When she doesn't flutter so much as an eyelash, I shake my head.
“I had you asleep for months. I know what it feels like when you're asleep, and it's not this. Come on, or I'll drug you again, and we'll have to go back to the catheter... maybe I'll even do that one when you're awake this time.”
That does the trick.
Her eyes pop open to take me in, and her hatred is bright in them. They're beautiful eyes, too, bright and sharp— maybe even sharper because of the vitriol she feels for me.
I've seen her watching me when she thinks I'm asleep, when she believes she has a chance to get up and run. I know that her legs wouldn't support her yet, and certainly not enough to run from us. I've also seen the way she doesn't watch me with such hatred until she knows I'm awake. She’s either plotting how to murder us and escape, or she’s…curious.
“I'm going to help you sit up.” Dex says, moving to help guide her to sit up among the pillows.
She swings at him the minute his touch lands on her skin, proving she's very much awake after all. In fact, as she settles against the pillows, staring at him like a feral animal that may just bite, she looks incredibly lucid. And it's as fucking beautiful as she is when she's asleep.
“You've gotta eat.” I entice her. “I'm not letting you starve yourself.”
“It's not poisoned.” Dex promises as I hold the bowl out before her.
When she doesn't move to take it, I slink onto the bed beside her, and she leans away from me like that will help.
“Open up, Little Doll.” I entreat her, bringing the spoon to her lips.
She doesn't move, but her eyes slide to my face, cold and hard, unyielding. It makes me oddly proud that she’s not giving in, even to me. It’s a strange dichotomy.
“You're safe now,” Dex tells her, not looking at me when my eyes slide to him.
She's certainly not safe. Not from me. I may not be done with her, but eventually I will.
Now that she's awake, our fun is over, and the need to kill will rise inside of me. I'll have to kill her eventually, but I guess there's no harm in keeping that from her for now.
She laughs, but no sound comes out. She's keeping her voice from me—the one thing I haven't been able to take from her—and it's driving me mad.
I want to hear her speak.
“We can't begin to imagine what you've been through,” Dex says softly, placing a gentle touch on the back of her hand. He moves slowly, and this time she doesn't flinch away from him. Instead, she looks to him, searching for something in his face.
I don't know where it comes from, but something twists in my stomach, making irritation surge through me.
“But the worst of it is over. You can start to heal, but you have to help us take care of you, too.”
Her lips twitch a little, and tears form in her eyes, but she doesn't let them fall.
Instead, she looks slowly, carefully at me, and like a sign of her compliance, lets me bring the spoon to her lips.
She doesn't break eye contact either as she takes a little sip off of it.
I feel like it can't taste that great, given it doesn't smell like your typical chicken noodle soup, but it must not be bad because she looks disarmed.
Her eyes flutter closed as she savors the flavor, or maybe just the warmth.
I find Dex's gaze, and he nods encouragingly, so I wait until she's ready. Her eyes open, and I take that as a sign to continue, gathering another spoonful.
She eats at least half the bowl's contents before she shakes her head, hand pressed to her lips, and I think she's going to be sick.
She knocks the bowl away from her and turns off the side of the bed, right into Dex's waiting arms.
My stomach twists again with that weird sensation as she doesn't fight him off, just tucks her head into his chest, and begins to sob.
17
