I take it tentatively, peering down at it.
“Go ahead and open it for me, I want to see if you like it before I have to leave.”
I open the box to reveal an art kit full of different color pencils, oil pastels, and paints. There’s also a sketch pad.
“I know you’re going to be cooped up in here for a while, so I thought I’d try and give you something to keep you from getting bored. Maybe you can get good at painting clouds, since you always seem to stare at ‘em.”
“This is... for me?” I ask, my bottom lip wobbling as I clutch the art supplies to my chest.
“’Course it is, Sugar. Who else would it be for? I don’t have an artistic bone in my body.”
“I—I don’t know if I do either,” I say, letting out a small huff of laughter. “I’ve never tried this kind of thing before.”
“Well, there’s a first time for everything.”
I set the sketchpad and art kit down beside me before launching upwards and throwing my arms around him.
“Thank you,” I whisper, pressing my cheek into his neck, scent marking him.
“You’re welcome, Sugar. I’ve gotta go now.”
“Okay,” I say, my arms tightening for a split second before I find the courage to let him go.
He hefts his backpack over his shoulder and gives me a two-finger salute.
“Stay safe!” I call after him.
If only I knew I was the one in danger.
It’s beeneighteen hours since Rowan left yesterday afternoon. I’ve counted every one. Well, at least the ones I’ve been awake for.
The microwave beeps, signaling my microwave mini pancakes are done and I make my way over to it with a yawn.
This place was far too quiet.
I don’t like being alone. It reminds me far too much of my time at the facility.
Sometimes, as punishment, we’d be locked away in our rooms with no contact with anyone other than one of the handlers dropping off our bland meals silently.
That kind of boredom, locked away in a cold sterile room with only a cot and a single scratchy blanket and thin pillow was torture.
Now that I have my nest all put together in Rowan’s bedroom, I’m starting to realize that the boredom wasn’t the only form of torture we experienced at that facility. I never could’ve dreamed the kind of comfort that could be found in things like nests.
My heart leaps to my chest when I hear the sound of an ATV engine. The loud noise cuts off. Right in front of Rowan’s door.
Is that Rowan?
No, it can’t be. He said he’d be gone all weekend. It’s only been one night.
Did something go wrong?
The sound of keys jingling in the lock freezes me in place. Multiple keys. All of them wrong.
Someone is trying to get in here. Rowan wouldn’t try to use multiple of the wrong keys.
“Fuck this,” A voice mutters from through the door.
The mini pancake turns into cement in my throat.
