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I stayed in my bedroom the next day.
I woke up refreshed after a good night of sleep, had breakfast and lunch in my living room, and spent my time reading. As the sun moved, I sat in different places to feel the warmth coming through the windows. Sometimes I was on the couch, and sometimes I was on the rug in the center of the room, just to feel those rays.
In the evening, I was on the couch, still reading, when the door opened.
I knew it was him—and anger immediately flooded my body.
His footsteps came across the hardwood then turned muffled on the rug. They stopped altogether when he was in my living room.
I kept my eyes on my book. “I still don’t want to talk to you. Leave.”
He inhaled a deep breath, full of irritation.
I turned the page and kept reading.
“What—”
“I said leave.” This time, I looked up and met his eyes.
He was livid. His face was tinted red, and all the muscles of his body were flexed. But he kept his mouth shut and clenched and left.
This went on for a couple days.
He would come into my bedroom every night and stare at me.
I’d ask him to leave.
He would obey.
It didn’t matter how angry he was, he respected my wishes and excused himself. That didn’t stop him from trying, from hoping that night would be different, but when it wasn’t, he listened.
I didn’t understand how he could be two men. When we were home, he was Fender. When we were at the camp, he was the boss. Different personalities. Different hostilities. Different everything.
When he came into my living room that night, I was finally ready.
The space had been necessary, but once it went on for too long, I started to miss him. I closed the book and set it on the end table beside me before I looked up at him.
The anger slowly left his face when he realized he wouldn’t be asked to leave. He moved to the couch across from me, his forearms on his knees, and he leaned forward as he stared at me. “I told you I don’t sleep with people—”
“Why?”
He clenched his jaw at the interruption. “The only reason I’m allowing you to talk to me this way is because—”
“What?” I purposely interrupted him just to press his buttons.
He shook his head and clenched his jaw, keeping his rage restrained. He dropped his eyes and stared at his hands, rubbing them together slightly as he let the seconds trickle by, as he let his anger fade before he spoke. “Because you’re the only person who’s allowed to speak to me this way.” He lifted his chin and looked at me again, still angry, but substantially less.
“Answer my question.”
His eyes narrowed. “You’re still upset about that? Because I didn’t let you sleep with me—”
“What kind of man are you?”
His face flushed with anger at being interrupted again, but he didn’t interrupt me. He didn’t want to risk being ordered to leave, and watching him cooperate despite the way I treated him showed how much I really meant to him.
“Your woman is having a panic attack because she’s back in the very place where she was held prisoner, and you do nothing? I needed you, and you weren’t there for me. Because of what? You just don’t like sleeping with people? I’m not people, Fender.”
“I never offer to take you with me for that very reason.” He didn’t raise his voice. He stayed calm, because he wanted to resolve this, to get me back into his bed so he could kiss me and make love to me. “You wanted to come.”
“You locked the fucking door—like I’m an animal.”
He rubbed his hands together again and didn’t refute that.
“I barely slept the entire time we were there.”
“You. Wanted. To. Come.”
I shook my head in anger. “What do you think I’m going to do to you? Stick your hand in a cup of warm water and make you pee yourself?” I turned sarcastic when I was really angry, and I knew I got that from Raven.
His eyes darkened at my words, but he didn’t say anything.
My voice trailed off, the hurt rushing in. “You really think I’d ever hurt you?” I could have snuck into the kitchen, grabbed a knife, and hid it behind my back. I could have gone into his office, and when he came to me, I could have stabbed him right in the throat. There were countless ways I could have retaliated, but the thought never crossed my mind. I wasn’t a murderer by nature. But I also had no desire to cause him pain. Even if his death would result in Raven’s freedom, I still wouldn’t do it.
He dropped his gaze and rubbed his palms together. “I’m the reason you were in the camp in the first place. I’m the reason your sister is there now. I’m the reason she’ll be there for the rest of her miserable life.” He lifted his chin and looked at me again. “Yes. I think you’d hurt me—and I wouldn’t blame you.”
