Darling & Commander

The Nymph: 6

Gallaleigha POV:

Brock's face bursts into chuckles, sitting on his knees in front of my bed where I am perched on the edge.

"What?" I say, faintly annoyed now.

"You are so cute. It is the only word I can find right now." He regains his composure rigid again.

"Cute? I hardly think..." My words die off as his fingers trail up my bare legs.

I had not bothered changing from my pajamas, so I am sitting in my silk woven pajama T-shirt and shorts. His fingers feather across them absent mindedly.

"What were you saying?" He turns his head to the side.

"I cannot think anymore." I declare, getting up and moving to my cabinets. "I am making us breakfast."

Brock laughs, sweeping me off my feet and onto one of the little stools.

"You are not cooking today. I have handled this issue already." He rummages around his rucksack.

"What do you mean? You are the guest." I frown.

"I want your hands to heal, which means no touching anything." He pulls out a tube of itch soothing cream from the pack, and I eye it like gold.

"Oh my goodness." I cannot say anything else. "Thank you, Brock."

"Do not thank me yet." He takes my palm, unscrewing the cap of the tube.

"Surely you do not want to touch it..." I mutter, hiding my palms from his view. "I can carry the method out... the welts are nauseatingly disturbing..."

"I will do it." Brock pulls my hand again, speaking vehemently, but not without kindness.

He rubs the ointment into my skin tenderly, being sure it does not aggravate the enflamed skin. I look away, horrified at how easily he does this without being repelled.

"Does it not make you want to vomit?" I blurt after an unspeaking moment. 

"No." He shakes his head, implementing this act on the second hand as well. "I have seen far more ghastly in the military. These burns are almost well in an analogy of everything I have observed."

A feeling sinks in my stomach, and I suddenly feels worse for saying anything.

"I am sorry, Brock. I know you do your job with ease, but watching people suffer and being unable to do anything has to have a detriment on your mind." I speak quietly.

"It is alright, Galla." Brock shakes his head. "I will take on the burdens no other could want. It is only fair."

"Fair to whom?" I exclaim suddenly, forcing him to look up at me. "You do not have to live like this..."

"But alas I do." Brock gives me a self deprecated smile. "Now, I made sandwiches. I hope they are alright?"

"It is perfect..." I say under my breath, feeling promptly burdensome.

He sits me down at the table and takes a seat across from him, and takes some metal containers out of his rucksack, opening them to reveal an array of fruits and sandwiches.

"Okay, so these sandwiches are cream cheese, these are lettuce and tomato, and I added in a couple- Galla? Are you alright?" Brock waves a hand in front of my face.

Little droplets of water fall onto the wooden table, across the knots in the old wood.

My own tears?

"Oh my- I apologize, I did not mean..." My throat goes dry as I quickly wipe up the tears, but more fall and it's useless.

I let my face bow in shame, afraid of what Brock may say. I am supposedly sweet and kind, but what if I am proven to be just another burden for him?

"Oh, Galla." His voice is gritty as usual, but he says it so kindly that I only cry harder. "Whatever is the matter?"

My weeping is messy, with hiccupping and trembling. Brock moves around from his side of the table to come to mine, and he envelopes me into his mesomorphic body. I hiccup into his chest as he strokes the back of my hair, rubbing my back as any good man would do.

I would push him off, but he is not just any good man.

"My apologies, Brock." I sniffle as I tuck my face in the crevasse of his shoulder. "I forgot what it was like to be cared for... it becomes get lonely without anyone nearby."

"Why do you not leave?" He holds me dear. "I cannot stand the thought of you being holed up here on your own for the rest of your life."

"I would need to appoint an heir to leave, someone who can take care of this sector. No one wants it, even as it's primely ripe in natural beauty." I whimper into his thin shirt. "I am never to make it out of here..."

"Yes, yes you will." Brock's voice is solid and unrelenting. "You deserve to see the world just as much as the unbonded."

"Brock... you should not come again. I do not want to get used to being cared for until you too, pass by like the rest of the world does." I shake my head.

"I am not leaving you. We are allies now, correct?" Brock tilts his head down to brush a kiss to my head.

"You will, allies or not." 

"Nope."

"It is true!"

"I refuse to believe such a foolish accusation."

"Ugh! Yes, you will! You will leave just as the rest of them!"

Brock's eyes flash with something of insulted relevance.

"And what have I done to make you believe I am the same as every other wanderer?" He tips my chin up, leaning down close to my face in a provoking act. "Have I been just as clueless? The same dunce as the rest? What makes you think they and I are the same, Galla?"

"I- I do not." I blink at his closeness.

"So why do you suspect I will follow in their footsteps, if I am unlike them?" He challenges, lips sizzling against my ear.

"I- Um... Er, I... I-I..." I stutter, my eyes fluttering shut at the calefaction. "I do not- s-suppose I have an answer..."

"You do not?" He murmurs, gathering me close to him as his fingers toy with the hem of my shirt.

"No, I do not..." I whisper, throat going dry. "I am afraid of you staying."

"Why?"

"Because you are so perfect, and perfect things do not last..." I breathe softly, a quiver of excitement coursing through my veins when his chest vibrates a hearty laugh.

"Perfect? I am far from perfect..."

"Perfect to me." I correct. "Perfect for me."

He hums in something of agreeance, holding me close.

"Do not let go."

"Yes, darling."