Playing the Villainess, He Fell for Me

The depth and spread of the bruising could only have come from having blood drawn.

The paleness of his face whenever he came back, the scent of antiseptic on his coat...

Joanna Kennedy froze, a slow realization dawning on her. The blood seemed to turn to ice in her veins. Ignoring the stinging itch on the back of her hand, she reached out with a trembling hand to touch the man’s sleeve.

Just an instant before she made contact, a large hand firmly grasped her own.

"Is it really bothering you?" The man’s voice was still raspy with sleep. He reflexively switched on the small night-light on the bedside table, his movements practiced.

He thought Joanna Kennedy was trying to scratch the wound.

The dim yellow light illuminated the small space around them. The man lowered his gaze, using the light to inspect her wound. He frowned and comforted her, "Just bear with it. It’ll hurt more if you scratch it open..."

"..."

Joanna Kennedy stared blankly at him. She could see his long, thick eyelashes and the straight bridge of his nose. His sharp features seemed to soften in the lamplight, lending him an unexpected gentleness.

On the man’s leanly muscled arm was a shocking patch of deep purple bruising. He acted as if he didn’t feel a thing, his concern still fixed on the healing wound on the back of her hand...

Simon Lockwood carefully peeled back the gauze on the back of her hand. He examined the wound closely, and only when he confirmed it hadn’t split open did his furrowed brow relax. He also realized that she had been silent this whole time.

"What is it?" He looked up at her. Her eyes were red-rimmed and wet, staring intently at one spot.

Following her gaze, Simon Lockwood’s breath hitched. His cool, handsome features tightened into a nearly imperceptible frown.

The air was silent, filled only by the rhythmic ticking of the clock.

After a few seconds, Simon Lockwood casually pulled his sleeve down, concealing the bruises as if they had never existed.

"It’s late. Get some rest." Simon Lockwood reached over to turn off the night-light.

Joanna Kennedy finally spoke. "What happened to your arm?"

"..."

Her voice was calm, but the fingers hanging at her side trembled uncontrollably. The rims of her eyes were red.

Simon Lockwood didn’t say anything.

Joanna Kennedy repeated stubbornly, "What happened?"

"Simon Lockwood, I’m talking to you."

Her gaze was fixed tightly on him.

Simon Lockwood averted his gaze, refusing to look at her. "A medical checkup," he said.

His tone was flat, as if he were simply stating a matter of fact.

"...Do you take me for an idiot?" Joanna Kennedy’s voice was low. She roughly shoved his sleeve up and stared at him. "This is from a checkup?!"

"Yes."

Simon Lockwood’s expression didn’t change. He ignored her worry and her questions. Even though his lie had been exposed, he clearly had no intention of saying anything more.

...

Joanna Kennedy took a deep breath, trying her best to keep her voice calm. "Fine. A checkup, is it? Where’d you have it done? I’ll go try it out myself right now."

With her eyes red, she gritted her teeth. "I’d just love to see what hospital that is!"

As she spoke, she started to get up. Bracing herself with a hand on the edge of the bed, she scraped the barely healed wound on its back. Her face went pale for an instant.

Simon Lockwood’s expression immediately darkened. He yanked her back down, pinning her beneath him to keep her from struggling and scraping her hand again. His tone was icy. "Joanna Kennedy, what do you think you’re doing?!"

Joanna Kennedy was pinned firmly to the bed by his strong arms, her face flushing red with anger.

And yet Simon Lockwood just looked at her with that cold, indifferent expression, accusing *her* of causing a scene?

Joanna Kennedy’s eyes stung terribly, and her heart throbbed with pain. She gritted her teeth. "Are you going to let go or not?!"

Simon Lockwood’s lips pressed into a thin line. "Don’t be difficult," he said, his tone absolute.

That only made Joanna Kennedy angrier. She turned her head and bit down hard on his finger, trying to make him release her.

Simon Lockwood didn’t even frown, letting her bite. Joanna Kennedy wasn’t holding back; her small white teeth were sharp, and in her anger, she bit down without mercy.

But Simon Lockwood didn’t feel the pain. ’If this helps her feel better,’ he thought, ’she can bite me a few more times.’

One second... Two seconds...

As he felt the pressure in her mouth relax, Simon Lockwood moved his finger. He was about to say something, but the sudden warm, wet sensation on his skin made him freeze, unable to speak.

Her head was turned to the side, revealing her fair, slender neck. Her long eyelashes fluttered as silent tears fell from the corners of her eyes, dripping onto his finger.

It felt like something was caught in his throat, making it painfully dry.

"...I’m sor—"

"I don’t want to hear your apology," Joanna Kennedy cut him off, her voice choked with sobs.

The bite mark on the man’s finger was clearly visible. The skin was broken, showing a trace of blood. Joanna Kennedy pushed against him again, and this time, she easily shoved him away.

Joanna Kennedy huddled at the edge of the bed, turning her tear-streaked, miserable little face away from Simon Lockwood, refusing to look at him.

She didn’t want Simon Lockwood’s apology. She just wanted to know what was happening, to know what he was hiding from her. Her stance on that was perfectly clear.

After a long silence, Simon Lockwood finally spoke. "Joanna Kennedy, I think... I might be sick."

His voice was devoid of emotion, yet it was inexplicably heartbreaking to hear.

Joanna Kennedy froze.

Simon Lockwood’s Adam’s apple bobbed slowly. "I know you’ve noticed, right?"

Joanna Kennedy always tried to act as if everything was normal, but he could see it. She would often space out while looking at him.

Every time she looked at him, it was as if she were looking right through him at another person—at the Simon Lockwood from before he was "sick."

Her happiness, sadness, worry, and compliance... none of it was ever for him.

Joanna Kennedy was always... sad.

"I want to try and see if I can be cured," Simon Lockwood said. "They told me there’s a new type of mental interference drug that might help with my condition. It just requires multiple blood draws to check for compatibility. It doesn’t hurt."

"Joanna Kennedy, it doesn’t hurt."

"..."

His eyes were dark, calm, and focused, like a deep ocean. You couldn’t see much emotion in them, yet it felt as if everything was being suppressed just below the surface.

Joanna Kennedy was sobbing uncontrollably, her heart feeling as if it were being squeezed in a tight fist. She couldn’t breathe; a heavy, suffocating weight settled in her chest.

’Simon Lockwood thinks he’s sick. He wants to be cured...’

’So that was it... So that was it...’

But how could modern science possibly fight against a higher-level system from another world? Joanna Kennedy had no idea how to tell him that cruel truth.

’Getting his blood drawn again and again, his arm covered in bruises... How could that possibly... not hurt?’

She threw her arms tightly around the man’s neck, burying her face in his chest. Her voice was thick and nasal. "You should have told me sooner..."

"You would have been sad."

’Just like she is now,’ he thought. This wasn’t what he wanted.

Joanna Kennedy understood, and that only made her cry harder, soaking the fabric of his shirt.

Simon Lockwood simply held her, waiting for her sobs to subside.

After what felt like a long time, Joanna Kennedy finally grew a bit calmer. Her eyes were dry and sore from crying. She lifted her small, wet, red face slightly, her eyes still hazy with tears. "That drug... what exactly is it?"