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If this is his way of reminding me that attempting to escape is hopeless, he’s wasting his time. I’m not stupid, I fucking get it. What I don’t get, however, is how he thinks I’m safer with him than out on my own. Especially when he has crazy people on motorcycles trying to kill him in church parking lots.
The screen remains on the roaming perimeter guards for a couple of minutes. With another click the picture changes. The outside of Lucifer’s compound pops up. We watch the two guards in the guard house dig into their lunch and my stomach rumbles a little bit.
I guess it is past the time I usually eat by now.
Simon sighs. “Once I finish this, I’m preparing your lunch.”
“I’m fine,” I grumble out of sheer stubbornness. I don’t want him ‘taking care of me’ and preparing food and stuff for me like I’m a fucking child.
“You’re not fine, Meredith. You’re hungry. And denying it is exactly why you need someone like me to take care of you.”
I gasp and twist in his arm to glare angrily at his face.
His attention remains focused on the screen. The blue glow reflecting off of his glasses.
“I’ll eat when I want to eat, Simon.”
He doesn’t even look down at me when he says, “You should eat when you need to eat. You’re far too thin, as it is. Perhaps I should increase your calorie intake?”
Too thin? Is such a thing even possible?
“If you do that, I swear I’ll go on a hunger strike,” I promise him. And I will. I have to draw a line in the sand somewhere.
The corners of his lips twitch as if he finds the prospect amusing.
“There are ways to get around such reckless foolishness.”
Why do I get the feeling he’s already thought of this before?
I just have to ask, “What ways?” So I know exactly what I’m dealing with.
His arm flexes around me and his eyes finally drift down.
“Temptation. Force feeding. Feeding tubes… The possibilities are endless. In fact, I do believe there are contraptions specifically designed to keep a subject’s mouth open against their will. Should I purchase one, Meredith?”
I blink at him and the corners of his lips pull up even more. Fucker is getting off on the idea, I know it.
“No,” I answer and jerk away. Twisting back towards the screen so he can’t see the utter defeat in my expression.
His lips drift down to my ear and I sense him breathing in the smell of my hair before he says, “Good. You know I will do everything in my power to take care of you. Even if it means stopping you from your harming yourself.”
I clench my teeth together. I’d bite my tongue, but I’m so annoyed I’d probably bite right through it.
What he really means is that he’ll do everything in his power to control me, and if I fight him, he’ll make my life even more miserable.
Click. The picture switches to a view inside some man’s car. I recognize the man instantly as one of Lucifer’s men though his name eludes me at the moment. The man seems to be ranting and raving at himself.
“What the fuck is he doing?” Simon hisses.
Click. The picture changes, switching to what I figure must be traffic cameras. The exterior view shows a black BMW driving around a block of streets in circles. We watch the car drive the same four streets for a couple of minutes before Simon switches the live feed back to the interior view.
Stopped at a light, the man bangs his fists against the steering wheel and his head drops down in defeat.
“Who is that?” I ask.
“James,” Simon answers, his cold, wintery tone alone showing his distaste for the man.
I instantly decide I like this James, even though I don’t know him yet.
“He works for Matthew?”
“Yes.”
“Looks like he’s upset about something…” I point out the obvious.
Simon sighs. “Yes.”
“Perhaps you should call him and find out what’s wrong?”
“I rather not,” Simon mutters. “I can never talk sense into his stupid, young brain.”
The picture zooms out again, but from farther away. It almost looks like we have an aerial view. Is he tapping into a satellite?
“Why the fuck is he driving in circles around a college campus?!” Simon says angrily.
The picture zooms back in to the interior view. James is no longer ranting and raving though, and he’s not driving in circles either. No, he’s stopped and staring at something through his windshield.
Through his windshield, I can make out a group of young men and women standing on a curb, waiting to cross a street.
“Fuck!” Simon curses. “She’s the fucking police Commissioner’s daughter. If he… I swear… I’ll fucking castrate him.”
“Oh, that sounds serious,” I smirk. “You sure you don’t want to call him? Before he does whatever it is you’re afraid he’ll do?”
