Leaping off the couch, I almost fall flat on my face. “You can’t… You can’t do that. I didn’t ask you for any of it.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret them. Talking back always gets me into more trouble. I brace myself for him to hit or kick me, but he just starts laughing.
“I can do that, and I will. Now, if you want to take a shower, do it now.”
Needing that time alone anyway, I nod and rush past him into the bathroom. Using a hot shower to clean up and try to gather my thoughts. Is he planning on keeping me here indefinitely? I didn’t freak out until now because I thought this was temporary. I thought he was going to make me pay and then send me on my way. This is a whole different story. I can’t take thisfor long.
When I’m all clean, I throw on the clothes from yesterday and walk back into the living room. Ryder is lounging on the couch I slept on, playing on his phone. His dog is sprawled out on the floor next to him, not paying me any attention.
Gathering all the courage I have, I sit down on the recliner next to him. “I have a proposal.”
“Is that so?” He snickers.
I hold my head high when I say, “I’m worth more than fifty dollars an hour.” I have a good laugh on the inside. I don’t think this is what the lady at the self-worth class last week was talking about.
“Who says?”
“I do. I want five hundred an hour,” I tell him, keeping my voice even and strong.
“Five hundred? Do you think you have some kind of unicorn pussy?”
“No, but I don’t think the other prostitutes gave you their virginity.” Before he can answer, I continue, “Also, instead of charging me to stay here and eat, I’m willing to do other things for you.” I purposely look around the room when I say, “Like cleaning, for example.”
He considers me for a moment. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you five hundred for yesterday and two hundred an hour from now on.”
Containing my joy, I ask, “What about the rest?”
“If you want to be my little maid in exchange for staying here, then knock yourself out. I’ll enjoy having you as my personal slave. Maybe I’ll get you a collar with a leash,” he jokes.
The thought of having anything around my neck dampens the triumph I feel about brokering this deal. I can survive this. God knows I’ve survived much worse.
Proud of myself, I get up to clean the kitchen. Ryder rises with me in unison. “I’m going to be out for a few hours. Feel free to make yourself a tomato-avocado sandwich while I’m gone.”
Funny.
To my relief, he takes Mojo with him when he walks out the door.
The next couple of hours, I busy myself cleaning the house, washing dishes, and starting some of Ryder’s laundry. When my growling stomach becomes too much to ignore, I go back to the kitchen to hunt for something I can actually eat. Not having a lot of options, I decide to fix some spaghetti and use the fresh tomatoes to make homemade pasta sauce.
Just when the sauce is done simmering, and I’m about to drain the pasta, Ryder walks through the door. Stopping in the middle of the room, he looks around at his now clean house. His eyes wander around and end up on the kitchen table set with two plates and silverware. His expression is unreadable, and his silence scares me. Tommy used to be really silent right before he would erupt and turn into a bloodthirsty maniac. I always knew it was coming—like the calm before the storm.
Ryderbeingso quiet and still triggers a deeply rooted fear in me. I was stupid to assume that it was okay to cook or that he would want to eat with me. “I’m sorry!” I blurt out, my chest already heaving from an oncoming panic attack.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he yells, giving me his full attention now.
Oh god, he is pissed. I’m such an idiot. My lungs cease to work as the panic attack takes hold of me, like a hand around my throat. I stumble two steps back until the cool metal of the refrigerator touches my back. I close my eyes, making the world around me disappear, so I can go to the dark place inside of me, where I’m numb, where no pain can ever reach me.
I try to suck in precious oxygen, but I can’t seem to get anything to my lungs. Shit, I can’t breathe. I’m suffocating. My lungs burn as panic takes full control over my body.
Ice cold water splashes in my face, dragging me back to reality. I suck in a sharp breath and open my eyes. The skin on my face and chest feels like a thousand little needle pricks. I blink rapidly until the water clinging to my eyelashes lets me see again. Ryder is standing in front of me, holding an empty glass of water.
“Wow, that guy really did a number on you,” he says before returning to the kitchen table and taking a seat in front of one of the plates. “Are you going to bring me some food or what?”
Unable to move yet, I concentrate on the water droplets running down my face and dripping onto my shirt in a steady rhythm. I just stand there for a long time. Ryder says nothing else. He just sits patiently at the table.
When I’m finally able to compose myself, I wipe my face down using a kitchen towel and take the baked mozzarella out of the oven.
I finish draining the pasta and place it into the large bowl I prepared. Pouring the sauce on top of it completes my simple meal creation. I take the bowl and the mozzarella to the table and sit down next to Ryder, who is still looking at me patiently. I use the serving spoon to give him a large portion, filling my plate with a much smaller one before adding some mozzarella pieces to each plate.
“You used to not like mozzarella or anything with tomatoes in it,” Ryder points out while I take a bite of the breaded cheese.
