My body is eerily difficult to move. My temples are still aching, but I can work with that. Though the drugs did have an effect on my limbs, causing them to feel heavier than usual.
“Congratulations,” I remark hoarsely. “You drugged a girl. What a big win that must be for your life.”
I can somewhat make out a muscle flexing in his jaw.
His arms are folded across his chest to make it seem as if he is closed off from all emotions. Or from me in particular.
“You shouldn’t antagonize me,” he retorts. “Not right now.”
I huff out a weak laugh. “What are you going to do? Bite me?”
His eyes flick to my ankles, then away just as quickly.
“I’m not here for this,” he grumbles. “It was my hour to check to make sure you weren’t trying to escape again and it looks like you’re not, so I am good to go.”
He’s following procedure accurately which is a good sign that he’s doing his best to be completely loyal to Dante and my father, Gabriel.
“Oh, that’s comforting.” I continue, “Please do hit yourself with the door on the way out.”
He doesn’t even try to leave yet. He’s all talk and no bite.
Unlike me.
I can see the effort it takes for him to stay detached.
I do my best to shift on the mattress again, letting my hands curl weakly against the mattress’s material. “You know,” I murmur quietly, “for someone who keeps pretending not to care, you’re really bad at it.”
His heads whips in my direction.
“You don’t know a thing about me,” he hisses.
With a soft tone, I add, “I know you don’t want to hurt me.”
He shakes his head, seemingly trying to disagree.
“That’s not how this works,” he insists. “You don’t get to decide what I feel. You’re just my job for the next few days. An annoying one, but a job nonetheless.”
I loll my head to the side. “Then why do you look like you’re waiting for permission to leave?”
That one seems to pinch a nerve.
He takes a step closer before he can stop himself, then freezes.
“Stop,” he mumbles.
“Why?” I lean forward, challenging him. “Because I’m wrong? Or because I’m right?”
His hands curl into fists at his sides.
“You think this is a game,” he scoffs. “You think you can poke and prod until you find a soft spot and crawl inside it.”
“I think,” I retort back, “that you already have one. And it scares you.”
Something wounded flashes across his face, but it’s masked seconds later. “I’ve seen what happens when you let that shit in.” He looks away. “It doesn’t save anyone.”
His voice is calm, but his eyes are looking everywhere but at me.
I swallow, my own throat suddenly tight. “Then why are you still standing here? Weren’t you just here todo your job?”
