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He managed with all his drug money, I reasoned. But that didn’t stop me from picking up the comic.
Another first edition of the following book lay beneath it.
And another beneath that.
I carefully, lovingly removed each one and laid them out on the bed beside me so I could stare at them in awe. In all, there were twenty collectable comic books that told the entire Dark Phoenix story arc. It was any nerd’s wet dream, including mine.
Okay, maybe I wasn’t actually wet from looking at them, b
ut the knowledge that Andrés had been paying such close attention to the little things I’d told him touched me somewhere deep inside. He might be a sadistic psycho, but he could be thoughtful. Kind.
God, I’m going to turn into Lauren, I rebuked myself.
Still, there was no denying that giving me the comics was a small act of mercy. Apparently, Andrés didn’t want me to go completely insane from being left alone with nothing but my own racing thoughts.
Even though I was almost hesitant to touch them, I was desperate enough for reading material that I eventually opened them. I knew the stories already, but being able to handle these precious editions in person rather than reading reproductions of them on my computer screen was an entirely new experience.
I barely paused to talk to Lauren when she brought me lunch. She didn’t seem keen on talking, anyway. And after hearing her disturbing take on Andrés—how nice she thought he was—I didn’t really want to discuss it with her any more.
Despite taking my time with them, I’d been finished with the final book for quite a while before Andrés returned for the evening. I’d actually started re-reading #101 and was almost done for the second time when he came into the bedroom.
I beamed at him, high on nerd-endorphins. “Thanks,” I said, genuinely grateful.
He blinked at me, momentarily stunned. Then he grinned. “You are even more beautiful when you smile than I imagined.”
My smile faded at the reminder of our real relationship dynamic. He wasn’t some nice boyfriend who’d bought me a cool gift. He was my captor.
“You’re manipulating me again,” I accused.
“So you don’t want the comic books?”
“No,” I said quickly, clutching #101 to my chest. “I mean, I want them. I um, actually already read all of them. But I’ll read them again,” I babbled on, not wanting him to take them away if I sounded ungrateful.
His brows rose. “You read all of them today?”
“I tried to go slow, but they’re so good,” I said. “And I process things really fast. I usually do more than one thing at a time to stay occupied. But this was good,” I hurried on. “Way better than staring at the ceiling.”
“I’ll have to get you more, then,” he said, smiling again.
“You don’t have to get first editions,” I replied. “I like newer stuff, too. Graphic novels are awesome. Works by Frank Miller and Alan Moore are great.”
“I’ll get those for you, then,” he said. “And more first editions.”
“But I just said you don’t have to. I’ve read most of them online, anyway.”
“But they made you smile. So you’re getting more. Don’t argue with me, Samantha,” he said sternly before I could protest further. “I’ll put in an order tonight, and they’ll be here in the morning.”
“How did you get them so fast?” I asked. “These had to be really hard to find.”
“There was a store in New York that had them in stock. I sent someone to go get them.”
“But I just told you I was bored last night.”
He shrugged. “It’s not a long flight.”
I gaped at him. “You flew someone from Chicago to New York and back again overnight to get me some comic books?”
“Yes, and it made you smile. So the fifteen minutes it took me to set it all up was more than worth it.”
