Chapter 25 The Pain That Cannot Be Washed Away
—She collapsed in his arms, and for the first time he experienced powerlessness.
Late at night in the bedroom, Ruan Xingchen suddenly woke up.
Her breathing was rapid, cold sweat soaked her pajamas, and her left hand was tightly pinching her right wrist, her nails digging into the flesh, leaving several deep blood marks.
Dirty.
The thought coiled around her like a poisonous snake.
The places touched by those people... are dirty.
She stumbled into the bathroom, turned on the cold water, and frantically scrubbed her arms, neck, and waist...her skin was rubbed red and almost bleeding.
“I can’t wash it off…why can’t I wash it off…”
Her voice was fragmented, as if coming from far away.
When Mo Xiaohan opened the door, this is what he saw——
Ruan Xingchen curled up in the corner of the bathroom, his whole body soaked, his long hair stuck to his pale face, his right hand holding a piece of broken glass, and his left wrist had been cut with several long wounds.
Drops of blood dripped down her fingertips, blooming a glaring red on the tiles.
"Star!"
His voice made her shudder and shards of glass clanged to the ground.
She looked up at him, her eyes unfocused, as if she couldn't recognize him.
“Don’t come over here…” She shrank back, her back pressed against the cold wall. “I’m dirty… I’ll make you dirty…”
Mo Xiaohan's heart seemed to be gripped tightly by an invisible hand.
He slowly squatted down, keeping a safe distance, and spoke in a soft voice, as if afraid of disturbing a fragile dream: "You are not dirty."
“They are the ones who are dirty.”
The doctor rushed over, injected Ruan Xingchen with a sedative, and bandaged the wound.
She was like a puppet, at the mercy of others, staring out the window with empty eyes, only her left hand unconsciously stroking the silver ring.
Mo Xiaohan stood by the bed, watching the doctor wrap gauze around her wrist, his chest surging with unprecedented violence.
"Increase the dosage of the sedative." He ordered coldly.
The doctor hesitated: "But long-term use will lead to dependence and will be detrimental to memory recovery..."
"Then try another method." His voice was hoarse. "No matter what method, no matter how much it costs!"
The doctor sighed and whispered, "Perhaps... you could try physical contact."
"What?"
"PTSD patients sometimes seek a sense of security through intimacy," the doctor explained cautiously, "assuming, of course, that she doesn't reject you."
Mo Xiaohan looked at Ruan Xingchen who was curled up on the bed, his Adam's apple rolling.
After everyone left the room, Mo Xiaohan sat down gently on the edge of the bed.
He stretched out his hand, held it in mid-air, hesitated for a few seconds, and then carefully touched the ends of her hair.
Ruan Xingchen didn't hide.
This gave him some courage.
He slowly held her in his arms, his movements as gentle as if he were handling a fragile treasure.
"Xiaohan...Brother..." She suddenly sobbed, her voice filled with tears, like she was talking in a dream.
Mo Xiaohan's whole body stiffened.
This was the first time she called him that while she was awake.
He tightened his arms, rested his chin on the top of her head, and said in a voice so low that it was almost inaudible: "I'm here."
"I've always been here."
Ruan Xingchen trembled in his arms, her consciousness drifting between reality and nightmares, broken images flashing back repeatedly—
The spotlight at the auction house.
The greedy eyes of masked buyers.
There are more distant memories...
In the early morning outside the medical tent, someone said to her, "Wait for me."
She couldn't tell what was real and what was an illusion.
The only thing that was clear was the aroma of absinthe surrounding her, mixed with a faint smell of blood.
This taste... is very familiar.
She unconsciously snuggled into his arms, resting her forehead on his collarbone.
Mo Xiaohan froze, even his breathing became lighter.
He was afraid of disturbing this moment of peace.
When it was almost dawn, Ruan Xingchen finally fell asleep in his arms. Mo Xiaohan carefully put her back on the bed and covered her with a quilt.
Her left hand was still tightly clutching the corner of his clothes, as if she was afraid he would leave. He gently pried her fingers apart, but as he stood up, he heard her mumbling in her sleep: "Don't... leave me..."
Mo Xiaohan closed his eyes, sat back on the bed, and held her hand: "Never."
The morning light poured in through the gap in the curtains and fell on her wrist wrapped in gauze. Mo Xiaohan stared at the dazzling white, with murderous intent surging in his eyes.
If anyone dares to make her suffer again, he will bury the entire Southeast Asia with him.
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