I carried the bowls up, set his outside his door, knocked, then hurried away before he answered.
Was it childish?
Sure was.
Did I care?
Not even a little.
I wanted him to eat, but that didn’t mean I wanted to actually face him.
Seeing him pry into a stranger’s head so easily had thrown me off—though I hadn’t been all that steady beforehand.
The reality was that I knew exactly what a mentalist could do, the damage they left behind.How could he do that and not care, not seem to even notice what those actions could mean?
It meant I didn’t want to look at him, to think about what had happened or, worse, what he could do if he wanted.If he were that powerful, if he could so easily pluck information from that man’s mind, what could he do if he truly wanted to hurt me?
The door opening then closing again from down the hallway made its way through the walls, letting me know he’d taken the food once I was safely in my own room.
The sight of the phone, still on the desk, caught my attention.I sat there, not wanting to make a mess by trying to eat pasta on the bed.
How long had it been since I had a good phone?A place to call my own?
A part of me struggled to believe this was possible.I kept waiting for life to snatch it all away from me, as it always did.
The best example of that feeling was my still-packed bag.I washed my clothes then returned them to that bag, never willing to leave things out of it because I didn’t want to have to repack it.
That fear had been with me for years, of course, but had it ever bothered me as much as it did now?The idea of getting kicked out of here pricked at me more than it had at other places, with other squads.
Why?What did it matter?Maybe because this was the first time my boundaries hadn’t gotten pushed?It was the first time I could breathe because I wasn’t constantly defending myself.
I picked up my phone and dialed a number known by heart, one I never actually saved, that I never needed to save.
It rang only once before a man’s smooth voice answered, the closest thing I had to a friend.“Hey there, little kitten.”
I rolled my eyes at the nickname Kaidan had given me years ago.“I told you to stop calling me that.”
“Why?It fits.”He let out a soft laugh.“I heard you moved again.Another problem?”
I didn’t flinch at that, as I might have from anyone else.When he said it, it was with a lot of history, with knowing more about me than about anyone else.He understood me in a way no one else did, which meant it hurt less when he brought up things about me I didn’t love.
“Yeah.”
“What happened?”
I stirred the pasta in the bowl, the food not appearing as appetizing as it had when I’d cooked it.“Same thing as always.”
Four words that meantso much more.It was funny how that worked, how easy it was to say something in just a few words, as though it were simple when it was actually far from it.
His sigh was loud, speaking volumes.
Still, I went on since I didn’t want to dwell on that.“How are you doing?Where are you now?”
“Korea.”
“Settled down yet?”
“Me?Never.I’m not that type.”
