Love Unspoken

With a sense of reluctance, Quinn pressed her hands against the cold, unforgiving ground, her eyes reluctantly meeting the man's.

The wound on her wrist throbbed mercilessly, fresh blood seeping through the hastily applied bandage. The pain was so intense that it caused her hands to tremble uncontrollably.

"Do you remember now?" The man squatted down in front of her, a chilling smile playing on his lips. Quinn's breath hitched, her gaze flickering uncertainly, a mixture of pain and fear clouding her eyes.

Tears welled up, threatening to spill over. For a few agonizing seconds, she held his gaze, her strength waning.

Unable to support herself any longer, her body went limp. But before she could collapse, he roughly grabbed her hair, hoisting her back up.

The sensation was akin to her scalp being torn off. A pained and helpless expression etched itself onto her face as she stared blankly at the man.

Walter met her gaze, an eyebrow raised in amusement. He then loosened his grip on her hair, letting her fall to the ground. Instinctively, she tried to brace her fall with her hand, but the moment her palm hit the floor, a searing pain shot through her limbs, her vision momentarily going black.

She clutched her injured wrist, curling up on the ground in agony. Walter sighed, his gaze lingering on the frail figure curled up on the ground.

Quinn lay there, her back to him, her shoulders trembling with fear and pain. Ignoring her obvious discomfort, he reached out and placed his fingers on her shoulder. She stiffened at his touch, her trembling intensifying.

Unfazed by her reaction, Walter hoisted her up by her shoulders, carrying her to the couch. The moment she felt the couch beneath her, Quinn instinctively curled up again. Walter, seemingly indifferent to her distress, turned and disappeared into the house.

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He returned shortly, a first aid kit in hand. He squatted down in front of her, extending his hand towards her. "Give me your hand," he commanded.

Quinn stared at him, her gaze flickering with fear. She tried to curl up tighter, as if trying to make herself smaller would somehow make her safer. Her face was a mask of helplessness. "Do you want to get hit again?" Walter threatened. At his words, Quinn trembled, biting her lip in fear. Finally, she gave in, slowly extending her injured hand towards him.

The gauze that Soren had previously applied was now stained a dark red, the strong scent of medicine mingling with the coppery smell of blood.

Walter discarded the blood-soaked gauze, cleaning the wound with a cotton swab before applying medicine and wrapping it with a fresh bandage.

His movements were gentle, almost tender, a stark contrast to his earlier brutality. Throughout the process, Quinn remained tense, her gaze fixed on the man in front of her. He was impeccably groomed, his demeanor non-threatening, almost gentle.

Yet, despite his outward appearance, Quinn was terrified of him. It wasn't just because he had hit her, but also because of the fear that had been instilled in her the moment he walked in. It was a fear that seemed to be etched into her very bones, branded deep into her soul.

After he finished bandaging her, Walter held her hand, studying it intently. It was unclear whether he was admiring her hand or the wound he had just dressed.

He looked up at Quinn, a light smile on his face. "Now that you've caught this illness, do you need someone to take care of you?" A sense of foreboding washed over Quinn at his words. He continued, "How about I come and visit you every day? I will make sure you remember me." Quinn couldn't shake the feeling that his promise to "visit" was a thinly veiled threat to bring her misery every day.