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“Go and eat something. I’ll be there in a minute,” he says, putting me on the floor and breaking the moment.
The door closes behind me, the sound of a lock being engaged following it, and I look into the room to find an array of platters of food on the large table by the window. Flowers fill a large vase in the centre of it, bright pink and purple lavender sprigs entwined with roses and freesias. I can smell them everywhere. Deep scented and rendering the old wood of this room inadequate in comparison.
Slow feet inch me towards the table, my own body feeling as lacklustre as the wood, and I approach the window to gaze out into the desolate view. It’s still the same. Cold and barren, austerely beautiful and sombre in its own way. It feels like me again. Without care.
Just like I should be.
I rest my swollen ass on the table and keep looking out into the air, watching as low light flicks gracefully on the tops of the mountains. Maybe morning’s breaking, or night is descending. Who knows here. I don’t suppose it matters really. We’re far away. Hidden in these mountains around us. I still don’t even know where here is. We could be anywhere.
The sound of him coming out of the bathroom makes me turn to look at him. He’s rubbing his dark hair, towelling it back and forth as if cleansing himself of my hands. I can see my nails on him, though. Scratches and handprints, as if I was clawing at him, pulling him closer or making him back away.
“Where are we?” I ask.
He walks to the table and picks up a croissant, chewing carefully as he looks at me. “Why?”
I shrug and stand, getting myself closer to the window and away from him. It’s safer away from him, safer for my thoughts. Safer for my sanity. “I’d just like to know.”
“I can’t tell you that,” he replies, dismissively. “Eat some food, Hannah.”
“Why not?”
“Because Malachi hasn’t invited you here of your own accord. If he does, he’ll let you know where we are.”
“Why did you get invited?”
He pulls out a chair for me and motions for me to sit in it, no answer to the question as he carries on eating. That’s not good enough for me. I stay at the window, at least wanting some truths before I go. Maybe we’re not two, and we’re certainly not a couple, but something other than whatever this is might help me acknowledge that – create space and bring us back to just friends again. If we ever were. “Why, Gray?”
I don’t know what the stare at me over his food means, but it’s not cruel anymore. It’s not even his usual look of flat and disinterested. It could be intrigue, or irritation because I’m pressing him for something he’s not willing to discuss.
He eventually looks back at his food, picking up a bottle of wine and pouring it into two glasses. “Sit and eat and I’ll tell you.”
I move slowly to sit, at least I'll be comfortable to get something from him other than nothing. It’s quiet again for a while, and I pick at bits and pieces in front of me. Everything’s here. Meats, cheeses, breads, pastries and fruits. Continental. I think that’s what they call it. I don’t think we were on the plane long enough to get to Europe. Although, that driver that picked us up did have a hint of a French accent. No, can’t be France.
“How’s your ass?” he asks.
“Painful.”
A slight smirk crosses his features, hand taking the wine to his mouth. “Good. You asked for it.”
“And I asked for the rest as well?”
“You asked for me. You got me.”
“And that’s you entirely?”
Nothing comes out of his mouth as an answer to that. He just carries on chewing and looks at me, as if he’s memorising every feature on my face, every mark on my skin. I watch the bread break in his hands, knowing the feeling well as I bring some meat up to my lips and nibble. “Have you always been into this? Like Malachi? Is that why you know him?”
“I’ve never touched anyone like I’ve just touched you in my whole life.”
My brows shoot up, the meat hovering in shock. For someone who says he’s never done any of that before, he seemed to know a lot about what he was doing. At least the orgasms prove he does even if the feeling on my skin burns like hell. I move slightly in the chair, trying to ease my ass and the feeling all over me. “No one?”
“No one.”
“Only me?”
“Only you.”
I finger the table, finding some solace in that, some sense of connection again. “Then how-“
