Chapter Twenty-Seven
Kris
Kris was giddy with excitement. The sights, sounds, and smells of Chinatown fed his senses. It also made him quite aware of how the rest of him remained unfed. As he strolled with Ishmael, guided by a loose yet possessive hand at his back, his stomach growled.
“Oh, good, you’re hungry this morning,” Ishmael said. “I hope you like dim sum.”
“Yeah, I do,” Kris said.
“Excellent,” Ishmael replied, guiding him and the rest of their entourage to a restaurant across the street. “They do a lovely Hong Kong style breakfast here.”
Bob went up the steps before them and opened the door, holding it open. Kris glanced around as they entered and a hostess took them all to a large table. Josh and Bert moved the table forward, giving them enough space to stand behind the chairs without hindering easy use of the chairs. Bert pulled out he chair in front of him and Ishmael gestured for Kris to take it.
“Are they just going to stand there?” he asked Ishmael in a low voice.
“They are on duty,” came Ishmael’s short reply as he took the seat in front of Josh.
“Where’s he going?” Kris asked as Bob turned to leave.”
“He’ll do a walkthrough to double check everything is fine, then wait outside,” Josh answered.
Just when it felt normal, it gets weird again.
Their server appeared to take their order. Kris said nothing as Ishmael ordered for the both of them. He knew there would be no point, other than to give Ishmael another reason to punish him later. In fact, he’d probably call an end to the outing, and he’d be stuck inside the condo or on that goddamned cushion in his office for the foreseeable future.
Once he lets me out of the corner, that is.
A shiver rippled through his body. That had been the scariest thing he’d ever endured, though somehow also one of the best, a fact he refused to dwell on just now. The day he was taken? He’d thought that was the most frightening moment of his life, but it had paled in comparison. Bob had told him Ishmael was a sadist. Kris knew it was true. Ishmael enjoyed tasting his terror and tasting his pain, pushing his limits and then making him enjoy it, leaving feeling twisted up inside. That much was clear. The kind boyfriend he was at other times? That confused the hell out of him. The two halves were hard to reconcile. He’d thought it an act until today. The moment Ishmael smiled at him at the gate, moments after Kris took his photo, revealed something to Kris. It was there and then gone. He’d looked at the shot he’d taken, fiddled until Ishmael’s visage had filled the tiny screen. The warmth of the smile had been in his eyes. Ishmael was looking at him with affection.
If I could build on that, I could probably get him to let me go. Or to trust me enough that I could get away if the opportunity arose.
He imagined it. Slipping the guards, making it to a police station, telling them his passport and money had been stolen, getting a ride to the consulate. A flight back home, joy at seeing his family. Their bewilderment when he’d reveal the truth. The fallout. Ishmael knowing where he’d have gone. No, he couldn’t run back to his family. And even if he didn’t, Ishmael would realise they were the key to making him come back to him. That’s if the cops even believed him after finding he’d Skyped his mom and signed an employment contract, and that he’d gone to a swanky dinner with Ishmael and not screamed for help.
Fingers snapped in front of his face. “Kris? Are you okay?”
Kris blinked his eyes, coming back to reality.
“Yeah, sorry, I was just,” he tried to speak around the lump in his throat, “thinking about my…my mom and dad and everybody and how much they’d love this.”
Ishmael covered his hand with his. “They’ll get to see the pictures. And who knows? Once everything is more settled, perhaps they can come to visit. The military and their families can get seats on the military flights here, yes?”
Kris sniffed. “Space-A, yeah. That’s only if there are any empty seats.”
Ishmael nodded. “If there isn’t, we can always send them tickets.”
Kris didn’t miss the ‘we’. It didn’t scare him as much as it should, and that worried him. Their server appeared bearing a teapot and two cups.
“Your jasmine tea,” she said, smiling. “Your dim sum will be ready shortly.” She gave a small bow and whisked away on silent feet.
Ishmael lifted the teapot and poured the steaming green liquid into their cups. “We really won’t have to wait long,” he said. “They start preparing it just before official open so they can keep up with the demand.”
Kris looked around. Ishmael was correct. The restaurant was a third of the way full, pulling in a good breakfast crowd. Most of them did not appear to be tourists, which he saw as a good sign. Placing his free hand around his cup, he murmured a thank you to Ishmael before taking a sip.
“It’s good,” he said. “Lot of the time you can taste where they let the water boil, or they use cheap tea.”
Ishmael nodded in agreement. He lifted his hand from where it still held Kris’ and picked up his own cup. “Making good tea is an art.”
There it was again. A small insight into the man beside him. Kris took another sip of his tea, pondering the day’s unexpected revelations. Then their server was back and the meal passed with Ishmael asking him questions about things he’d like to buy today. It was both strange and ordinary at the same time. The casual conversation that could have been between any two people in a relationship, whether friends or lovers, just as much as it could be good-natured banter between two near strangers. They were neither. Kris didn’t know how to define the proximity of their interpersonal relationship anymore. As the server came and cleared the dishes away, he knew one thing. Somewhere along the way, he’d already stopped thinking of Ishmael as an evil bastard. That alone scared him nearly as much as his corner time and his reaction to it did. If he wasn’t evil, then what was he?
