He didn’t lean in and kiss me, but I could see the yearning in his eyes.
I didn’t know what I’d do if he tried.
“Kitchen,” I said. It felt odd to have a choice. I wasn’t used to it anymore.
He nodded, sliding off the bed then offering his hand to me. “Come on, then,” he said, a little wariness creeping into his voice like he expected this to go about as well as last time.
“Can I walk?” I asked bluntly, wanting to see just how much had changed.
He sighed and shook his head. “No. You can crawl.”
Unsurprising.
I tried to use it as reason to be angry at him, but I was just so fucking tired that I couldn’t bring myself to care all that much. It wasn’t that far to go, and it wasn’t really that bad. It was just a little bit of crawling. I could do that.
This time, I followed him to the kitchen, where he went to the sink and started washing our dishes. He’d already cleaned up from where he’d cooked, the entire place looking spotless, and I wondered just how much time he spent cleaning for everything to be so organized.
Or was it just that he barely ventured out of his room? He’d spent so much time in there, watching TV and sleeping…
A pang shot through me as I wondered. I didn’t want to feel sorry for him, but fuck. I couldn’t help it. I’d seen to the heart of him, and I could only imagine how things had been for him since the accident. How many people would be okaywith those scars — especially when the wounds had been fresh and angry-looking?
I hated feeling sorry for him. I hated the things it made me do. I hated the sympathy.
I couldn’t bring myself to hatehim.
“Let’s go back to the bedroom,” he said when he was done, oblivious to my thoughts.
I wondered what he’d think if he knew I was trying so hard to hate him.
I wondered what he’d think if he knew I couldn’t.
I nodded, silently following him back to the bedroom.
“Bath time,” he announced when we got back. “We’re going to use my tub this time.”
That was new, too. Usually he brought me down to use the grooming tub, especially when it was time for him to give me an enema. I didn’t think those were going to stop any time soon, so I wasn’t surprised when he led me into the bathroom and pulled a sealed kit from the cabinet underneath the sink.
I sighed, unable to keep it back, and he glanced at me.
“I need to keep you clean,” he said. “Things haven’t changed.”
He was wrong, though.
Everything had changed.
16
GRIFFIN
Iwas behind on my work, but I couldn’t bring myself to care.
The last time I’d been in my office, I’d watched and listened as he’d sobbed, as the consequences of my own actions broke my heart.
That, and it meant I’d have to leave him behind.
I couldn’t bring him into the office, where he’d be surrounded by electronics — and ways to contact the outside world. He’d been good for the past week, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try to find a way to get past my passwords and find a way to send help.
I hated the reminder that he probably would try to flee if he got the chance, and I chose instead to focus on the fact that he was coming to me more and more willingly. The more time that passed without me losing my temper, the more the fear dissipated from his eyes. He no longer feared that I’d put him back into the basement cell, and I resolved not to give him a reason to be afraid.
