Page 93 of These Tears

The lack of it intrigues him. His chin tilts slightly in surprise.

Did he want me to fight him?

‘I’ll let you choose.’

My mind tries to dress it up as kindness.

I glance at the chair, then back at him. ‘May I sit?’

Instead of unhooking his foot to release the seat, he swings his knee sideways and exposes his lap.

He won’t get a reaction from me.

Reaching for the bowl with one hand and the plate with the other, I school my expression, withholding anything he might latch on to.

‘Come here,’ I order quietly without looking at him. His pupils widen. His fingers curl once against the edge of the table.

He’s on his feet before I finish turning towards the fireplace.

I sink next to it, nodding for him to sit in front of me by the couch. He follows, sprawling lazily until his entire body crowds me. Too close.

But I don’t give it meaning. I meet his challenge with courage, keeping the exact distance I decide is enough.

One spoonful of soup. I lean in as he opens for me.

The next is mine.

His eyes follow the motions.

That first taste has his shoulders easing a little. With the second spoonful, he bends one knee and rests his elbow loosely against it.

I bring the mushrooms, feed half a cap to him. But as I reach for another, his fingers come around my wrist suddenly, and he turns my hand back towards me until the mushroom touches my lower lip. His grip loosens.

Is this the same man from before?

We chew, swallow, reach for another bite. One after another, the mushrooms disappear from the plate. The rhythm feels horribly domestic, and my gut twists from it. Because it almost works; for a few spoonfuls, the horror wears the mask of care. It’s not even the humiliation folded neatly into a choice that isn’t one. It’s that he lets me move inside the cage he outlined and calls it freedom. It’s that he allows me to feed him, arrange him, decide what shape he takes as long as every path still leads back to him.

My pulse knocks hard against my sternum, but beneath it there’s a terrible understanding that this might only be the first lesson.

What happens later? What happens tonight?

Will he teach me the rules of the house and what happens when I forget them?

How big a portion of my sanity would those rules take from me after tonight? How often?

Like a sated bear, certain I’m not going anywhere, he stretches lazily across the floor.

Even the fire paints his face in soft gold instead of hard-cut shadow.

It’s a lie. I know it is. Every instinct screams it is so. A lull – not a change.

But sitting here with him so docile and warm at my feet, sharing the meal with him, I’m right back in that bubble, forgetting the bars and starting to call the cage home.

‘Repeat what I taught you about the animals,’ he murmurs.

The room goes quiet and harsh at the same time.

I push the bowl along the floor and raise my eyes to him.