The Moral Dilemma: Chapter 8

IT WAS an hour later that he woke up.

He struggled to open his eyes, but the effort was in vain as he’d been hit so badly, his lids were swollen shut. He could make out a vague contour of his surroundings, but it was all swathed in darkness.

He had no idea where he was except that the room was awfully cold—a feat considering they were in one of the warmest and most arid regions of Mexico.

There was a distant piano melody, a sweetness bursting on his tongue when his body was completely wrecked. Somehow, that sweet sound made everything bearable.

Rafaelo groaned as he moved to the side.

Everything hurt.

He rested against the wall, taking a deep breath as he focused on the music, instead of everything that was going wrong around him. He didn’t know how long he spent like that. Considering he couldn’t even see because his eyes were too swollen, he couldn’t take note of the passage of time. One moment blended into the next, one hour in the nex—maybe even one day.

Ignoring the physical pain, he tried to retreat into his mind as he’d done time and time again. The piano helped soothe his soul, making him calmer, more relaxed.

Yet even that stopped.

“Fuck,” he whispered when he realized just how alone he was without that sweet sound. He was truly on his own in the darkness.

Although he tried to sleep a little—anything to pass the time and help the healing process—he found that the pain was too loud for him to get one moment of rest.

Oddly enough, the music had helped mute that.

But without it…

“Don’t move,” a soft voice whispered.

Raf startled. His first instinct was to believe he’d made it up in his head. Especially as he recognized it and what it meant to him.

It was…

“Lucero?” he croaked, the mere effort to speak taking a toll on him.

He thought he was imagining her voice, conjuring it out of his memory as he’d done countless times before.

“Don’t move, please,” she whispered, her voice breaking as her hands hovered over his body. “God, Raf… What happened?”

“Got in a bit of a scuffle,” he attempted to laugh it off as a joke, wincing when even laughing was causing him distress.

“A scuffle?” she repeated, her voice trembling. “If you could see yourself… You’re all bruised and swollen. And your eyes…” Her hand hovered over his face, wanting to touch him, but not daring to since it might cause him more pain. “Can you see anything?”

He shook his head lightly.

“It’s nothing much. I’ll heal,” he paused. “Where am I?”

“You’re in a cellar at the house.”

“A cellar at the house?” He frowned, or at least that was his instinct. Everything hurt too much, even his facial muscles. “I thought they’d send me to isolation like last time.”

“They didn’t want to risk it after the fight you started. The guards think you’re a bad influence on the slaves’ morale and they don’t want you anywhere near them. The regular isolation rooms share walls, so they are afraid you would plan an insurrection if you stayed there with the others.”

“The others?”

“The other men who got involved in the fight are in the regular isolation rooms. I heard they’re going to move you there, too, at the end of the week—after the others have served their punishment. Until then, they’re keeping you here, separated from everyone.”

“How…” He swallowed hard. “How did you manage to come here?”

“I took advantage of the shift in guards. I can’t stay for too long, but after I heard how badly you were injured, I couldn’t stay away.”

“Thank you. You didn’t have to risk yourself for my sake though.”

“Raf… Do you hear yourself? You stood up for everyone in there! The least I can do is help you in any way that I can.”

“I only did what I thought was right,” he grumbled, hating that she would see him like this, at his weakest, for the first time.

“And now am doing what I think is right. I brought you some food, water, medicine and ointment for your injuries. I promise you, this stuff works wonders on bruises.”

“How would you know?” He frowned.

She didn’t answer, and he wondered if he’d said the wrong thing.

“I know,” was all she replied eventually, those two words full of pain.

He didn’t inquire further. Instead, he reached out, gritting his teeth as he moved. He waved his hand around until he found hers, squeezing tightly in comfort—a camaraderie that spoke of shared experiences.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Anyone who lifts a hand against a woman cannot be called a man.”

“I didn’t say it was a man.”

“You didn’t have to,” he replied, quietly seething on her behalf.

She ignored his words, instead changing the topic.

“Let’s get you into a seating position so that you can eat something. I doubt the guards will give you much these days.”

Lucero’s touch was soft as she helped him move until his back was against the wall. He grimaced at the pulsating pain in his body, but he didn’t make one noise, not wanting to worry her more.

“Does that mean you’ll come again?” he asked once he was able to find a comfortable position. Yet even as the words were out of his mouth, he was unable to mask the hope in his voice.

“I will come as often as I can, Raf,” she said, the sound of water trickling as she poured some into a cup. “I promise you.”

Taking his hands, he wrapped them around a cup and she helped him place it to his lips, sipping slowly.

His lip troubled him, and as the water mingled with blood, he realized it must have been split open. Of course, he didn’t mention any of that though. He simply allowed her to tend to him the best she could, reveling in every little touch as he knew it came from a place of caring.

“Do you think you can have a bit of food? I brought some soup since it might be easier to swallow.”

“A little,” he grunted.

To his surprise—although he should have stopped being surprised a long time ago when it came to her—she started spoon feeding him the broth.

“Why are you doing this?”

“I told you before. You deserve a little bit of kindness in your life.”

“That doesn’t explain why me. Why risk coming here to help me when we never knew each other before?” He knew he should stop with his questions, but he needed to know.

How could someone simply help another without asking for anything in return? Maybe he’d become too jaded after what he’d experienced, but he knew that people never did something just for the sake of it. They certainly didn’t do something for a stranger without exacting a price for it later on.

“We might not know each other, but I know of you,” she answered in that same soft, melodious voice that did wonders to his mood. “I know you share your food with those who need it, that you stand up for those weaker and that you’re always increasing your workload to help those not capable.”

The sound traveled to his brain, enveloping him like a fine glove and sending all the right signals to his pleasure receptors. Despite the state he was in, he felt better just by letting himself be consumed by the sound of her voice.

“But my question is, Raf… Who helps ?”

He licked his lips as he swallowed the sip of soup, the warmth of the liquid doing wonders to his stomach.

“You?” he asked playfully, though he quickly sobered up as he realized he didn’t want to come across as ungrateful. “That is to say… Erm…” he stammered. “I really appreciate what you’re doing for me, Lucero. You’re very kind.”

“I wish you’d be kinder to yourself,” she sighed.

She fed him more soup, dabbing the corners of his mouth when some spilled over his chin. When the bowl was finished, she put it aside and gave him a sip of water.

“I’ll tend to your injuries now,” she spoke out loud, announcing she was going to touch him. “I’ll have to cut the shirt off your body, but I brought you something in case you’re cold at night. Is that okay?”

“Anything you do to me is okay,” he murmured softly.

True to her word, Lucero cut the shirt off his body, taking all the strips off him as best she could without causing him more pain. Then she applied that special ointment she’d bragged about all over his skin.

There was a stinging tingling at first before numbness seeped in, the pain slowly fading until it became nothing more than a dull thrum at the surface of his skin.

“It really does work wonders,” he chuckled, wincing when he noted it did nothing for his internal injuries.

But it wasn’t the cream that had such an effect on him. It was the combination of her touch and her voice, the way she tended to him as if he were precious to her.

“I told you,” she said, and he felt a smile in her voice.

He wondered if her lips were smiling too.

A groan escaped him as he conjured her lips in his mind. Once more, he was straying in dangerous, dangerous territory. His treacherous mind recalled all of the instances in which he’d thought of her over the last few weeks, and the things he’d pictured. God, but her voice alone had been a recurrent melody in his head.

“Lucero,” he rasped. “Do you have a man?”

“W-what?” she asked, taken aback.

“Are you promised to anyone?”

“No,” she promptly replied. “I am not. Why are you asking that?”

Had her voice gone up a notch on the last question?

Rafaelo hated that he couldn’t see her, but in his mind’s eye he imagined her blushing.

“I want to kiss you,” he suddenly stated. His voice was serious, confident.

“You… You want to kiss me?” She gulped down.

“Is there something wrong? If you do not want it, that is completely fine. You’re the one with all the power here, Lucero. As you can see, I’m quite beat already,” he attempted a joke.

“No,” she replied. “I don’t mean I don’t want it,” she quickly amended, flustered. “I wouldn’t mind it. If you’d like…”

“I might need your help. Scoot closer,” he told her huskily.

Damn, what he wouldn’t give to witness the play of emotions on her face. But he was going to taste her lips today. To his mind, that was an even bigger win.

Since the moment she’d helped him in the tunnels, she’d been on his mind constantly, always looking for her. He didn’t know what it was about her that drew him in, but there was a softness to her that appealed to an instinctive part of him. He didn’t need to see what she looked like to want her, and that had been a big surprise even for him. What mattered was what he knew of her—her kindness, her bravery, her delicate manner of being.

For someone who’d never had an interest in the opposite sex, this was a critical moment in his life—one that he wished he could preserve forever.

She moved slowly, careful of his injuries as she settled on his lap, her hands on his shoulders the lightest of touches.

Going by how tentative her movements were, he supposed this was as big of a moment for her as it was for him, and that only made him more anxious—afraid he was going to screw it up.

He’d never kissed someone before—had never had the inclination.

Yet now, with this faceless woman, it felt imperative that he do so.

“Tell me if I hurt you,” she whispered, her breath fanning across his lips and denoting her proximity.

“You won’t. You’re very small,” he noted, a smile pulling at his lips.

She fit perfectly in his arms, just as he’d envisioned.

That moment when she’d tended his injuries in the tunnel had given him a taste of her slender, delicate frame, which he now experienced to the fullest.

Slowly, he brought his hands to her waist, caressing her softly.

He was so lost in the moment, that he didn’t even mind what she saw in him anymore—that he probably looked a fright with how disfigured he was from the many blows he’d taken to his face.

That was yet another unusual thing.

For so long, he’d been so concerned with his appearance, always disappointed in himself, that it was a wonder he wasn’t focusing on that now. Instead, he was only focusing on her.

And with his sight gone, he experienced her through other mediums.

Smell, touch, hearing. He used everything at his disposal to get drunk on her and everything she meant to him—an oasis in the desert.

“You’re just very big,” she giggled, a rich sound that permeated his very being.

Becoming a little bolder, he raised one hand to her face, cupping her cheek and tracing the contours of her features.

She had small, dainty features, just like the rest of her.

Her cheekbones were full and defined, her mouth small and pouty.

As he traced the seam of her lips, she drew a sharp breath in.

“May I?” he asked, wanting her verbal consent to continue. He didn’t know her boundaries, but from the little he’d inferred about her history with men, he supposed she hadn’t had the best experiences. And by God, he wanted to be experience for her.

“Yes, please,” she whispered, breathless and eager.

Leaning in, he paused when he was a razor’s edge away from her lips, simply breathing her in.

“You’ve been on my mind for weeks,” he rasped. “Your voice’s been replaying in my head, the softness of your skin…”

She shuddered at his words, and he felt her tremble against him. Yet he knew it wasn’t from fear. It was from the same anticipation that was building within him.

“I thought about you, too,” she whispered. “I’ve been watching you,” she confessed.

He swallowed those words as he brushed his lips against hers. It started with a light touch, a tentative exploration as he fit his mouth on top of hers, tasting her sweetness.

Yet slowly, it evolved.

Her mouth opened, allowing him to taste her deeper. Her kiss was as untutored as his, but just as keen.

Excitement thumped in his veins, a surge of electricity enveloping the two of them as they clung to each other.

His wounds hurt, but the pain was drowned out by the pure pleasure of her touch—by this precarious moment he wanted nothing but to preserve forever in time.

“You’re so sweet,” he spoke against her lips, “too sweet for me.”

Blood from his split lip coated his tongue, and he realized she likely tasted it too.

“I’m getting you all bloody,” he grimaced. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no.” She shook her head, dipping it and kissing him again. “I want it. I want ,” she said breathlessly, her tongue coming out to lick the open wound on his lip, soothing it.

She licked languidly at his lips, almost like a cat getting her last drop of milk.

He caught her tongue between his teeth before he sucked it in his mouth, deepening the kiss. She leaned further into him, holding tightly as she sighed against him. Oh, but what a sweet sigh it was.

The kiss seemed to go on forever as they tasted each other. Lucero rocked herself slightly against him, though still mindful not to hurt him.

“I’ve never kissed someone before,” she whispered as he kept nibbling at her lips. “Was… Was it good?” she asked, her voice trembling with uncertainty.

“I wouldn’t know,” he answered proudly, his palm molding to her cheek. “I’ve never kissed anyone either.”

He felt her sudden intake of breath before she leaned in and kissed him again. And again. She peppered kisses on his lips until they were both breathless.

“I’ll give you all my kisses if you give me yours,” she whispered, her hands tentatively moving up as she cupped his jaw—the only place that wasn’t as hurt or swollen.

She stroked him lightly, and in that moment he wished he could see her expression.

He blinked repeatedly, light filtering through his swollen lids. Still, he could only make out a vague contour.

“They’re yours,” he said, knowing his words to be true the moment he uttered them.

He felt an affinity with her that he could not explain, and something deep in his soul told him this was right—

were right.

She smiled against his lips, lightly nuzzling her cheek against his before sucking his bloody lip into her mouth.

That she wasn’t bothered by the state of him told him everything he needed to know about her. She, just like him, had no care about appearances. Only about what was inside.

He hesitated as he skimmed his hand up her rib cage, laying his open palm on top of her breast to feel the beats of her heart. Taking her hand, he did the same, letting her see the way his pulse was out of control.

“Twice you’ve saved me already. You’ve been the literal light at the end of the tunnel for me, mi luz. Thank you.”

She swallowed hard, her pulse speeding under his touch.

“Don’t thank me yet, Raf. One way… One way I’ll get you out of here,” she promised fervently. “Until then I’ll do my best to help you.”

“What did I do to deserve you?” he mused quietly. “You’re my guardian angel, aren’t you?”

Noelle rested her forehead against his, taking in his warmth and trying to forget the fact that he thought her to be Lucero. This… This moment was everything she’d dreamed about.

When she’d come down to help him, she’d never in a million years imagined they would end up in such an intimate embrace—that she could feel his skin on top of hers, his lips mating with hers.

Joy suffused her entire being at realizing he felt the same attraction to her that she did, and he didn’t even know what she looked like.

This is fate—

fate. She couldn’t describe it otherwise when she’d felt more at home for two-seconds in his arms than in her entire life. And when she’d tasted his lips… his blood… She felt herself getting drunk on the euphoria of the moment, because this confirmed what she’d always known.

They were meant to be together.

Today, tomorrow, and every day that followed. They would be together.

And by God, those men who’d dared to lay a hand against him would suffer tenfold what he did.

Everyone who had a hand in what happened to him will get their due.

,” she whispered to herself.