The Mouse and The Monarch

12

Ophelia felt her heart race as she bent down and slowly picked the object up.

A small tube.

The puzzle deepened as she twirled it around her fingers.

It was cool to the touch, and she stared down at it as she read the label.

Hirudoid Cream.

Her mind went blank as she stared at the words in front of her.

Hirudoid cream stopped the inflammation and blood clotting of bruises.

Beside where the cream had been on the floor, a small piece of paper lay neatly folded.

With a sceptical glance, she picked it up, unfolding the paper with a sense of trepidation.

The minute her eyes fell on the words she froze.

Her eyes traced the neatly written word again and again.

Sorry.

She went still.

König?

Turning the note over, she was met with another surprise.

There, on the back, was a single sequence of numbers and nothing else.

Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes traced each digit.

Her curiosity morphed into determination, and without further hesitation, she retrieved her phone from the pocket of her hoodie.

Her fingers moved with practised ease as she typed the number into her contacts, her mind racing with confusion.

With a sense of resolution, she composed a text message, her thumbs dancing across the touchscreen.

YOU: wtf?

It took a minute for a reply but she watched as almost immediately the little dots popped up on the screen as he typed a response.

Had he been waiting for her to reply?

Unknown Number: I'm sorry.

She frowned as she read the words repeatedly.

She was very confused.

YOU: why did you give me your number?

She asked as she stared down at the note in her hands.

He wrote her a note.

Why would he write her a note? Why not just say, 'Hey sorry' like a normal person.

She watched the dots dance for way too long before she gave up and typed a name into the contact above the number.

COL.

The name popped up on the screen and she knew he could see it too, hanging over his messages.

The dots appeared and disappeared a few times before they stopped.

Dropping her phone on her lap she unscrewed the cream and rubbed it all over her knuckles hissing as it stung and throbbed.

The phone on her lap buzzed and she sighed as she reached down and grabbed it.

COL: I didn't know you would bruise so easily.

Her mouth dropped open angrily.

How was it somehow her fault that he made her punch a bag repeatedly for hours?

She watched the dots pass across the screen again and then a name popped up over her messages.

SGT

Was he trying to be funny? Or was it unintentionally sarcastic?

She rolled her eyes and lay back as she typed a response, her phone screen lighting up her face.

SGT: you had me there for five hours, anyone would bruise

COL: I wasn't watching the time.

She frowned in confusion.

He had been sitting quietly cleaning his weapons, what the fuck else would he be watching.

There had been no one else in the training room apart from her.

SGT: thanks for the cream

COL: Are you staying on the couch?

She looked around the room and screwed up her face.

It was super creepy that he watched her sleep twice now.

Also, why did he care? He got his space back and was able to take his hood off.

SGT: yeah?

There was a long pause.

Dots came and went and she stared as they flicked across the screen.

As if he was typing words and then deleting them.

COL: Why?

She didn't answer for a long time.

Letting the sound of waves wash over her as she thought.

She had no idea why they were texting each other.

He didn't even talk to her.

SGT: i dont like quiet

As the minutes ticked away in silence, the room held its breath, and the digital abyss remained void of any response.

Frustration and uncertainty gnawed at her, but fatigue weighed heavier on her eyelids.

She surrendered to the weariness, reclining on the couch, the blanket wrapped around her like a cocoon.

He'd wrapped her in a blanket. It was incredibly odd to think about.

Especially after everything she had heard about him.

The room, now bathed in the soft glow of morning light, cradled her in a deceptive calm.

With a sigh, she closed her eyes, allowing the exhaustion to pull her into its embrace.

The phone, placed within arm's reach, lay dormant.

She didn't hear the phone buzz once more before she fell asleep.

The image of the hooded figure dancing in her mind.

~~~~~~~~~~