chapter20 Taking care of her when she's sick

The bedroom was dimly lit by a small bedside lamp, its light filtered through a crimson lampshade, casting a coppery, tightly focused halo. Scarlett couldn't be bothered to chat; she just nestled her head against the pillow and drifted off, though her sleep was fitful, her discomfort growing. When she tried to open her eyes, they felt heavy, and there was a bright light and a figure moving before her. She couldn't tell if it was a dream or reality as she whimpered, "Asher, I feel terrible!"

Asher hadn't left; he watched her fever persist, feeling anxious himself. He knew humans were fragile creatures, susceptible to death from even minor illnesses, and this fear spread within him.

No, Scarlett wouldn't die. He needed her by his side. In this world, he had no friends, and wealth and status meant nothing to him; Scarlett was what mattered. Life had become more interesting with her around, though it made him feel uneasy. He'd rather be the one sick.

The doctor couldn't come immediately, so he had to manage Scarlett's condition. Recalling some common knowledge, he took alcohol from the medicine cabinet, diluted it, and then lifted Scarlett's blanket, dabbing alcohol on her arms, neck, and legs with gauze. Her skin was flushed from the fever, and touching her burning forehead felt like touching a hot iron, causing him pain.

He wiped Scarlett with alcohol every half hour, as it seemed the fever reducers weren't working. Raindrops pounded fiercely on the roof, tree branches shook violently in the wind, lightning streaked across the sky like silver serpents. He could almost hear the distant roar of waves; his brow furrowed in hatred for the storm.

By the early hours of the morning, Scarlett had fallen into a delirious sleep. Occasionally, she mumbled incoherently. He heard her lips murmur, "Mom... Mom... I'm scared... It hurts..."

He lay beside her, gently brushing her forehead, speaking softly, "Don't be afraid, I'm here. The doctor will be here soon."

He woke her again; she was too weak even to take her medicine. Asher held her close, deftly opened her mouth, placed the pills, and quickly fed her water, but Scarlett didn't cooperate and spat it out. Helplessly, he repeated the process several times until she finally swallowed the pills.

All night, he remained by her side, feeding her water and medicine, angrily calling Zephyr several times, demanding he send help quickly, threatening him with a series of threats.

He had never been so nervous. He leaned against Scarlett, holding her tightly under the thin blanket, feeling a growing void inside him filled with panic and fear. He knew prolonged fever could damage the brain, an outcome he couldn't accept. He liked Scarlett's smile, the occasional shy glance she gave him, her eyes soft like moonlight reflecting on water.

Now she lay in bed, barely conscious, and Zephyr said if this woman couldn't make it, they could find another for him. Asher thought Zephyr was an idiot; they were not the same.

The storm outside gradually subsided as dawn approached. He hadn't slept all night, watching over Scarlett, never at ease for a moment.

It wasn't until after nine in the morning that a helicopter arrived. Jack, accompanied by a doctor and a nurse carrying a medicine box, entered the house. Asher stood by, watching with a stern face. The doctor examined Scarlett in detail, administered IV fluids, and reassured Asher.

He didn't let the nurse stay to care for her, preferring to watch over her himself. He watched the medicine drip into her veins, her fever finally subsiding a bit. He breathed a sigh of relief, occasionally wiping her face and body with a towel.

He asked Jack to arrange for the doctor to stay until she fully recovered.

Scarlett didn't know how long she had been in a daze when she woke up to see the room dimly lit. A small cluster of sunlight seeped in through the crack in the curtains, and the room was quiet. Seeing someone sitting on a nearby chair, she uttered softly, "Asher?"

Asher immediately straightened up, coming to sit beside her on the bed. "You're awake."

He turned on a bedside lamp, testing her forehead, which had cooled considerably. The gloom on his face lifted as he asked gently, "Still feeling uncomfortable? Do you want some water?"

Scarlett saw the exhaustion in his face. Despite her fever, she was aware that Asher had been taking care of her. She replied in a hoarse voice, "Much better."

As she moved her hand, she realized she had an IV drip on her right hand, and she smiled gratefully at him.

Asher poured a glass of water, helping her sit up and holding the cup to her lips. Scarlett took small sips, then asked, "What time is it now?"

"It's already afternoon; it'll be dark soon." Asher placed the cup on the bedside table, looking at her. "You've had a fever all this time. I was scared last night. I don't like you being sick; if you died, I wouldn't find anyone like you."

His gaze was as clear as a stream, filled with genuine concern.

"It's not that easy to die," Scarlett said, her lips curling slightly, her voice hoarse.

"Lie down and rest." He helped Scarlett lie down, tucking her in gently, as if she were delicate porcelain that might break at any moment.

"What do you want to eat tonight?"

"I don't feel like eating," Scarlett shook her head lightly.

"I'll have 'em whip up some gruel for ya later, or ya wanna nibble on somethin' else?"

"Anyone swing by yet?"

"We had a doc and a nurse drop in," he brushed her messy hair away, looking at her with concern, "Looks like you'll need a few more days to recuperate."

Scarlett's head was still foggy, her body feeling worn out. Asher noticed her lack of energy and suggested, "Get some more shut-eye. I'll keep an eye on the IV bag."

He turned off the lights, and Scarlett mumbled for him to rest, unsure if he took off or not, and drifted back to sleep.

When she woke up later in the evening, the IV was gone. Asher brought her a bowl of porridge, explaining, "Doc says your fever's gone down. Just pop your pills and take it easy. No need for the IV anymore."

"Alright," she said, sitting up to take the bowl from Asher, eating only half. Catching him watching her, she quipped, "What's with the stare? Go grab some grub!"

"Their cooking ain't as good as yours. I'll swing by later. You gotta bounce back soon so we can hit the town."

Scarlett smiled faintly, "Thanks for gettin' the doc for me, Asher."

"No sweat," Asher said, sitting on the bedside chair, looking at her with clear eyes, "You're mine, I ain't lettin' you kick the bucket."

Scarlett was taken aback by his words, almost choking on her porridge. His tone was so matter-of-fact, like he was saying "today's porridge is delicious." There was no hint of sleaziness in his gaze, just sincerity. She couldn't figure out how he viewed her.

She only finished half the porridge before setting the bowl down. Asher placed it aside and gently laid his hand on her forehead, confirming her fever was gone. His fingers brushed her cheek, "Feelin' better now."

Scarlett subtly turned away, avoiding his touch, changing the subject to divert his attention, "Asher, I could use some water."

Asher got up to pour her a glass, and she held it with both hands, taking small sips occasionally, watching him idly. "Asher, you should grab some dinner. I'm good."

"Got it," Asher nodded gently. "If you need anything, just hit the button on the wall. The doc and nurse are downstairs."

Scarlett glanced at the switch on the wall, signaling she understood, urging him to head downstairs.

After Asher left, she got up to wash her face and brush her teeth. She was wearing a pink silk embroidered nightgown. She remembered Asher applying alcohol to her skin to lower her temperature last night, and at some point, he even held her. She shook her head, dismissing the thoughts. She shouldn't dwell on them.

Before bed, Asher came into her room again with several bottles and boxes of medicine. He took out one or two pills from each and handed them to Scarlett, "It's time to take your medicine."

Scarlett was leaning against the headboard, but sat up straight, frowning at the different colored pills in reluctance. She reluctantly took them from his hand and swallowed two at a time with water, taking several times before finishing them all, looking displeased.

Asher watched her struggle to finish the medicine, also frowning. Then he stood up, his expression serious. "Scarlett, you can't get sick again in the future!"

His gaze was sharp, as if Scarlett had committed a serious political mistake.

Scarlett rarely saw him so serious, and her voice unconsciously lowered, "I don't want to get sick either."

He looked at her seriously, lips pursed in silence.

The room fell silent, the warm yellow light from the ceiling casting a calm atmosphere. Scarlett felt uneasy in this silence, her fingers twisting on the bedsheet. She wondered if Asher was angry. He had been busy all day and night, probably feeling quite unhappy.

After a while, Asher took a small step forward, his legs reaching the edge of the bed, his tall figure blocking some of the light, giving Scarlett a sense of oppression.

She wondered if he was going to do something, feeling like a child who had done something wrong, waiting for parental reprimand.

Asher stood for a few seconds, looking at Scarlett somewhat seriously, but then his eyes softened, and he bent down to pull up her blanket, saying gently, "Take care of yourself in the future."

His long fingers brushed Scarlett's forehead, touching her smooth skin, unexpectedly planting a gentle kiss on her forehead, then straightened up, his expression inscrutable, his eyes avoiding hers, "Rest well."

Before Scarlett could react, he had turned around and left her room as if nothing had happened.