone was still out of reach. After getting confirmation from security that she never left the house, I came home to check on her. I was not drunk this time.

I knocked on her door and called her name a couple more times but to no avail. On instinct, I twisted the door knob and surprisingly it was unlocked.

I entered her room, and it was pitch black even at noon; the curtains were still drawn, and the table lamp lights were out too. My eyes took a few seconds to adjust to seeing in the darkness; dim sunlight escaping through the curtains helped with clearer vision.

I looked around, and she was nowhere to be found until I noticed a slight bulge on her bed where the blanket was sprawled.

I switched the night lamp on, and there she was, hidden under the pile of her blanket, her body covered with it from head to toe. She's so dainty that she can be easily overlooked under there, and no one would even know she’s in the room.

I removed the blanket from her a little and saw her curled up in her pajama shorts; her hair was tangled and slightly damp.

I sat down next to her and admired her sleeping calmly with her mouth a little ajar. Does she always sleep with her mouth a little open?

Why am I admiring, though?

She looked much better than she did the last time I was in her room; the swollenness of her face was gone, and her skin didn’t look as pale. I moved her hair aside, and that’s when I felt.

Her body is very hot.

Hot, not in that sense; I mean, maybe in that sense, too, but right now I’m talking about her body temperature. I checked her forehead, then her neck, and yes, it’s burning up.

“Hannah.” I shook her a little, but she didn’t wake up.

“Hannah, wake up.” I did the same, but she still didn’t budge at all.

“Hey, come on, wake up, Hannah.” My voice panicked. I shook her a little harshly this time and patted her cheeks. She moved a little this time but still didn’t open her eyes.

Shit, she’s been sick for who knows how long that she’s become unresponsive, almost like she’s unconscious.

She worked all weekend for that damn design, and I know for a fact that she didn’t sleep either—not much, at least. I shouldn’t have left that day knowing she was not okay.

Yeah, like, you would’ve been the first person she would've reached out to in her sickness.

I decided to try one more time, and if she doesn’t wake up now, I’m taking her to the hospital.

“Hannah, can you hear me? Hey, wake up, please.” I picked up the water bottle from her side table and sprinkled some water on her with my hands.

She fluttered her eyes weekly. Yes, this is working! I did the same thing as before but with a little more water this time.

“What the fuck!" She gasped and blinked her eyes open. It took her a few seconds to register that I was sitting on her bed. “What are you doing here?” Her gaze hardened with anger.

She tried clutching onto her blanket but didn’t find it. She looked around to realize it was I who removed it from her. She sat right up. A look of horror passed through her eyes, and they widened.

“It’s not what you’re thinking,” I stated calmly. “You weren’t picking up your phone, and your door was open, so I came in to check up on you,” I said the last part in a much lower voice, embarrassed at my confession.

“Check up on me?” She raised her eyebrows for an explanation.

I could see glimpses of her old self, and it relaxed me.

You like her when she's feisty, don’t you?

“I was trying to wake you up,” I answered honestly.

“Like this?” she said, wiping her drenched face.

“I thought you were...”

“Dead?” She cut me off sarcastically. “You wish,” she said, throwing daggers at me. “Or were you here to kill me?” She squinted her eyes. I gave her a look that said 'seriously’ and she shrugged in response as if it were an actual possibility.

“Hannah, you’re burning up in fever.” I tried diverting her attention to the matter at hand.

“I know, now get out,” she said harshly. I clenched my fist to control my temper.

Just because she’s angry doesn’t mean she can talk like that to me.

Oh, so you can’t insult someone when you’re angry? Right, noted

I ignored her retort; I let it go because she was ill.

“I can take you to the hospital.” She took the blanket and tried covering herself up again, probably because of the cold, but I held it back, stopping her.

“Don’t act concerned when you’re not. I’m fine,” she snatched it away anyway and covered herself like before, from head to toe.

“You're not. You have a high fever,” I said as a matter of fact.

“I can manage on my own. Nothing that I haven’t cured before myself,” she mumbled from inside her blanket. “Now, get out.”

This girl can push my buttons even when she’s sick.

I left her room and was about to leave the house when something struck me.

What does she mean she can cure herself? Does no one take care of her when she’s ill?

Nah, she’s quite spoilt; she must’ve had everyone up and about to give her a princess treatment.

But there’s no one here to take care of her; I don’t have the house staff here either all the time since I hardly need them and am rarely home.

How would she cook for herself while she’s burning up with a fever?

I’ve hardly ever seen her cook, even in her absolute state.

Does she not know how to cook?

As I said, she’s spoiled.

I went to the kitchen and quickly made a healthy chicken and vegetable soup for her, put some medicines for her in a tray, knocked on her door, and waited this time. When she didn’t open it after a few seconds I left it on her doorstep and went back to the office.

........................................................................

Author's note:

How did you like this chapter?

Hannah has resigned and it's not settling well with him.

Did she do the right thing?

Is Hannah right to not melt at Elijah's vague but caring gestures and keep him at arm's length?

Can he see how lonely she is even when she's sick?

P.S. I didn't want him to go all panicky because it's not him and his feelings for her are still not too developed or at least he doesn't realize it.

Guys, please vote and comment as it helps me with reach and your feedback helps my writing too.

I'd love to hear your thoughts and suggestions.

Much love