Injured Like a Dog

Alana introduced herself, carefully omitting certain details. She was acutely aware that concealing certain aspects of her background from him was an impossibility. She watched as he seamlessly sliced through the onion and minced the vegetables with ease, her gaze following his every move. Her mind couldn't help but ponder if this is easily explained by how he sent out his victims to the Lord Jesus Christ.

Despite the lingering presence of nervousness within her, she found solace in the knowledge that he had no intention of ending her life.

"So that is how you are able to attend to the gunshot wound?" His sudden inquiry jolted her out of her own tumultuous reverie.

"While it is true that humans and animals may possess similar organs, their anatomical structures remain distinct."

With a sheepish grin, she revealed,

"To soothe my nerves, I imagined you as a seriously injured dog." Admittedly, the comparison did not come across as flattering when spoken aloud.

Xavier remained silent, his thoughts hidden behind a veil of thought.

Xavier's pose fell as he recalled her previous comment about his uneven eyes, only to be further demoralized by her recent comparison of him to a dog.

As he carried the pot of aromatic vegetable chicken soup, he turned to her and posed the question, "What caused you to help me?"

The aroma of the delectable cuisine wafts towards her, enticing her senses as she inhales deeply before responding to him.

She cast a wary glance towards her companion, her words laced with a tinge of uncertainty.

"I don't know." She said.

The soup before her seemed to momentarily distract her from the earlier fear that had gripped her. The thought of witnessing a tragic death in the comfort of her own room during her much-awaited vacation was too horrible to handle.

Despite her previous culinary ability, the combination of living alone, having inadequate cooking abilities, and lengthy shifts at the clinic had left her with limited options for a meal. Thus, she found herself relying heavily on takeout and microwaveable meals to survive.

"You should have called someone for help?"

Despite the suggestion that someone could have been called, Xavier's insistence on discovering the reason remained steadfast.

She spooned the soup into her bowl without waiting for an invitation to dine. "I suppose I could have," she said.

With a chuckle, he allowed her to serve herself.

As he gazed into her large, honey-colored eyes, he couldn't help but notice the adorable button-like shape of her nose. Her lips, tinted a rosy hue from sipping the steaming soup, only added to her already stunning beauty. Though he had always known of her attractiveness, seeing her up close was genuinely captivating. Her hair challenges the modern beauty standard of straight, lengthy locks. Instead, it comes with a natural wave that lingers even as it reaches her shoulders, culminating in a delightful spiral at the ends. Those locks of brown are tinged with a shade darker than the sweet nectar hue of her irises.

Xavier tore his gaze away from her, his mind consumed by the intricate details of her features and the softness of her skin.

"Are you not going to eat?" she asked nonchalantly. Moments earlier, she had been prepared to embrace death.

"The sight of your ferocious eating habits is enough to put out my hunger."

Alana's face lit up with a playful expression, her eyes forming two crescent moons and her lips curving into a mischievous smile.

"Please stop from judging me, for I am right now experiencing an intense feeling of hunger." Last night, I was not able to eat any food. The food truck had already sold out.

As Alana engaged in the meal, she was reminded that it had been a full 24 hours since her last sustenance.

With a delicate sip of her soup, she proceeded to scoop a portion of rice onto her spoon.

Through a graceful motion, Xavier rose from his seat and made his way to the refrigerator. He carefully retrieved the juice bottle and poured its contents into two glasses, his movements fluid and effortless. Despite having never served anyone before, he found himself in the position of serving a woman who was not even his girlfriend.

He placed the item on the table, and she expressed her gratitude to him before swiftly consuming it in a single gulp.

The dish before him was a soft, savory chicken and vegetable soup, served with a bed of fluffy rice. While not a culinary expert by any means, he possessed a certain skill in the kitchen that allowed him to whip up such a satisfying meal.

With a smooth gesture, she retrieved the plate and proceeded to assist with the cleanup, diligently washing it before carefully placing it on the drying rack. Satiated from a hearty meal, she desired a moment of sleep. Alas, her plans were thwarted by the untimely need to dispatch the car to the repair shop, its once-pristine exterior now marred by the aftermath of a rear-end collision.

Expressing gratitude for the meal, she couldn't help but feel a tinge of embarrassment at the thought of someone cooking for her.

She murmured, her hand gently resting on the back of her neck.

"Is a feeling of embarrassment truly running through your veins?"

Xavier's gaze lingered on the empty pot of soup that she had devoured without so much as inquiring if he wanted a second portion.

With a self-conscious laugh, she admitted to herself that she was shamelessly famished.

As she made her way towards her luggage, she couldn't help but take in the exquisite decor of the penthouse, her eyes scanning the space with admiration.

As she pondered over their brief encounter, a sudden realization dawned upon her: she had neglected to find out about his name.

"Hey, what is your name?" she chided herself, berating her own curiosity for wanting to know his name.

"Xavier Sol Killian"—a name that rolls off the tongue with a certain poetic rhythm.

She gasped, her eyes widening at the mention of "The Killian."

His gaze settled on her, his face betraying no discernible emotion. After a moment's pause, he agreed with a subtle nod.

"Ah, I see. Thank you once more. "And please, there's no need to trouble yourself with cooking for me in the future," she said with genuine sincerity. Reflecting on her past misjudgment of him, she realized her mistake in hastily assessing his character based on a single situation.

"Why do you think that there will be another time?" Woman! "Are you leaving or staying?"

His patience with her had worn thin; he found her tolerable only to a certain degree. Her constant chattering had become overwhelming, leaving him overstimulated.

With a hint of annoyance in her voice, she acquiesced, "Yes, yes, I'm leaving." Geez." She grabbed her luggage and deftly wheeled it out of the house, eager to revel in the pristine cleanliness of her home and the neatly folded laundry.