But he knows where I am. He’s been watching, as usual.
He opens the bedroom door and walks straight toward me. His face is as neutral as his voice was moments before. He draws near, and before I can say a thing, he’s lifted me in his arms and brought me to the bathroom. There, he sets me down again.
“What are you going to do?” I breathe.
“Take off your makeup. Isn’t that what you asked of me?”
My heart sinks. He’s angry. I can tell by his cold voice.
He rummages in the makeup bag until he’s found a small bottle of micellar water. He squirts some on a cotton pad.
“Close your eyes.”
I do as he tells me, and startle at the touch of the cold wetness under my eyes.
The cotton slides over my cheeks, and though my eyes are still shut, I can imagine it removing every trace of makeup, revealing the sallow skin beneath.
“Breathe,” he murmurs, his voice hot against my neck.
I suck in some air and realize I’ve been holding in my breath. I sag backwards but his firm hand around my waist keeps me from falling.
“Still afraid of me, aren’t you?” he growls, removing the last of my makeup and throwing away the cotton pad.
I don’t answer, but he doesn’t seem to expect me to. He threadshis fingers through my bushy hair and I melt under his touch.
“No more makeup, no more brushing out those pretty curls,” he says, his voice firm. Then he lifts me once more in his arms and brings me back to my room. He sets me down and my throat constricts when he walks back to the door.
“Please,” I whisper. “Please don’t go.”
He pauses at the door then turns back. “I have to work, pet.”
“Stay with me,” I plead.
Sighing, he walks back and sits down beside me. He looks at me quietly, and I detect that soft note in his eyes that’s more dangerous than the darkest gleam.
Because it tricks me into thinking he cares.
“You must be very bored,” he muses, absent-mindedly slipping a lock of hair behind my ear. “I’m glad you don’t watch TV. That drivel will make your mind go soft. But I see I need to give you something to do. I think I have a few old DVDs lying around somewhere. How would you like that?”
I stay quiet, unable to voice what I really want. For once, he doesn’t seem to understand my silence.
“Guess you don’t know what a DVD is,” he chuckles. “You can’t be much older than nineteen or twenty.”
“I’m nineteen,” I mumble. “And you?” I add, my voice a little hard as I try to work up the courage to question him.
But he doesn’t notice.
“Thirty-seven. How about books? Though there are already lots of them on the shelves. But you’ve never read any of them.”
I shrug.
“I know how it is,” he adds after a beat of silence. “I’m from Oakley, too, remember? Bet you’ve never read a book in your life.”
“I have,” I answer defensively. “I’ve read two.”
He barks out a laugh, and I squeeze my hands into fists. He’s laughing at me. I don’t know why, but he’s laughing at me, and I hate it.
Angry tears prick at my eyes. He drags me onto his lap, his warm arms embracing me, but I don’t allow myself to relax into him the way I usually do. I stay tense, and he chuckles again.
