Revenge Or Love ✔

Chapter 23 Arthur

Arthur POV.

Clara is taken to the hospital where James works. Fortunately, the wound isn't deep, and the doctors can treat her in time. After the sutures are completed, they transfer Clara to a ward for further observation.

The next morning, a woman with her neatly cut short hair shows up in the ward. She's Emma, James's wife. She marches into the room and immediately grabs James's ear, coldly demanding, "What's going on? Explain IT!"

The story between Clara and me is something James has not revealed to his wife Emma, so she still doesn't know.

James, tilting his head, whispers softly, "Darling, please, not here. Spare me some dignity in public... Gently, please!"

I just spent the night in the ward with Clara, and she's still asleep now. So I clear my throat and remind them of my presence with a stern face.

Then, Clara wakes up. Emma lets go of her husband's ear and approaches Clara's bed.

After a quick glance at Clara, she promptly ushers James and me out of the room, warning us not to come back in.

We step out onto the terrace, and I lean against the wall, smoking silently. James nudges me with his elbow, "What's wrong with you? You can't just drop it on me now and claim she's your true love!"

"I don't know," I say after a long silence. "Maybe it's guilt."

Do I love Clara? Impossible. Even her name was fake. She feigned innocence and affection for me, pretending to be single, but she's been married all along. She only slept with me to fund her husband's sister's medical treatment.

I instead, gave up my racing dreams for her, a decision I now find laughable.

"I can't believe you," James says, lighting a cigarette. "I'm aware that you believe all women are bad because Chloe, your first love, hurt you before. But honestly, your attitude is wrong. Despite my daily torment with my wife, overall, we're happy."

He coughs lightly and continues, "That girl is a bit pitiful, you know. She's been in and out of hospitals lately..."

Before I can respond, Emma bursts in, flipping through Clara's medical records as she strides towards me, not bothering to look up. "Hallucinations, slow thinking, communication barriers. Hysterical psychosis, severe depression. Do you want her dead, alive, or just plain crazy?"

I'm speechless, and Emma speeds up, mocking, "If you want her crazy, just dump her in a mental hospital. If you want her dead, isolate her in a room. I guarantee, within an hour, she'll grant your wish."

She pauses, her voice full of sarcasm, "If you want her alive, take her home and take good care of her."

The air grows quiet.

I stare blankly at Emma, while James gestures to her to stop talking.

Emma wrenches her hand away from James, anger evident in her voice. "I just can't understand. She slept with you and wanted money. What's the problem? Isn't that how you treated your girlfriends before? You thought you were serious this time, found out she wasn't, so you feel deceived and started tormenting her. Well, now she's in that state in the ward. Are you satisfied? Feel accomplished?"

"Did she want the stars from the sky? She just wanted money for her family's medical bills. Besides, that amount means nothing to you, right? Or do you feel you didn't have enough fun in bed with her?"

Emma continues her barrage of words like a machine gun, the air growing even quieter.

She gets angrier with every word, unable to stand my face anymore, and storms out. James hastily glances at me before hurrying after her, "Darling, don't be mad..."

I watch their retreating figures, stunned for a few seconds, then rush back to Clara's room.

Clara is lying in bed, staring blankly out the window, her eyes empty. The doctor mentioned severe self-harm tendencies, so they've tied her uninjured right hand to the bedpost to prevent her from touching her wounds.

I stand at the door, silently watching her for a moment, then approach and loosen the bandage binding her hands. Clara's fingers twitch slightly when she notices the lack of restraints, and she immediately reaches out to pull at the wound on her left wrist.

I grab her hand, raising my voice, "What the hell are you trying to do?"

She remains unresponsive, her eyes blank.

A surge of anger rises from my chest, and I sneer, "Is this your new trick? Pretend to self-harm and hope I'll let you go?"

I don't want to verbally wound the woman in front of me, but it seems I can't control myself. I've long forgotten how to speak kindly to Clara.

Her body starts to tremble slightly, her eyes flicker, finally meeting mine.

"Whatever..." She opens her mouth, her voice hoarse, "I owe you, I deserve it..."

I freeze in place.

It's as if she's resigned herself to her fate.

When I found her at her husband's grave, she still wanted to escape, still insisted she owed me nothing. Now she says she deserves it.

Isn't this what I've wanted all along? Yet I can't feel any joy now.

I lower my head, gripping her hand tightly.

The next day, Clara is discharged from the hospital, and I take her home.

She still doesn't speak. Initially, I feel irritated, but then I think, if I don't go to work and just stay home watching her, how long can she keep up the act?

After dinner, when Clara wants to rest, I grab her and wrap the gauze on her wrist with plastic wrap. Then, as she enters the bathroom, I turn downstairs to call Emma, reporting what Clara has done today.

After hearing me out, Emma asks, "Is she asleep now?"

I look at the bathroom door and say, "She's taking a shower. She'll sleep later."

"Shower? You didn't go with her?" Emma's voice rises several octaves.

I frown, "She's showering. Why should I go with her?"

Emma takes a deep breath on the other end, her voice turning cold, "Have you forgotten how she ended up in the hospital last time?"

I sprint upstairs, kicking the door. The next scene I see is Clara sitting in the bathtub, looking dazed. The plastic wrap and bandage on her left wrist are torn and thrown to the floor, revealing an unhealed wound that is now swollen and festering in the water, turning a pale pink.

She is taken to the hospital again at two in the morning.

Emma appears at the hospital, sneering, "You let a severe depressive who just attempted suicide stay alone in the bathroom to shower? Why don't you just give her a knife and let her play with it? Are you lacking intelligence, or are you doing this on purpose?"

This time, I can't say a word.

I thought Clara was trying to intimidate me by attempting suicide, hoping I'd let her go; or pretending to attempt suicide, waiting for me to relax my guard, and then escape again. But I've thought about it so much, and I never thought she really didn't want to live.