“No,” he says flatly. “I’m not. Enough chit chat. Do you need anything?”
He doesn’t move, so I still have him even if he says he’s shutting it down. The quiet stretches again, heavier this time. I decide to risk it.
“People assume things about us. About what we want. What we’ll tolerate. Like we’re born already agreeing to the rules.”
His jaw tightens. “Don’t assume you know anything about me.”
The words land like a bomb, but I appreciate his realness. And the fact that he’s still here.
“Okay,” I say after a beat. “But I wasn’t talking about you. I was talking about me.”
His gaze stays on mine, unreadable. “Then stick to that.”
For a moment, he looks past me. He’s not looking at the bathroom door or the window, but somewhere else entirely.
“Got it,” I say like the smart ass I am. He isn’t budging.
Then, after what feels like a full minute, he surprises me with an unsolicited proclamation.
“Expectations don’t come with a choice,” he says. “They just get assigned.”
“Very true. I didn’t choose to be here, obviously, so what do you expect from me?”
“I don’t expect anything from you except to stay put until I say otherwise. We all have to deal with shitty situations we didn’t choose. What do you want from me? Sympathy?”
I lift one shoulder. “No. I’m not asking for sympathy.”
“Then what are you asking for?”
“What I want is just to understand what this is,” I say. “You’ve gone to a lot of trouble to keep me here. I’d like to know why.”
“Why? It won’t change anything.”
“No,” I agree. “But it might make it easier to live with.”
He doesn’t answer right away.
“Curiosity gets people in trouble,” he says.
“So does silence,” I counter. “I’m not asking for your life story. I’m asking why I’m locked in a room with one window. I don’t even know your name.”
That gives him pause. I can see it in the way his attention sharpens.
He studies me for a long moment. Then he says quietly, “You’re smarter than most,” he says. “That usually makes things worse.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Talking too much, though, and giving too much, just complicates things. Best to keep it clean.”
I nod once. That’s not warmth or trust, but it isn’t dismissal either.
“Perhaps,” I say. “Complications can also make things more interesting.”
His gaze holds mine. There’s a pause, the kind that suggests he’s weighing whether the conversation is worth the cost. His jaw tightens, then eases.
“My life’s interesting enough already,” he says. “I don’t go looking for more. I prefer quiet.”
“I get that,” I say. “Quiet hasn’t exactly been optional for me lately.”
