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A soft exhale falls from his lips.
“You’re not worse than other people,” he says as we connect eyes again.
His gaze makes me warm, the heat rolling from my nipples to my toes.
A soft smile curls his lips.
“I’m not so sure you know what being bad really means,” he says, wincing in pain again.
I study him. He evades my eyes this time.
“What would’ve happened to you had I not come?” I ask.
He shrugs and lifts his gaze. His deeply buried sadness puts pain in my chest.
“Whatever was meant to happen,” he says, disconnected from that grim outcome.
His ruefulness makes me ache again.
My hands stop for a moment as I suck in a gulp of air.
“What?”
“They would’ve probably killed you,” I say, focusing on the task at hand.
“Most likely not,” he says, calm.
I flick my eyes up from his chest, shaking my head disapprovingly.
“Okay. There was that possibility,” he concedes.
“Why would you go with them? You knew they were up to no good.”
His eyes meet mine again.
Cold and reserved this time, and I quickly realize I’m in a different territory. It’s not my business, after all. At least, it shouldn’t be.
I’m sure that’s what he thinks.
I keep my mouth shut and let the silence grow.
“I had no choice,” he says after a while. “They wanted me, and that was the only way to stop them,” he adds and pauses, unwilling to elaborate.
A few moments tick by.
“So... About the school. There must’ve been more than one reason you didn’t want to finish it,” he says.
“It was more than the school itself,” I say, straightening and peeling off the gloves. “It was the lifestyle that came with it. And the people. You met some of them at the party. I’m not one of them,” I say, cleaning the bed. “That kind of life would’ve killed me. Hungry?” I toss at him, keen to change the topic.
“Yes.”
I motion to him.
He follows me into the living room.
“I ordered food. It should be here any minute,” I say.
“You shouldn’t have. I can fix food.”
