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He dried off and left the bathroom without even glancing her way. She sat there, wondering if she was still supposed to stay here or follow him.
He'd left her a brand new toothbrush still in the package, and there was a little space in the toothbrush holder beside his for hers. It felt so oddly domestic in spite of everything to brush her teeth and put her pink toothbrush in the holder next to his green one. It still seemed impossible that he hadn't locked her in a cell like the one she'd kept him in.
He hadn't drugged her, or made her sleep on the floor or threatened to kill her or made her bleed. Or yelled at her. He'd given her a warm bath and a hot shower. Never cold water out of a bucket with a sponge. And he'd held her when she'd had the nightmare, not fucking her when she knew he wanted to. All these things felt like small kindnesses in light of the evidence of her own violence she'd just seen on his back.
Ari returned wearing a fresh pair of jeans but no shirt.
“Will I ever get clothes again?”
A smirk inched up his cheek. “Eventually. Maybe.”
It was then that she noticed the blindfold he held in one hand.
“Close your eyes.”
Claire closed her eyes and didn't even flinch when he secured the blindfold, though her heart thundered in her chest, wondering what was coming next. She worried her mind might snap out of the way this man seemed to have hypnotized her. She worried she might stop wanting him and this twisted thing growing between them. Ari took the towel off her, but he didn't leave her naked. A few moments later he was helping her into a bathrobe.
Then he scooped her up and carried her from the room. He didn't take her down any stairs this time.
Ari stopped and set her on her feet on hardwood floor. He removed the blindfold, and she took a moment to look at her surroundings. They were in the kitchen. White, gray, black. It was a very modern kitchen with a large stainless steel island that somehow looked stylish instead of cold. Along one wall beside a long blond wood kitchen table was a sliding glass door. Snow fell in big fluffy pieces, gently landing and collecting on the frozen ground.
Ari began taking things out of the refrigerator and started making breakfast.
Claire couldn't remember the last time it had snowed so much in January. She moved to the table and ran her hand along the natural finish.
“This table is amazing,” she said. She'd never seen a table like this in any store or even design catalog. It was simple, yet elegant. Sturdy. It felt like it could last centuries.
“I made it,” he said.
She glanced up, surprised. “Youmadethis?” For a moment she forgot the circumstances between them. She had to take a break from reality to marvel at this table.
“It's beautiful. Is that what you do for work?”
She watched as Ari kneaded and rolled out dough on the stainless steel island. That island wasn't mere design. It was practical. This was not a man who did instant biscuits out of a tin, she realized, cringing again at all the canned beef stew she'd fed him. He must have been going out of his mind for real food and this kitchen.
“No, not work. It's just a hobby.”
“What do you do for work?” He had to be independently wealthy. Any job would have fired him after a three-week unexplained absence. Another wave of guilt washed over her at all the ways she'd fucked up this man's life.
He stopped working the dough and gave her a stern look. “Are you forgetting yourself, little one? We're getting awfully casual here.”
“I-I'm sorry, Master.”
He nodded and went back to the dough, clearly not prepared to talk about his work, whatever it might be.
Claire looked back at the falling snow. A fox stood outside the door, only feet away, staring at her. She yelped.
Ari came over to where she stood to see what had caused that sound to come out of her.
“The fox?” he asked.
She nodded. Claire had never seen a fox outside a nature show.
“Yeah, that's Arnold.”
“You have a fox?”
Ari went back to his work, flipping some breakfast ham that he'd started frying in a skillet.
