“Can I make a list?” I smile over at her as we sit on the sofa, eating our cereal in silence.
“A list?”
“For shopping, can I make a list? I want bread and sausage.” I groan. “Ooh, and some apples. Can I have some apples, the pink lady ones?”
She smiles at me and nods. “There’s a notepad in the coffee table drawer.”
I put my bowl down and grab the notepad and pen. I tap it to my lips and start writing. She’s smiling over at me, watching like she thinks I’m cute, and I turn and look at her. “Shall I write things down for you too?” She shakes her head. “What’s your favourite food?”
“Why?”
“Curious.”
She thinks for what feels like an eternity. “I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“I mean, I don’t give it much thought. I like coffee.”
“No, like real food. Have you ever eaten anything and just felt so content, happy even, alive at the sensations on your tastebuds?”
“I had pizza once. I suppose pizza. Pepperoni pizza.”
I write it on the list, look at her, and wink. She blushes ever so slightly, and if she wasn’t a kidnapping assassin psychopath, I think she may be cute. I mean, she’s hot like in those books those women talk about atwork, what do they call them…? Morally grey, yeah, she has all that going on, a giant walking red flag, and if this was a book, I could totally see the attraction. I mean, who doesn’t want to be looked at like they’re the most precious thing in the world, and when their gaze is on you, it feels like your skin could melt off, and they would literally kill for you? They have that whole fuck-around-and-find-out mentality, but then they sit at the side of you and look so cute and sexy and a little unsure. I mean, she’s a walking contradiction, sexy, cute, lethal, and don’t forget fucking dangerous. I can feel myself wanting to slide nearer, but I internally berate myself. What even was the train of my thoughts? I went from she’s dangerous and could kill me to ah, she’s so cute.
I shake my head, trying to shake the feelings that are springing to my mind, and I blame the lack of blood going to my head and residing in my lower one because seeing her in that towel this morning really, really did nothing for my imagination. My libido just wanted to throw her down and fuck her, and that’s not me. I’m a gentle lover. I woo. I’m chivalrous. I’m kind. I’ll buy you flowers because I can. I like walks on the beach. But around her, I feel like a horny teenager. It’s like I spent years training myself to be a good, kind man, but when I’m near her, I don’t want to make love or be kind. I want to throw her around and fuck her. When I’m this close to her, I can’t think of anything other than her smell and what being inside her would feel like. Maybe I would bite her, pinch. I want to slap her arse so hard she can’t sit down for days. I want to fuck her, pound into her, strangle her.
And then I shake the fuzziness away because what am I even thinking here? Do I like her? Has she brainwashed me, drugged me maybe, but why? What’s her end game? And I’m not really feeling in any danger other than maybe from her, and I wonder if this is all just a ploy. Am I really in any danger? I smile a little more, sit a little closer, and laugh a little louder. Hopefully, when she leaves tomorrow, I will be able to slip away.
She leaves me unchained overnight, but I notice the windows are now locked, so I’m good. I stay in my room, and I sleep. Well, I toss and turn. I can hear her out in the living room, so I assume she doesn’t trust me and is waiting to see if I’ll make a break. I just need to bide my time. When I walk out into the living room, she’s wrapped up on the sofa, asleep. I tread carefully past her and slip into the kitchen.
I know she has a liking for coffee, so I make us both one, and the smell stirs her awake. She flies up off the sofa, and I chuckle. She looks dishevelled and crumpled, like she’s had the worst night’s sleep ever, and I walk over and hand her the coffee. I pick her legs up, slip under them, and take a sip of my coffee, resting my arms on her legs. She eyes me wearily like I’m the hardest puzzle in the world, and she’s trying to figure me out.
I smile. “Can I ask a favour?”
She frowns at me.
“I just wondered if you’re going shopping soon. Could you get me some pickled onion Monster Munch?”
She flicks her eyes to me over her mug as she takes a big mouthful, and I grin.
“Please?”
She chuckles but nods.
“Is there cleaning stuff somewhere? I thought I might keep myself busy while you’re gone, but I could hoover up and clean up a little.”
“You want to clean up?”
“I just thought it would occupy me till you came back with all the good stuff, then I thought I could cook tonight?”
“You cook?”
“What kind of stalker are you if you don’t know I cook?” I grin at her, and she frowns at me. I mean, I thought it was funny.
“Stuff’s in there.” She nods to the cupboard door, and I smile. I finish my coffee. I head into the kitchen. I rummage through all the cupboards and lay out the supplies, and I start wiping down the kitchen. In fairness, the place is pretty clean, but I distract myself and clean everything thoroughly, hoping she’ll leave soon.
“Okay, I’m going to go shopping.”
