Enemies To Lovers 10: Stumps

Joanna had never seen the stump of an amputated limb before, and the sight stirred a mixture of pity and revulsion within her. She tasted the bile rising in her throat, gritted her teeth and swallowed hard.

"Now, go away and let me die," Schiller grumbled.

"No." Tears welled up in her eyes and began to roll down her face. "I can't."

"And why can't you?" The old familiar hardness had returned to the clear blue eyes.

How could she explain how she felt to the man who'd risked his own life to save her mother's? The only human who'd shown her an iota of compassion since the loss of her family. The man without whom she'd be completely alone in the world.

"I just can't." Her voice sounded so small to her, just like a child's.

"Of what use would I be to anyone, including myself, now?"

She remembered Herschel, her brave younger brother, who'd endured taunts and jibes. Yet he'd never let it break his spirit. Bravely he'd struggled to perform every task to the best of his ability.

"There's still a lot you can do. I know there is!"

Schiller scowled. "Go away! Leave me alone!" he spat.

"No."

Startled and enraged, his eyes glared bullets at her, before realization of his utter helplessness made him sag with dejection.

Remembering the strong arms that had lifted her from the floor and carried her to the soft bed that first night, she brushed the damp hair from his forehead, and he sighed and closed his eyes.

After awhile, the nurse returned with his noon meal.

"I don't want it," he muttered, turning his head away as usual.

"Please." Joanna took a spoonful of mashed potatoes and held it to his lips. At first he was obstinate, but after a few seconds, he opened his mouth and let her insert the spoon.

He ate about half the food the nurse had brought. "That's the most he's eaten at one time since his accident," the nurse told Joanna.

After finishing his meal, Jurgen was surprised at how much better he felt. It had been so long since he'd eaten more than just a bite or two at a time he'd forgotten what it was like to feel satiated.

And it was all because of her. That Jewish girl. Member of an inferior race, hardly worthy of licking his boots. He never should have selected her to work as his personal servant. He should have let her stay in the women's camp and either be worked to death or die of starvation. He never should have welcomed her into his home, into his life.

Yet in a moment of weakness, he'd chosen to spare her from her otherwise inevitable fate. How could he have been so foolish? Shouldn't he have realized she'd find a way to weave herself into his heart, to make herself invaluable to him?

For that was indeed what had happened. At the first sight of her standing over him, hope had once again sprang up in his heart. Once again, he had a reason to look forward to another sunrise.

"Can you stay?" he asked Joanna when she'd finished feeding him.

She blinked, surprised. "Of course. Why?"

"They'll come to bathe me after awhile." He grimaced. "I want you to do it." Having bathed him him many times, she knew exactly how he liked it done.

"Your bandages mustn't get wet!" a nurse protested.

"Never mind that," Jurgen insisted.

Joanna bathed him, managing to get only a few drops of water on his bandages. She accidentally touched one of his stumps a couple of times, causing him to scream in agony, but he never said a harsh word to her.

From that day forward, Joanna became a constant presence. She was always there to feed him and give him his bath every day, and bit by bit he grew stronger and stronger.

She'd been held in such little regard by the man she'd worked for before the accident her absence wasn't even noticed.

The day for Jurgen's bandages to be changed arrived. As she had no medical training, Joanna was permitted to watch and help in minor ways if needed. She and Jurgen watched as a towel was placed under his leg, and then the nurse removed the tape and began to unwind the dressing. The last bit was stuck to his flesh, so she moistened it with warm water before tugging it free. Jurgen, who'd shown no emotion at all up to that point, paled and grasped Joanna's hand so hard he nearly crushed it. She gasped but said nothing.

The now exposed skin of the stump was red and scaly, and the deep lines of the sutures holding the skin flaps together were dark blue and purple, as was the skin surrounding them. Jurgen felt himself go weak and slump back onto the bed.

The stump was cleaned and swabbed with iodine, a salve was applied, and it was freshly bandaged. Joanna helped with the winding wrap, and when it was over, Jurgen took a long, refreshing nap.

Joanna was there the first time Jurgen transferred from his bed to a wheelchair. His face was set grimly as his left foot touched the floor for the first time since the tank explosion. She watched as his hand gripped the side of the bed so hard his knuckles turned white. Come on, you can do it, she urged silently.

As he slowly stood, his face tense with concentration, the wheels of the chair rolled slightly and he landed with his rear end half on, half off the chair. Quick as a flash, Joanna helped a nurse steady him, and within moments he sat upright in the chair, beads of perspiration on his forehead but a slight smile on his face.

"I knew you could do it!" Joanna exulted.