The appearance she had when singing those few lines of the song.
And the tears that fell along with the melody.
James Black thought, in his lifetime, he had feared neither life nor death and remained unflustered by hardship and toil.
Yet, he only feared her tears, anxious about her suffering.
"Sleep," James Black closed the cover of the pad with his knee and then directly kicked it under the bed, "Itās very late, rest early."
The woman lying next to him on her side since he started watching murmured a low affirmative, quickly reaching out to turn off the roomās electric light.
The next second, the room plunged into darkness.
She lay at the very edge, far from his position, so far that another adult could lie down between them. It was just like how Jane used to like marking her own territory long ago.
In between, it was as if an invisible glass wall stood there, as though she wouldnāt cross over and she wouldnāt allow him to cross either.
James Black didnāt like this feeling.
Even though, thatās how he and Jane Sampson had spent their earlier years together.
But now, James Black greatly detested her distancing from him and hated the wide gap between them.
James Black shifted until he was close enough to press against Jane Sampsonās back before stopping, the tips of his right fingers touching her back with barely any force.
"Jane Sampson," James Black suddenly spoke, calling her name.
Jane Sampson did not respond, as if she had fallen asleep and couldnāt hear.
"I know youāre not asleep," James Black said, "Answer me."
"I was about to fall asleep," Janeās muffled voice came through, "And itās hot, donāt stick to me."
"How hot?" James Black asked.
"Hot to death," Jane responded without thinking.
"Then die from the heat," James Black said, leaning a bit more into her back.
Knowing she was concerned about the injuries on his hands, James Black could continue pressing against her back without worry.
"James Black you turtle egg," Jane murmured a curse at him with her back turned, her voice already unable to hide the choking sobs.
"Donāt cry," James Black commanded her urgently, "You can curse me, but you are not allowed to cry."
"Iām not crying, why would I cry?" Jane retorted even as she lifted her hand to wipe the corner of her eye.
"Jane Sampson," James Black knew his tone might have upset her, but it was just his natural way of speaking, shaped by an innate temperament that made him speak like that from birth.
"Turn around and face me, I have something to say to you," James Black tried to make his voice as soft and gentle as possible.
"I donāt want to," Jane responded, "I donāt want to listen, Iām going to sleep."
James Black sighed and went silent.
He did not speak, and Jane Sampson showed no intention of speaking either.
After a long time, James Black was the first to break the silence and called Jane Sampsonās name again.
Even though she did not respond again, James Black knew that Jane Sampson wasnāt asleep.
In the dim light inside the room, accompanied by James Blackās low voice, inexplicably, her heart was softened bit by bit.
"Jane Sampson, you have me," James Black said.
"No matter what, you still have me, understand?" At this time, James Black really wanted to reach out and hold Jane Sampson, then kiss her deeply, telling her not to be sad because he was there.
But his hands were injured, bandaged tightly; he couldnāt hug her at this moment, nor could he kiss her.
James Black gently raised his right hand, touching her ear with his fingertip. He sat up, leaned down to kiss her ear, then got down from the bed, turned on the light with his shoulder, and walked straight over to Jane Sampsonās bedside, squatting down.