He grins, "With as hard as I push you, the fact that you can walk is nothing short of a miracle."
I mock gasp, "I thought you were going easy on me."
His gaze travels my face for the smallest second, and I feel that exploration all over my body, heat filling my veins at howhe looks at me— like he needed to soak up just a moment of this easy conversation.
"If you keep this up, I might consider taking you to the baby shower," the words slip out of his mouth, and he seems as surprised by them as I am.
"Really?" The first spark of hope fills my chest.
He nods, thinking it over wholly, "There would need to be rules, of course. But if you keep progressing atthe rate you are, a long weekend under my constant supervision wouldn't be out of the question."
My eyes nearly water from the prospect of getting out of this hellhole for even just a couple days. I can't speak past the lump in my throat, just nodding, willing to agree to whatever he asks of me if he would allow me to see my friends.
A soft, warm smile lifts the corner of his lips, a sweet boyishness in his eyes as he peers down at me, the two of us not at war with each other for just a moment.
The proximity and vulnerability in his gaze leave me frozen in terror. He can't look at me like that, and I can't like it. This is still a hostage situation, and I'm still the fucking hostage. No matter how many times he encourages me, no matter the food and the coffee and the clothes and the training and the promises of a temporary reprieve, at the end of the day he still stole me and locked me away from my life.
He must see the change in mood written across my face, a mask of indifference falling over his own as he looks toward the kitchen. "You'll be on your own for lunch today. Since you never made me the list I asked you for, you'll have to make do with whatever is in there already."
"Where will you be?" I ask.
"Out."
Then he walks away, leaving me both pissed and relieved that he left before any more comradery could try to grow between us.
The workday floats by with little to no excitement. During lunch, I make myself a little sandwich and grab a bag of potato chips, laughing to myself because Eamon would be pissed if he saw what kind of meal I make for myself when he's not here to babysit me.
I finish my day, meetings and numbers and boring bullshit nearly putting me to sleep until I can finally close my computer and shut off my brain.
Without Eamon here to boss me around and tell me what to do, the only thing that really appeals to me is crawling into bed and waiting for tomorrow to come. I haven't had a quiet moment to think about everything he told me about the Sanctum and what would happen to me if they got ahold of me, unwilling to face the horrible situation I'm in.
He says I've made it worse by poking the bear, but how much worse could it be than what he's already told me? A blood fountain and a baby-making machine are about as bleak of a future as it gets.
When I think about my future, the person beside me changes constantly, but the few constants for me were a house on the coast someday and a couple of kids running around splashing and surfing. Motherhood always seemed like an inevitability, one that I looked forward to, one that I wanted.
Staring at my bed and considering sleep, I know I won't be successful with the headspace I'm in now. I'll be trapped there staring at the ceiling, thinking about all the futures I've imagined with the people I've dated. Sharon, who promised me a wedding in Italy before she changed her mind when she realized my career would always come first. Stan, who begged me for a second chance after I caught him inmybed with his yoga instructor.
There were countless others, some who stayed long enough to get me into bed, some who didn't. As soon as someone saw thereal me, something drove them away. The only explanation is that it's just me.
No.We are not doing this today.
I change into my comfiest—and only clean pair of pajamas since I'm alone tonight and haven't had a chance to ask Eamon where I can do laundry. I don't even have any clean socks left, padding around with bare, freezing feet.
A quick dart into the kitchen brings me face to face with the only thing that's brought me any solace in this dank, damp hell.
Tequila.
The spread of tacos next to it that definitely weren't there an hour ago is barely a blip on my radar, even as the steam radiates off of them, perfectly fresh and hot. Eamon was here. Just long enough to drop off food and leave again.Weird.
Maybe he's avoiding me as much as I wish I could avoid him. But where the fuck do I get to escape to when he gets to be too much?
With one hand carrying the tequila and my phone in the other, I look at the couch I haven't touched since arriving. Eamon said I'm not a prisoner. Everything out here is at my disposal. I've seen him watching enough hockey to last a million lifetimes; how hard could the projector be to use?
A note next to the remote draws my attention, and I find Eamon's harsh, sloping handwriting.
BIG REMOTE: PROJECTOR
SMALL REMOTE: SMART TV CONTROL
