Camera

CHAPTER SIX : Camera 

I stood beside Ethan's bed, my eyes fixed on his body, and I could not stop the questions swirling through my mind like leaves caught in a storm. He was rumored to be bedridden, a man who had been lying in this bed for months without moving or speaking, without any sign of life beyond the steady rise and fall of his chest. So why did he look so fit? Why did his body look like it belonged to a man who trained every day, who took care of himself in ways a comatose patient should not be able to?

I leaned closer, studying the definition in his arms, the way his muscles seemed to ripple beneath his skin even in stillness. Could it be his diet? I wondered. Could the family be feeding him something that kept his body like this? Or was it the medication, doing something no one had told me about?

I shook my head, trying to clear the confusion. It did not matter why he looked the way he did. He was not moving. He was not waking up. He was just lying there, and I had a job to do. Feed him his medication. Clean his body. Change his clothes. I would perform my duties without letting curiosity get the better of me.

I walked to the table where the medications were laid out and prepared the doses exactly as instructed, my hands steady, my movements precise.

I returned to his bedside and gently lifted his head, pressing the syringe to his lips and administering the dose. He did not react, did not flinch, did not show any sign of awareness. He just lay there, passive and still, and a pang of sadness moved through me at how helpless he was, how completely dependent on others for everything.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, even though I knew he could not hear me. "I'm sorry you're trapped like this. I'm sorry your family is doing this to you, bringing all these women into your room and expecting you to..."

I trailed off, heat rising to my cheeks. I could not think about that part. So I pushed the thought away and focused on the present, on the simple act of caring for a man who could not care for himself.

I set the syringe aside and turned to cleaning his body. I had been dreading this part, the intimacy of it, but I had no choice. I reached for the cloth and the basin of warm water and began to wipe his chest, slow and careful. His skin was warm beneath my fingers, and I could feel the strength of his muscles even through the cloth. He was nothing like the frail, wasted body I had imagined when I first heard about his condition.

"This does not make any sense," I muttered, my brow furrowing. "You've been in a coma for months. You should be weak. You should be thin. But you look like you could get up and walk out of here."

I paused, my hand hovering over his chest, and searched his face for any flicker of awareness behind his closed eyelids. Nothing. Just stillness. Just the soft rhythm of his breathing.

I finished cleaning him and changed him into fresh clothes, my movements efficient. When I was done, I stepped back and felt a small, strange satisfaction. I had done my job. I could handle this.

Now I needed to take care of myself. I looked around the room and spotted a small bathroom attached to the main chamber, relief washing over me. At least there was somewhere I could have a moment of privacy.

I walked toward the bathroom, then stopped, my hand hovering over the door handle. I had not brought any other clothes with me. I looked back at Ethan, still and silent on the bed, and told myself it did not matter. He was unconscious. He could not see anything. I could change right here.

"It's fine," I said to myself, my voice barely above a whisper. "He's in a coma. He can't see anything. It's fine."

I began to unbutton my shirt, my fingers slow and hesitant, my heart pounding. Even knowing Ethan could not see me, I felt a sense of unease, like I was doing something I should not.

Just as I was about to pull my shirt off, my eyes caught something in the corner of the room, a small, dark shape mounted on the wall, barely visible in the dim light. I froze, my hands stilling on the buttons. It was a camera. Pointed directly at me.

My blood ran cold. My breath caught in my throat, and I felt like the ground had opened up beneath me. I was being watched. Someone had been watching me this entire time.

"Oh my god," I whispered, my voice trembling. "There's a camera in here."

I buttoned my shirt back up with shaking hands, tears prickling at the corners of my eyes. I had been about to undress. Someone would have seen.

I looked around the room, searching for more cameras, more violations of my privacy. I found another hidden in the bookshelf, and one mounted above the door. They were everywhere.

"This is insane," I said, my voice rising with panic. "They're watching me. I have no privacy. I have nothing."

I sank down onto the floor, my back against the wall, and wrapped my arms around my knees. The tears came, hot and relentless, and I could not stop them. I felt exposed. Violated. Like a specimen being studied by people who saw me as nothing more than an experiment.

Then I looked at Ethan, lying on the bed, still and silent. Or was he? The thought hit me like a bolt of lightning, and a chill ran down my spine. What if he could see me? What if he was watching right now, behind those closed eyelids, behind that mask of

unconsciousness? What if he knew everything?