Trent leaned back against the rocky wall counting one one 1000ths, until he'd reached a hundred of them. He couldn't take it anymore. Cautiously he peeked around the corner to see, if she'd even taken him up, on washing herself. What he saw broke his heart a little further than it had already been. She was just standing there still clothed staring at the bar soap in her hand.
Action was required and he felt the healing wound at his temple pulse painfully at what that would require of him. He stepped away from the corner and slowly walked toward her.
She watched him take his boots off and then step into the water and come towards her. Again he held up a hand forestalling any words she might say.
"You need to be clean. Your wounds need checked. I swear that's all I'm going to do. I'm going to wash you and check out how you're healing. I'll swear that on the Bible, my mother's heart, anything you want so please don't take this badly." He finished, as he began to unbutton her shirt and then her pants.
He reached for the soap bar, but she held onto it slightly and his eyes met hers.
"Your mother's heart?" She asked softly.
"You know how much I love my mother and how I would never hurt her?"
She nodded yes.
"Well I feel the same way about you!"
She released the soap bar and he did exactly what he said he would. He washed her gently, but thoroughly and checked all her injuries, which had healed surprisingly well without any signs of infection.
The girl had good genes and Trent couldn't resist patting himself on the back a little. He'd done the best stitch work of his life on her. Her rib cage area was still discolored purple and yellow. He pressed on her ribs individually, while monitoring her for response. "Any of that hurt?"
She shook her head no.
"Just looks bad then. Okay I'm all done then, thank you for not bashing me with a rock." Trent said turning away, as he started to slog through the soapy water towards the shore.
Her words stopped him though. "Don't you think the stitches should come out?"
Drat it! Drat it! Drat, echoed over loudly within Trent's consciousness. Yes the stitches should come out, but this wasn't easy! Being next to her, seeing her, touching her was sheer torture and Trent only too well felt his charade of being an unresponsive celibate monk fading fast. How did one act around one's fantasy, as if one didn't desire it, but the dice were cast.