Something easy …
My eyes open. “Why do you collect comics?”
He snatches his hand away from midair and startles back. “Shit!” he breathes.
I narrow my eyes at him. He’s in a black suit, a blue button-down underneath that is unbuttoned with the silver tie around his neck loosened past the point of unkempt. He looks wrecked, and something about it hits deep.It’s strange, startling him. I almost don’t trust it.
He pushes up his glasses. “I, uh, I’m sorry …” Running a hand through his hair, he looks down at his shoes, toeing into the sliver of moonlight highlighting half the room.
I study him, at the raw and almost desperate look on his face. When he glances up to see me staring, he hardens his expression and the muscles in his neck twitch.
I sit up, and he looks away.
“Why do you collect comics?” I’m not sure why that’s the question I want to know. Of all the things to ask him. Why are you watching me sleep? When do I have to go back? How are the other girls?
Nope, it’s comics. Selfishly.
He blinks, eyes darting from me to the door. He doesn’t answer.
I push up, swinging my bare legs over the side of the bed.
He backpedals.
Huh. Well, this is an interesting shift in dynamics.
“Not talking again then?”
His nostrils flare. “I’ve always collected them. I need to go.” He shoves his hands into his pockets and hurries to exit.
“Slade?”
He pauses a stride from the door, then turns to glance over his shoulder.
“Why are you here?” I ask, thinking he won’t answer, but he hesitates.
He looks toward the hallway. “Because I can’t not be.”
Slade’s attention turns to my shoulder where a strap of my cami slips from it.Edmond… I growl in my head. He went shopping for me after that first night, and his pajama purchases are fit for a rich mistress. I’d been happy with a sports bra and shorts.
I hurry to ask another question.
“Why did you kill Bishop?” Not, did you? I already know the answer to that. I want to hate him for it, but did he save me and future others by doing so? Probably.
He sighs, fully turning around now and resigned to listening. Leaning against the doorframe, he crosses his socked feet. He adjusts his tie hanging askew as his forehead creases and his brows draw together. Is he trying to figure out why? Eyes rimmed in red, he frowns. “Don’t ask me that.”
His stare bores into mine, and the faint sounds of the night fade into nothing. My pulse roars in my ears, or maybe that’s the whipping wind in the background, I’m not sure. My breath grows heavier, along with an ache erupting from somewhere in my stomach. It’s that look, that intensity that makes me flush as I recall his breath on my neck.
Don’t ask him that?
I grip the sheets tangled at my torso and nibble my lips as his fixation unfurls a longing I haven’t had in a long time. I’m paralyzed by him and this memory. Why’d he have to create that? A sudden need to hide overwhelms me, and I retreat under my covers, rolling over toward the smattering of stars in the sky. “Good night,” I clip out.
He exhales deeply. “Good night, Thea.”
Then he leaves, and I’m left with warring guilt and a tormenting burn.
I haven’t forgotten them. Their terrorized faces haunt what little sleep I muster between Slade’s continued visits and my endless tossing. They’re in every gourmet meal, every restful afternoon lying on the dock, or long soak in the Jacuzzi tub. I’m here, and they’re there.
I can still see the stage lights, us lined up side by side in red lace. Beth trying not to cry. Tonya forcing a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. I’ve missed three Fridays. Three Markets that the other girls have been subjected to while men laugh and call out numbers like sport. Who’s been sold? Who hasn’t been and is now being considered for a worse fate? The thought makes my chest sting. I’m grateful I’m here, but all I can think is that I left them behind.
