“Swallow it. It should work pretty much straight away.”
Em holds out her hand and I drop it into her palm. “Thank you.”
“Why would someone be following you?”
She shrugs and studies the label, avoiding my gaze.
“Do you want me to cuff you again?”
“Fuck you,” she suddenly explodes. “You don’t have the right to question me. You took away my best friend.”
The stab of guilt rachets up my temper. “Byaccident. I thought you two would have things straightened out by lunchtime.”
She jerks back like I’ve punched her, the luminosity draining from her face, and I feel like kicking myself. This isn’t working. If anything, I’m hurting her worse.
Maybe staring across at her like we’re adversaries isn’t the best idea.
“You hungry?”
She doesn’t answer and I stand, moving past her to the bench. I can put in an order for her list, but it won’t be here until late afternoon, and I’d prefer to go out and fetch it if possible. I might still need to restrain her and while the thought of some bored delivery driver peering through the window and seeing Em bound and gagged might be good for a laugh in my imagination, in real life it wouldn’t hit quite the same way.
I pull out a box of mac ‘n’ cheese, one of my staples, and heat some water, putting a lid on to make it boil faster while I unpack everything, memorising the instructions before tossing the box. “You like bacon?”
There’s a soft laugh that lets me breathe a little easier. “Everybody likes bacon.”
“I see you’re unfamiliar with vegans.”
“Unfamiliar or just choosing to ignore their existence. It’s hard to know.”
I lean across, pressing a kiss to the top of her head just because I need to touch her. When she raises her chin to meet my eyes, I try to kiss her lips, ending up on her cheek when she turns away at just the wrong time, like I’m a handsy uncle.
Turning back to the meal, I chop the bacon into large chunks the way I like it and add it to the water when it comes to the boil.
The rest of the instructions instantly depart my mind and I fish the box out of the bin to read them over again. Right. Hardly rocket science but it’s difficult to hold things in my head when there’s a life-size Em to distract me.
“Extra cheese?”
She gives a soft snort. “What’s the point of making something out of a box if you’re going to add lots of extra ingredients. You might as well just buy pasta, milk, and cheese and make it the old-fashioned way.”
“I don’t know the old-fashioned way,” I say idly, stirring the pot, not fazed. “You’ll have to teach me.”
“Me? My skill set in the kitchen is reheating a pie or sausage roll in the microwave.”
My face must screw up at the thought of sodden pastry because she’s laughing again.
Just keep her doing that. Make her happy long enough to forget everything else.
Easier said than done.
When the meal is ready, I split it into two large bowls and set them both on the table. She rubs her wrist before picking up her fork and I stare at the reddened skin with concern.
Restraints aren’t a solution. Not long-term.
I hoped she’d bounce back quickly. Not still have her eyes set on self-destruction.
“What if you stay here forever?”
She turns her head to face me so slowly I expect to hear her neck creaking like the self-opening door in a B-grade horror.
