Chapter 7: Bruise that Runs Deeper

Chloe's Point of View

By the time I got home that evening, my body felt as though it had been put through a grinder. Every step up to my room was a chore, the dull pain in my arm only increasing as I clutched the railing for support. My mind reeled from the day's events, Jonathan's coldness, and the weight of our fake marriage. It felt like day in and day out, I was doing absolutely everything in my power to press through the pain and disappointment with no end in sight.

The moment I stepped through the door, I dropped my bag and headed to my room. I needed a minute. Just one minute where I didn't have to hold everything together. As soon as I collapsed onto the bed, the relief was instant-but short-lived. The bruise on my arm throbbed with a reminder once more of exactly how much I was concealing, not just the physical pain of it all, but the emotional toll of the same.

I had barely gotten into the bed when I heard the knock on the door. Before I could even say anything, a doctor entered my room, with a small bag in his hand.

"I'm Dr. Hayes," he said; his voice was polite, yet professional. "Jonathan sent me to check on your injury."

Of course, Jonathan wouldn't bother asking me if I needed help; he would just send someone to fix the problem, as he always did. I sat up more slowly, cradling my bruised arm as Dr. Hayes took a closer look at it. He put a cold compress on and some ointment; his hands were quick and efficient.

It's going to be sore for a few days, but with the right care, it should heal fine," he said, finishing up and packing away his supplies. "Jonathan insisted I leave these with you-painkillers, in case it gets worse."

I nodded, not really listening as he handed me the medication. My mind was too consumed by the fact that Jonathan cared enough to send a doctor but couldn't even be bothered to show any concern himself. When he was gone, I leaned back against the pillows with the cool compress on my skin.

I closed my eyes and wished for some kind of harmless sleep to overtake me, when the creaky door swung open again. I looked up, and there he was: Jonathan with a tray of food. The suit jacket was off and his sleeves rolled to the elbow; most precisely, though, that tension in his face had not adjusted. The silence while he stiffly set the tray down on a little table beside my bed was mechanical.

Eat," he said shortly, barely even glancing at me as he pulled up a chair beside the bed. I stared at him a moment, trying to gauge his mood, but his expression was the same as always-cold, detached, like nothing had happened between us.

I sat up, wincing at the pull in my arm, and reached for the plate of food. As I ate, the silence stretched between us thick and suffocating. I didn't know whether to thank him or to throw the plate across the room. He had sent a doctor, brought me food, but it was all wrapped in that same arrogant, indifferent attitude that left me feeling smaller than ever.

"Why did you send the doctor?" I asked, my voice breaking the quiet.

Jonathan didn't look at me as he replied, "You were hurt. It needed taken care of."

"I mean. Why didn't you ask me if I was okay?"

His jaw clenched, and he finally met my eyes, all the hardness in them still present. "Because this isn't about feelings, Chloe. You're my responsibility, not my concern. If you get hurt, I fix it."

The words hit like a punch. I swallowed the lump in my throat, trying to keep my emotions in check. But the walls were starting to crumble around me. I couldn't maintain this farce any longer-that this wasn't bothering me, that I would get by on this cold, transactional life.

"You fix it?" I echoed, my voice barely audible. "You don't even see me, Jonathan. I'm just another task on your to-do list."

He hadn't commented, his silence more infuriating than any words he could have said.

"I can't keep doing this," I murmured, putting the plate down. My appetite was gone. "Pretending like I'm okay when every day it gets harder."

Jonathan's eyes flickered, for a second, before he masked whatever emotion had surfaced. "You knew what this was when you agreed to it."

I turned away, biting back tears. He was right; I had agreed to this marriage. But I hadn't agreed to the constant pain that came along with it-the emotional bruises running deeper than any physical one ever could.

"I did," I replied quietly, the weight of the words crushing me. "But that doesn't mean I have to be numb to everything."

The silence was back, heavier than before. Jonathan sprang to his feet, the stiffness in his stance palpable. He crossed the room to the door, pausing a moment and appearing to want to say something. Then changed his mind. And disappeared, leaving me alone once more.

I glared at the now-empty doorway, my chest tight with frustration and sadness. How much longer was I going to go on like this? How much more of Jonathan's indifference could I stand?

I burrowed under the covers, feeling exhaustion finally weigh down upon me. My arm was hurting, but nothing in comparison to the ache in my heart. For the very first time since we signed that contract, I wondered if I had just made a terrible mistake.