She looks over at the space next to her, untouched and as pristine as it was this morning. She heaves a sigh, and her gaze goes to the window looking over the back of the house and the better half of their property. Her lips twist in a look of worry and she slips out of bed, walking silently to the window, her nightgown a gorgeous silver in the moonlight. She peers through the glass and see him, his eyes screwed shit and his fists swinging back and forth into the wall again and again. Her eyes shift to the barrel next to the wall and she decides to make the necessary preparations for him to bandage himself so as to let him believe he has kept her in the dark. She walks over to the closet and grabs a fresh length of linen bandaging, cutting it thin enough to be wrapped comfortably around each knuckle and digit. Then she goes over to the sink, and fills a small bowl with cold, clean water. She knows that by the time he comes back in, it will be warmer and more soothing to the raw and sometimes ragged looking flesh. She pulls out a few herbal ingredients and a places them in a second, smaller bowl, calling upon her medical knowledge to at least grab the proper ingredients to make an ointment for his hands. She'll give him the pleasure of pounding out the plants himself, hopefully another release from his tension and frustration.
She stops moving and rustling under the sink when the sound of his hands pounding into the wall cease. She swiftly and quietly makes her way over to the window and peeks out again. Hes staring at his hands, his face neither happy nor upset. He walks to the barrel and plunges his hands into it, his jaw clenched and his eyes squinted in the burn the icy water gives to his wounds.
She shakes her head again and lines everything up on the window sill for him before making her way back into the bed, and looks again to the space next to her, untouched and pristine.