“I’m going to go to bed,” I say when Curse doesn’t respond to my earlier statement. He’s still rigid with anger or disgust or whatever it is that’s flowing through him now.
“Fine,” he finally rasps. “You’ll sleep in this bed.”
I glance at the huge bed in the room. “But isn’t this yours?”
It’s one of three beds in the house. I assumed that with all the increased security here, and because he let me wander around so much on my own today, that I would get to sleep away from him now as well. Based on how he’s been acting around me, he has to want that, too. Some space away from me.
“Yes,” he replies. “It’s mine.”
“But…” My head tilts in confusion. “I thought-”
“You thought wrong,” he cuts in, “if you thought I was going to drag you all the way across the border just to give you the chance to slip away now.”
Irritation flares, kindling into rage. Maybe it’s some kind of reaction to the hurt I feel. A protection mechanism. Whatever it is, I lean into it.
“Why would you even care if I tried to get away now?” I cry. “You clearly want nothing to do with me. What is it that bringing me here accomplishes for you?” I’m breathing hard. Fighting tears. Again. “You’re not handing me over to Elio or anyone else, but you said that someone sent you to New York on the night of my wedding. Why? What’s the fucking point of all of this? What the hell do you even want?”
By the time I get to that last question, I’m shouting at him. My throat burns with the force of it.
When Curse answers me, his voice is deadly quiet in comparison.
“What the hell do I want?” His lips and fingers twitch in unison. Like he’s barely holding something back. “Don’t ask me that, Aurora. I guarantee that you will not like my fucking answer.”
Those words alone are enough to chill me. The heat of my rage abandons me, leaving me cold all the way down to my core.
“What do you plan to do with me?” I whisper.
“I plan to keep you alive,” he bites out. “So get in my fucking bed. And just let me fucking do it.”
He remains planted there, making it clear that he won’t leave until I do it. All the energy has drained right out of me. There’s nothing left in me to hurl at him. No voice to shout with. Even the tears are gone now.
Unsteadily, I walk to the bed, pull back the grey duvet, and clamber in. Curse doesn’t leave until I lie down and pull the duvet all the way up to my chin.
He turns the light out as he goes.
“Who’s there?” I mumble in the darkness.
“Go back to sleep.”
That doesn’t actually answer my question, but of course the voice gives it away. And I’m awake enough now that I remember where I am. Who else could it be but Curse?
I’m in his bed, after all.
Something cold encircles my wrist, then tightens with a telltale click.
He’s still using the goddamn handcuffs. Even here. Even now.
I’m too angry at the metal holding me hostage – and the man holding me hostage – to go back to sleep now. I lie there in stewing silence as Curse gets in beside me. This bed is so much bigger than the one back at the motel. But it barely makes a difference now that we are once again basically glued at the hip. We can’t spread out away from each other unless our arms get stretched out straight. There’s no way I can sleep like that.
So I don’t even try.
It’s pitch black in here with the security blinds closed. No moon or starlight to cast even the faintest glow over Curse as he settles in beside me. I catch a strong whiff of the body wash I used in the shower earlier, and wonder if he’s just had a shower. Probably while I was asleep. There’s another scent, too. Something sharp and smoky.
Alcohol. Whisky would be my guess. Mia always liked whisky. She got me to drink some of it every now and then. I always loved the burn of it going down, but hated the slurring haziness it left behind. Hated feeling like I could fall asleep and then not know what might happen to me. I never wanted to feel like I wasn’t in complete control of my body.
Curse clearly isn’t worried about that. As far as I can tell, he drops off almost instantly. His breathing is rougher, more uneven than I’m used to. Usually, he’s as still and quiet asleep as he is awake. It’s probably an effect of the drinking.
But I don’t think he’s truly drunk. He strikes me as too cautious for that. And his words came out clear enough when he told me to go back to sleep.
