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Forcing those memories to the back of her mind, she knew they had no place right now. Raphael didn’t believe he’d granted her true freedom but he didn’t know what it was like to be constantly afraid. This was freedom.
Sitting down on the sofa and watching the world go by felt like freedom. There was no room to relax in her world. Only punishment if she got something wrong or did something naughty. She was tired of it.
After brushing her teeth, she straightened up and combed through her hair, pulling it back into a ponytail. Should she have it cut? She’d ask Raphael first what he thought.
Back in her bedroom, she made the bed perfectly. Old habits died hard. She changed into a pair of sweats and picked up her dirty shirt, taking it out to the laundry room. There was already a basket full of washing. She placed the dirty shirt into the washing machine and took all of Raphael’s dark colors to add to it. On his pristine white shirt, she noted some of the blood spatter. She did laundry back at his father’s house and blood-covered clothes was not a new sight for her.
Placing it back in the basket, she put some powder to the mix, closed the door, and found the cycle she’d been shown back at Giavanni’s. She wasn’t able to read or write but copying, she’d been able to do. She understood what people said a great deal.
Stepping into the kitchen, she saw Raphael already there, waiting. He drank a cup of coffee and was already biting into something that looked like pancakes. “Morning,” he said.
“Morning.”
“Want some coffee?”
“Please.”
He stepped away from his plate and she watched him grab a cup from the cupboard. Then he opened up the oven, grabbed a towel, and pulled out a plate of pancakes. “How are you feeling today?” he asked.
“Good. You?”
“I mean, are you sore?”
“Sore?”
“From yesterday. I didn’t even think of your wounds and I had you running over town.”
“I loved it.”
“You did?”
“Yes. It was a lot of fun.”
He put the pancakes in front of her and she watched him drizzle some syrup on top. “Now, I don’t mean to brag or anything, but I can promise you, these are damn good.”
“Damn good?”
“Yep. I make the best pancakes in the world.”
She chuckled, breaking into one and placing it against her lips. She closed her eyes.
“Good?”
“Damn good.”
“See, I told you.” He sipped at his coffee. “I’ve got to head out today. I got a call from my father I need to go and answer. When I return, I’m going to have some clothes for you. Will you be okay?”
“Yes. I’ve got some laundry to do.”
“Also, I want you to be extra cautious today.”
“Why?”
“I have a hunch. My father, he’s not the most trustworthy kind of guy. Someone might break in or try to look around.” He opened up his jacket and held out a cell phone for her to take. “I’ve already put this on silent. If you feel in any kind of danger, call me. Be quiet though. Super-quiet.”
“I can do that.”
He finished his coffee. “I don’t want anything to happen to you but the threat is real.”
She watched him pick up his jacket. He already had his gun strapped to his body, and he looked ready to do business. “Raphael, when you get back, could you teach me how to tell the time?”
“Sure, if you’d like to learn.”
“I would.”
“Consider it done.” He kissed the top of her head.
Whenever he cupped the back of her neck and did that, she felt safe, protected. Being around Raphael didn’t feel wrong or dirty.
She gave him another smile and he was gone. The door closed with the locks flicking back into place. He’d told her there wouldn’t be any apparent guard on the door, but he had people watching her to keep her safe.
Finishing up her pancakes, she got to washing the dishes, drying, and putting them away.
She closed the drawers and moved toward the window.
One of the things she loved doing was taking her time to stare out across the city. People were so lucky with what they had. She’d never known what it was like to get dressed up in these nice outfits, run to work, or be part of the race. The working force.
What was it like to have their face on a passport or a driver’s license? To just have a photo of themselves?
She didn’t know what it was like.
Some of the girls she’d met along the way of her captivity had known. They hadn’t all been born into this life, like she had. She didn’t even know her mother’s name, or her father’s. She’d been a bastard, that was what she’d been told.
Putting her hand on the glass, she felt the warmth of the sun and as she was about to open the door to take a chance to step onto the patio overlooking the city, she froze.
