72

                                    

                                          
MARIA
Was she dreaming? 
She was a thousand percent sure that she was. She had to be because what the hell was happening right now? 
It was only in a dream that Bran would carry her in his arms like this, like she was fragile as an egg, like she was something he cared about and cherished so much, like she was the centre of his worlds. 
Yes, she was certain that it was a dream. 
And as if to prove to her that it was very much real and not a dream, Bran's arms tightened around her before he dropped her carefully on the ground.
She'd lost her slippers at one point in the mud when it had caked around her legs and refused to let her go. She didn't want to but she'd had to abandon it if she didn't want to sink and that was exactly what she'd done. 
Now that she was looking down at her very dirty legs, she cringed, asking herself why she'd even thought walking in the dark was a smart idea. 
But then again, she'd been hurt. 
"Can you stand right here for a moment so that I can run you a bath?" Bran asked, and she had to tilt her head far up to look at him due to how close he was standing to her.
His cheekbones were slightly flushed and he wore a look of shame, his eyes stealing away from hers momentarily. 
He was ashamed, and regretted his actions. 
This was the same man that had scolded her in the car, the same man that told her that he would take her powers from her—her dear dear powers—if he wished to. Yet here he was, telling her that he wanted to run her a bath. 
Sounding for all the worlds like he actually meant it. 
She'd been so surprised when she'd seen him in that barn, wondering if he'd simply decided to take a stroll in the barn—in the evening, which was weird—but then she'd taken another look at his crazed, panicked eyes and she'd known that he'd come for her. She'd just known. 
He cared about her—at least he acted that way sometimes—so why did he treat her the way he did? 
Why was he hot one moment and cold the other? 
She suspected it was because he had feelings for her but he didn't want to. Maria may not be sure of the answer to the question, however, but she was sure of one thing; she couldn't keep up with his mood swings and she had no interest in doing so. 
They hurt her too much and it would be foolish to keep putting herself through this, hoping that he would magically change one day.
She felt useless, standing awkwardly as she waited for Bran to fill up the bath-tub with clear water. When he was done, he turned and walked over to her. 
"Do you need help taking..." He trailed off, shaking his head suddenly and gripping the hem of her gown. "Can I?"
It took Maria a total of ten seconds of thinking and rapid blinking to understand that he was asking to take her top off, and another ten seconds to formulate a reply. 
When, after those ten seconds her voice still didn't work, she settled on a nod. 
He promptly tugged on the material, pulling on it slowly until it passed her head and he dropped it on the floor of the bathroom. 
A loud breath wheezed past his teeth and it was in that moment that Maria realized that this bathroom wasn't the one in her room. It was far bigger and lot more beautiful with its white walls and bath—in fact it was the bath-tub that made her realise that this wasn't her room in the first place. She didn't have a bath-tub.