“Of course.”
For a few moments, we both observe the fish. I wonder about who set up the tank. Does Ilya have somebody who cleans the tank and feeds the fish? Is this like a dentist lobby, where the fish are simply there to entertain the guests? Or does he take care of them himself because he loves them?
Would he take care of me if he loved me?
Adam takes care of me, but doesheeven love me?
“I’ll get you some snacks,” Ilya suddenly says. “Sit wherever you like.” He pats me on the head, his touch warm, before he leaves.
I should go too. I don’t need more food. I don’t need to stay here. Coming here was a mistake. Staying here is an even bigger one.
I wander toward the couch, but the idea of sitting down on it feels surprisingly strange. At home…
My heart skips a beat at the thought, but I persist.
Athome, I would just sit on the floor. Adam likes when I do that, so he can stroke my hair while he watches TV. Maybe Ilya will like it, too. Maybe it will get him to relax and even open up to me.
It’s not that I think he’ll start to spill all of his secrets right away, but maybe… Maybe he’ll say something,anything, that Adam can work with.
So even though I’m hesitant, I settle down on the floor anyway, getting comfortable and resting in front of the couch. I close my eyes, not opening them until I hear Ilya returning.
“I hope this is okay,” I say awkwardly, glancing up at him.
Ilya doesn’t answer for long enough that I get nervous.
I’m being weird. This is off-putting for the average person.
I tense as Ilya approaches. “Sorry,” I say, getting up. “I should?—”
“I told you to sit wherever you liked,” Ilya says sternly. “If the floor is comfortable, then sit there.” He sets the tray of snacks down on the coffee table. “Sit, Micah.”
The order sends a shiver down my spine, and I sit back down without thinking. “Yes, sir,” I whisper. It’s so easy to obey that authoritative tone, coming from that man who has been so kind to me despite being who he is,whathe is.
Ilya sits down on the couch, though not close enough that his legs touch me, and that feels like rejection.
I wrap my arms around my legs and rest my head on my knees.
“Micah,” Ilya says softly. “You’ve had a long day. Even if you aren’t hungry, you should eat.” He uses a toothpick to spear a small cube of cheese. He holds it out to me, and I could easily take it from his hands and eat like a normal person.
My face heats up, but I lean forward and take the cheese with my mouth instead. I’m so nervous that it doesn’t taste like much, but the feelings that come with it are something I can’t ignore.
I want this.
I want him.
It makes no sense. I know so little about him, and what I do know is that he’s a criminal. He’s probably just a violent man who wants to disarm me.
Maybe he wants avictim, too.
Or maybe he wants more than that. Maybe he wants someone to care for in a way that doesn’t make me feel like I’m less than nothing.
I’m still with Adam, though, and the urge to plead for more dies before I say anything about it. Instead, I let him feed me — a piece of cheese, a piece of meat, back and forth.
First from the toothpicks, then from his fingers, until it’s all I can do not to lick them.
It tastes better than the fancy food from earlier tonight.
When he rumbles, “Good boy,” I blush, but I’m so hungry for the praise that it’s all I can do not to beg for more of that, too.
