“Eat.” He’s not asking, he’s demanding and I don’t like it.
I stare at the sandwich, my stomach simultaneously churning and growling. “I’m not hungry.”
“Are you really going to continue with this charade? You said you didn’t care that you were bleeding and now your wrist is bandaged. Now you’re telling me you aren’t hungry when I can clearly hear your stomach growling. Stop being difficult. We both know this can only end one of two ways. So are you going to eat on your own, or am I going to have to shove the food down your throat?”
“I’m not being difficult. I said I’m not hungry.”
“Saint!” The way he says my name, like a father scolding his child, promises punishment if I push further.
I’m tempted to push him further, but there’s a reminder at the back of my mind telling me to tread carefully. Reluctantly, I reach for the sandwich with my free hand, hating myself for giving in so easily. The truth is I’m starving, and even if I don’t want him to knowIknow that being stubborn won’t help me if I need the strength later.
Taking a bite of the sandwich, I force myself to chew and swallow. It tastes like sawdust in my dry mouth, but it’s better than starving, right?
Calder watches me for a moment, and when he seems satisfied he turns and moves to the small table. He pulls out a chair and sits down heavily, like the weight of the world is resting on his shoulders. The silence stretches between us, thick and uncomfortable. I finish half the sandwich before my stomach rebels against eating another bite, and I set it aside.
Calder stares straight ahead, clearly lost in thought.
“There, I ate. Now what?” I ask quietly.
After a moment, his gaze flicks back to me. “I don’t know.”
“What do you mean?” I try my best to hide the fear in my voice but if he doesn’t have a plan then…. I try not to think about what that might mean.
“I mean, I’m working on it.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Just don’t worry about it. When I have a solution that doesn’t put both of us in a shallow grave, I’ll let you know. Until then, focus on yourself.”
Something in my chest cracks and the words erupt out of me. “I can’t just worry about myself. I want to go home. I want to sleep in my own bed and wear my own clothes.”
Calder stands abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. “This isn’t about what you want anymore. It’s about survival.”
He moves to the window, staring out at the trees, his back to me. The afternoon light cuts across his profile, highlighting the tension in his jaw, the rigid set of his shoulders. It’s clear he’s frustrated and angry. Is it me making him like that, or is it something else?
“Please,” I whisper. “Please just tell me what you want from me. Why am I here? What are you planning to do?”
“I already told you. I’m figuring it out.”
“That’s not good enough. I need an answer.”
He whirls on me, anger flashing in his eyes. “There is no answer for me to give you, Saint. You’re acting like I had this all planned out. I didn’t want you involved. I didn’t want you to open that door, but you did. I can’t go back in time. I can’t save you from the consequences. What’s done, is done. Now we’re both fucked, so excuse me if I don’t have a perfect solution at this very moment to hand you on a silver platter! My choices were to kill you or take you.”
Tears burn my eyes and when I blink they slip down my cheeks. There is no answer. No solution. I’m trapped. I refuse to accept that reality, refuse to acknowledge it. Instead, I push his response to the back of my mind.
“I need to use the bathroom,” I tell him quietly.
His anger deflates slightly. “Use the bucket.”
“I can’t?—”
“Then hold it,” he says before turning back to face the window. “I’m not uncuffing you.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not stupid. If I uncuff you, you’ll run, and I don’t have the patience to deal with that right now.”
“Where would I go?” I gesture at the window with my free hand. “We’re in the middle of nowhere. Plus, I wouldn’t make it ten feet before you caught me.”
