-
When I awake, the sun is streaming through the open window. I’m alone in the big bed, and my heart sinks, though I know he’s already stayed far longer than I had any right to expect.
So I startle when the door opens and he walks in, carrying a breakfast tray.
“Lucy’s been bringing you filtered coffee,” he comments, setting the tray down on the bed. “I told her to come back with acappuccino, or not at all. All girls like cappuccinos. Don’t you?”
He hands me a cup topped with frothy milk.
“I’ve never tried one,” I say.
“Well, there’s a first time for everything. What do you usually eat for breakfast? Toast with jam and butter? Eggs and bacon? Oatmeal?”
As he speaks, he fills a heaping plate. I can tell he’s playing dumb, though. He must know from watching the cameras that I usually just eat a slice of dry toast and gulp down a cup of black coffee so quickly it burns my throat. Eating has always been a chore. Even now, with the delicious dishes Lucy prepares.
Sure enough, he doesn’t wait for a reply, setting the plate in front of me. “I want you to eat at least half of that. But try the cappuccino first.”
I take a sip, and I have to admit it’s good. The foamy texture fascinates me. Before I know it, I’ve downed the whole cup.
Damien looks pleased. “Now eat.”
That’s harder to do, but I know better than to defy him again. I shovel down the food, each bite tasting like chalk.
He nods approvingly. “Good girl.” He leans in to kiss me. “I have to go now.”
“Can’t you stay a bit?” The words leave my lips before I have time to think.
He pauses on the threshold of the door. “I have a lot of work.”
“Please.”
He turns to me, and I can see a touch of aggravation in his face. But then his eyes lock on mine, and his expression changes. Maybe he senses my unspoken words.
If you leave, you’ll find out just what I’m capable of.
My anger sits right beneath the surface. I’m not angry thathe locked me up, or dangled me off a balcony, or possibly ordered Logan to push me into the Oakley River, or beat the shit out of me with a belt. Or any of the other fucked up things he’s put me through since he kidnapped me. I’m angry that he won’t stay.
I know that’s absurd, but my mind has long ago grown weary of trying to make sense of my absurd thoughts.
He hesitates, and I repeat the words in my head like a haunting refrain, willing him to read them. He’s usually so good at mind-reading, and he doesn’t disappoint me this time either.
You don’t want me to lean over the balcony railing? I’ll fucking jump. You want me to eat? I’ll starve. You don’t want my nails to cut into my skin? I’ll rip my body to shreds.
That last thought seems to have more effect on him than the others. He goes to the bathroom to retrieve a pair of nail scissors, and sits down on the bed in front of me.
“Hands.”
He doesn’t give me time to obey, though, taking each of my hands in his, one after the other, and beginning to clip at the nails. Soon they’ve been reduced to blunt, somewhat uneven shapes.
“It’s not a professional manicure, but it’ll do,” he grunts.
I don’t even have to tell him I’ve never had one of those. I’m sure he knows.
Then he bends over and kisses me on the tip of my nose. “I’ll stay with you tonight, if you behave.”
For all my failings, I’ve always considered myself to be somewhat intelligent, but he’s got the upper hand again. Yes, I do want him to stay tonight. My threats melt away, leaving me with the promise of boredom today… but of him tonight.
-
