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Lori
Marco comes back into my room right when the sun sets, a plate of warm food in his hand.
“What is it?” I ask, my arms wrapped around my legs as my wet hair continues to drip down my back.
I took a bath in perhaps the most luxurious tub ever to be made, but I couldn’t enjoy nearly as much as I should’ve. My thoughts were racing and filled with Marco. I couldn't help but think of what happened here earlier, of the ecstasy that he made me feel after losing myself to the darkness for so long.
Now, he stands before me in a pair of dark jeans and a black sweater, his hair also wet. He smells clean, like a fresh meadow and his glasses are slightly askew as he looks at me. He sets down the tray of food near my bed, taking a seat in the chair by the nightstand. He rests his elbows on his knees, interlocking his fingers as he leans closer to me.
“Something is wrong,” I say instantly, eyeing him closely as I feel the air in the room change.
It is darker now. Or perhaps that’s just what happens when he enters the room. Wherever he goes, the cloud that hangs over him follows. I definitely know that cloud followed him in here because he’s silent for well over five minutes, the muscles of his jaw working as he stares at the floor. He closes his eyes for a brief second, when he finally speaks, he still doesn’t make eye contact with me.
“I’m not going to kill you,” he says, clearing his throat as he leans back in his chair and rubs at his forehead.
My eyebrows raise as I look over at him. “What do you mean?” I ask, nearly dumbfounded by his admission.
“I mean that I’m not going to kill you, Lori. I’m going to let you go,” he says and my heart begins to pound in my chest, disbelief filling me.
“I don’t believe you,” I say, my voice shaking.
“You should. Because you haven’t heard my conditions yet,” he says finally, crossing his leg over his knee as he finally meets my eyes.
Of course. Of course, this will be on his terms. Did I think this man was a saint? Or a person capable of remorse? Did I actually think that after making love to me hours ago, that his heart would suddenly change and be full of empathy for me? No. I thought none of that. Which is why I’m shocked right now. Shocked and interested in whatever hisconditionsare.
“Name them,” I say, sitting cross legged on the bed now as I scoot towards the edge of it.
He stares at me for a moment, a hardness in his eyes.
“Eat first and then I will,” he deadpans, my head tilting as I lean forward and grab the tray.
I lift the lid and set it on the nightstand, pulling the warm plate in my lap before I lift my fork and begin to eat the spicy meat and vegetables. He has been bringing me more flavorful meals since I became quiet, however this morning's breakfast was the only thing I fully ate in weeks. Now, I want nothing more than to devour this dinner. However, I’m not going to eat it all and wait for his terms, in fear that I might throw it back up if they don’t sit well with me. Knowing him, they very well could not.
“I’ll eat while you talk,” I say, swallowing my bite and pausing to wait for him to respond before I take another.
“Glad to see you’ve got your wits back,” he says as I give him a blank expression.
“Name them, Marco,” I say, taking another bite of potatoes before I reach for the glass of water and sip it carefully, looking at him the entire time.
He’s quiet for a moment, watching me like a predator as I chew slowly and rest my plate on my bare thighs, the oversized t-shirt that I’m wearing barely covering my legs, but I don’t care. He’s seen everything, both my pussy and my depression.
“Once I find a secure location, I’m going to fly you there. You’re going to start a new life, in a new country, far away from here,” he says slowly,
“You’ll have no contact with your family. I’ll have two of my guards near you at all times. You’ll be monitored as well,” he says and suddenly, I no longer have an appetite.
My fork drops onto my plate and the clinking sound rattles in my eardrums. As soon as I let a very small, finite sliver of hope fill me, madness is right there to swallow it whole. Madness and blatant rage.
“Excuse me?” I whisper, my frown deepening on my face as I look down at the food on my plate.
“You heard me, Lorena. Those are my conditions,” he says and I want to snap.
“What’s my other option?” I ask, my eyes flicking to his as my breathing turns ragged.
He’s quiet, too quiet. He uncrosses his leg and leans forward on his elbows again, his face closer to mine as he speaks.
“There are no other options. This is the only one,” he says, his breath hitting my face just as my rage hits my heart.
I can’t help but laugh at the absurdness, and the audacity of this man. “Are you fucking serious right now?” I snap, setting my plate on the bed before I quickly stand and loom over him, seething now.
