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DELILAH
This is different. It’s the first time he’s gone against his normal routine. I have to lie here and pretend not to notice or care, but now my brain is buzzing. Why did he leave the door open? Normally, the first thing he does is lock me inside.
I can’t help but wonder what type of game he’s playing?
I’m so damn tired of having to ask myself that question. This whole thing where I always have to be on my toes, looking out for danger. It’s exhausting. I wonder if I’ll ever get back to a life where it’s possible to just live without having to worry.
Who am I kidding? I’ve never had that kind of life. I’ve always been worried about something or another. Looking over my shoulder, listening for sounds of anger coming from elsewhere in the trailer. Doing everything I could to keep her from blowing up at me. When was the last time I was able to relax? Have I ever?
He’s moving around out there. I’ve seen him walk past the door more than once from the corner of my eye. So it’s not like he forgot to lock the door and corrected himself once he noticed his mistake. That tells me it was a deliberate choice. Is he starting to trust me more?
Maybe Doctor Lauren got through to him. I’m not super thrilled knowing she told him about those pigs and what they did. Still, it might mean better treatment, and I can’t be mad about that. Especially not after what he did to me. I didn’t even care about the blow job. It was the way he came on my chest that was too similar to what they did to me.
Maybe things will start to settle down, and I’ll earn some freedom. I might be able to learn to live with that.
One thing I know for sure: there’s no hope of concentrating on this book. I’ve been staring at the same page since he interrupted me, and the words mean nothing. I’m too distracted now. I keep pretending, so he thinks I’m being a good girl and following the rules.
That’s one drawback to having the door open. He’ll be able to watch me. It’s still better than being imprisoned. Now, when I have to pee, I can just get up and go. What a refreshing change.
Moving to a sitting position from my belly, I stare at the open door. I can’t see him, but I hear him. He’s making a lot of noise. Pots and pans bang against each other. A cabinet opens and closes.
The only reason the sounds stand out is because I’ve never heard him in the kitchen before. I can’t help wondering what he’s doing. The water turns on, almost as if he’s filling a pan. A moment later, I hear him place said pan on the stove. The stove makes a clicking noise, igniting as he turns the knob on. No, I must be imagining things. He doesn’t cook. But he is, and now I’m too intrigued to stay cooped up in the bedroom any longer.
Still, I’m careful, creeping up to the open doorway and poking my head out to catch a glimpse. His back is to me, his shirt stretching over his muscles as he moves around.
I tiptoe farther into the room until I can see what he is doing on the counter. His shirtsleeves rolled up. I’m going to have to try to pretend that it isn’t insanely hot, the sight of his forearms as he opens a jar of sauce and pours it into a pot.
He finally notices me, acknowledging my presence with a mere glance. “Take a seat. Dinner will be ready in a few.”
I almost want to rub my eyes. “Am I imagining this?”
He rolls his eyes at me before turning back to the stove. He means it. He’s actually cooking dinner, and I’m pretty sure I’m dreaming.
Maybe I fell asleep while trying to read. That would make sense. It would explain why he didn’t lock me inside the room. Because there’s no way that actually happened.
I pause for a moment to gather my thoughts and come up with something to say since hanging around silently feels weird. “Is there anything I can help with?”
“No. I’ve got it all under control.” He jerks his chin at the table. “Sit down.” I do it not because I want to sit or even because I want to avoid angering him. Now, I’m invested and need to see how this plays out. A man in the kitchen is more likely to burn water than boil it.
Yeah, I’m not going to miss that. Lucas appears to know his way around the kitchen. Granted, there’s nothing that challenging about boiling pasta, but still. Nate tried to cook macaroni and cheese from a box one time, and he ended up setting the kitchen on fire. I’m still not sure how he managed that one.
I’ll never get to ask him. The thought makes a lump form in my throat. Eventually, I’m going to have to deal with losing him, and so suddenly. Maybe it would be easier if I’d had the chance to say goodbye.
But somebody stole that opportunity from me, didn’t she?
“You okay over there?” I didn’t know he was looking at me, and now I had to fight to get my facial expression under control.
“I’m fine. Just thinking.”
“About what?”
About how much I want to watch Aspen die for what she did. Yeah, right, that would go well. “Life, I guess. I don’t know.”
“How are classes coming along? Do you think you can catch up?”
What a fucking joke. Like it matters. What’s the endgame at a place like this? To graduate? I thought this was supposed to be a stopover, a way for him to control me for as long as he could. He’s making it sound like this is permanent. “I can handle it.”
“Good.” He stirs the sauce before turning off the heat under that pot. He then bends over, rooting around in the cabinet. I shouldn’t stare at his ass, but it’s right there in front of me. And it looks so perfect, round and firm. I’ve never seen an ass like that on a man. Just one more example of how disciplined he is.
