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No wonder my left ankle still feels heavy. It’s wrapped in a leather shackle, attached to a chain… My eyes follow it…
Attached to a chain and bolted to the fucking floor.
Panicked, I shoot into a standing position, swaying on the spot.
I must get out of here.
My body feels like I weigh a million pounds as I stumble toward the dresser. I need to hydrate if I’m going to think straight. Fuck, I need to hydrate if I don’t want to faint again.
I’m just about to get to the dresser, reaching for the bottle, when the chain clings. I stupidly step farther anyway, tripping and falling to the floor.
“You’re joking,” I snort. “You’re fucking joking!” I scream at the empty doorway. The scream rips my insides, but I needed to get it out.
I extend my body, reaching as far as I can, even though it feels like someone is hammering my ribs.
In the end, I give up. It’s clear he did it on purpose so I can’t reach anything he puts on the dresser. I want to go back to the bed, but I don’t even have the strength to stand up again, so I just bring my knees to my chest and drop my head onto them. My fingers snake to my ankle, and I blindly play with the lock holding the leather in place.
I don’t even lift my head when I hear his steps coming toward me. His presence is suffocating.
“Look at me, Kayla.”
I grunt as I do, the room spinning and him with it.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, a genuine curiosity lifting his voice.
“You know what’s wrong,” I rasp, blinking up at him. Everything feels too bright, which only enhances the headache that still won’t leave me.
“Is it that you want to take a bath, maybe?” he suggests.
I would do anything for the chance to wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze. His calmness irks me. His casualness of waiting for me to break with his hands in his pockets and his head slightly tilted makes me nauseous.
“Do you?” he insists, pushing his glasses up his nose. Black rim. Square top and rounded bottom. They make him look kind, compassionate. What a fucking joke.
My yes is barely audible. I can’t get myself to truly answer him. Unable to look at him without puking on his shoes, my eyes drop.
“Then why don’t you ask nicely?”
As my eyes snap up again, I’m hoping they can annihilate him on the spot.
“Nate,” I growl, but it’s more like a whisper
And since he’s not getting what he wants, he grabs the bottle of water, cracks it open, and takes a sip. “Yes?”
I press my lips together.
Pick your fights. Be smart about this.
I inhale as much as I can through my stuffy nose and slowly exhale out of my mouth. “I’d like to take a bath.”
He cocks an eyebrow, waiting for something I don’t know I can give.
It seems to last forever. My eyes are stuck on the water contained within the plastic when I grunt, “Please.”
His response is instant. “What a sweet little sunflower. Of course. Let’s get you in there.”
9
NATHAN
