Light Blue Eyes

Until evening, we didn't say a word to each other.

He finally couldn't help but ask, "Don't you need to shower?"

"Can I?" I asked back.

The man glanced at me, his look suggesting I was asking an obvious question.

***

I showered for ten minutes and washed my face for five. When I stepped out, the man was already standing by the bathroom door.

"Get me a change of clothes!" He stepped into the bathroom, not forgetting to turn around and warn me, "Don't think about running away!"

How would I dare? I nodded quickly, then placed my pajamas, a towel, and a new set of toiletries that my father hadn't used yet in front of the bathroom door.

"I've left the clothes outside!" I called out.

Then, I turned to look at the open front door. Freedom was right there. Just as my hand touched the doorknob, that chilling warning, "Don't think about running away!" echoed in my ears like a demon's whisper.

I abruptly let go, instinctively crouching down and covering my head.

I should have run, but I knew I couldn't escape.

I didn't know where this psychological dread came from, but I had a feeling that no matter where I went, he would find me.

I didn't know how much time passed.

"What are you doing there?" His voice suddenly sounded from behind, cold and emotionless.

I blinked, swallowing my tears, and stood up to face him.

"Nothing!" I explained. "I wasn't planning on running away!"

The man stared at me with his deep eyes, then withdrew his gaze, walked out, pushed open the broken bedroom door, and gestured for me to go in.

I walked in slowly, the fear in my heart rising again.

Did he want to do *that* to me? And in my own room?

While my mind was racing, he sat down on the bed and patted the soft empty space beside him.

"Not sleeping? Want to hear a story?" he asked.

A murderer who knew how to tell stories? My eyes lit up. "What kind of story?"

"For example," he paused, his lips curving into a spine-chilling smile, "the story of how I kill people?"

Looking at that smile, my heart tightened, feeling as though I were walking on thin ice.

"That... let's skip that." I smiled pleasingly, then lay down on the bed, pulling the blanket over my head.

But I felt a force pulling my blanket away, and then heard the man say, "Don't do that, you'll suffocate to death."

I pulled the blanket down, exposing only my eyes, and asked him, "Have you tried it?"

It was a very silly question. I thought he would ignore it, but he remained silent for a few seconds before replying, "I tried, but I didn't die."

I was stunned.

Did I... just hear that right?

"Oh, aren't you still living well?" I mumbled.

"You talk too much."

I immediately shut up, not daring to say another word.

The atmosphere fell silent again.

"Do you have painkillers and bandages?" he suddenly asked.

I wasn't asleep yet, so I sat up and looked at him.

"Are you hurt?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you say so earlier!" The moment the words left my mouth, I jumped off the bed and brought in a large medical box.

I sat down beside him.

"Where are you hurt?"

The man paused. "Aren't you afraid of blood?"

I said I wasn't, so he gently pulled his collar aside, revealing a bandaged wound on his arm. Perhaps because it had been a while, some blood had seeped through.

Just looking at it made me ache.

After removing the large bandage, a long gash was revealed.

I figured it was a knife wound.

Fortunately, it wasn't deep. After all, as a college student, I could handle a wound like this.

I cleaned the wound with saline, disinfected it, and bandaged it up.

Actually, because the wound looked rather scary, my hands were trembling slightly.

After all, I had been pampered since childhood and had never seen such a severe injury.

I didn't dare ask about the cause of the wound. Once finished, I washed my hands and lay back down on the bed.

"With this hot weather, you should clean the wound regularly, otherwise it will get infected," I said, turning my back to him.

"Okay," his voice sounded calm.

"Doesn't it hurt?" When I was treating his wound, he hadn't reacted at all, like a robot.

"It's fine."

I didn't know who gave me the courage, but I said, "I can't sleep."

With a murderer lying next to me, how could I feel at ease...

"Then what do you want to do?" He coldly raised his eyes.

"Let me tell you," I turned around to face him, deliberately trying to annoy him, "My parents are away all year round, and only the maid takes care of me at home. Today my mom said she would be back next month, but I bet ten thousand dollars she won't!"

He looked at me, seemingly uninterested in my trivial topic, but still asked why.

"Because she's busy with work and has too many lovers. She says she'll come back, but she never keeps her word!"

I spoke cheerfully, momentarily forgetting the identity of the person opposite me.

"Every day I would sit by the door waiting for her, but every time I called, she would make excuses about work. But I knew she was busy with her lovers!"

Seeing that he didn't say anything or tell me to shut up, I continued.

"Back then, I cried my eyes out. Every time, the maid would place shiny things like diamond rings and gemstone necklaces in front of me to coax me."

"Those things were really effective!" I smiled, completely letting my guard down. "I especially like shiny things."

The man closed his eyes, indifferently uttering, "Oh."

At this moment, I felt a sense of disdain from him. My spoiled temper flared up, and I said displeasedly, "Can't you open your eyes when talking?"

A long moment passed.

Only then did the man reluctantly open his eyes.

I was spellbound, staring at him blankly.

In the darkness, his eyes quietly shone like pure jade.

I used the light of the night lamp to closely examine that sapphire... No, those were his eyes.

"Are you mixed-race?"

The man remained as taciturn as ever, looking as if I owed him money.

"Yes."

"You—" Seeing his expressionless face, I suddenly froze, remembering he was a demon—a demon who could take my life at any moment.

I didn't dare speak further, fearing that in the next second, he would slit my throat and throw me into a boiling pot.

I pursed my lips, the words catching in my throat.

My face practically had "unspoken words" written all over it.