In the kitchen, he was flipping eggs in a sizzling frying pan. He turned and stopped at the sight of her. After a beat, he gestured to the table. “Sit.”
The plain chair was strangely comfortable, as if it conformed to her body even though that was impossible. And soft—the wood felt like velvet. This house and its furnishing were sparse, primitive even. But also cozy. Everything in its place.
Except for her.
He set a plate down in front of her with a large helping of scrambled eggs and bacon. She stared at the food. Her mouth watered, but her stomach turned. This rich food was a sharp contrast to the bland meal she was used to. She couldn’t eat it, but neither could she rebuff such generosity.
Turning a chair around so that its back faced the table, he straddled it and dug into his own plate. For a moment, she was able to observe him without his returned regard. Black hair that looked softer by morning night. More tousled than unkempt. His features were definitely coarse—a bit too large for his face—but they suited his presence. Too much, exactly right.
Suddenly he looked up; her mouth went dry. His eyes were exactly as she remembered them: black, bottomless, and terrifying. It was just as well she couldn’t see him last night. Those eyes would have seen too much.
“Aren’t you going to eat?”
Gingerly, she picked up the fork. How long had it been since she held one?
He cocked his head, watching her as if she were a curious experiment. She tightened her fingers and stabbed a piece of egg. The tines made a loud ringing sound against the plate, and she winced.
She put the whole thing in her mouth and set the fork back down. The egg was thick and creamy and so foreign. It coated her tongue, and she forced a breath through her nose. God, she had swallowed so much worse than this—why not this? But she couldn’t. Get it out.
And then a hand was over her mouth, not tightly just a touch. A stroke down her back, calming her. “Take it easy,” he said. “Swallow it. There you go.”
When she had gulped it down, he returned to his seat as if nothing had happened.
She blinked the tears from her eyes and stared down at the food in dismay. It was three times what she normally was fed. Did he expect her to eat the whole thing? She would throw it up. And then what would he do to her?
A scrape of the chair against the wood floor drew her attention to him. He put the chair beside hers and sank. Her eyes widened; his were dark and forbidding. It was too much, all of it: the food, his presence.
“Half,” he said.
She blinked.
“We may not get through all of it today, but you’ll eat half of what’s on the plate. We’ll work up to the rest another day. Deal?”
This was a negotiation? Of course, she couldn’t actually say anything back so admittedly her bargaining position was poor, but she wasn’t used to being asked for her opinion. She wasn’t used to giving it. She frowned.
“I’m going to take that as a yes,” he said, spearing another piece of egg.
At the touch of the food to her lips, her mouth opened. It was trained into her, and she swallowed.
“Good girl.”
She ate two more bites before fidgeting. Already she felt full, so full. Normally her discomfort wouldn’t matter, but something was different now. Strange and exciting. She wasn’t saying no exactly, but she didn’t want this.
The egg touched her lips, and she parted, only slightly. He raised his eyebrow.
Quickly she ate, strangely deflated. Her streak of rebellion was very small, but it didn’t go unnoticed. He paused, examining her. Her heart raced in anticipation. Would he punish her now—or later? She almost wanted it. At least then she would know what to expect from him. At least then this confusing charade of normalcy would come to an end.
His large hands closed around her arms, and she winced. But no pain came. Instead she was enfolded in warmth—surrounded. She sat on his lap, held by him, fed by him, and she ate. If she paused or floundered, he would rub her back in slow circles. His touch was calm but sure. I’ll make you feel better, it said, but you’ll still do what I say.
But strangely, she found it easier to eat like this. Maybe because she could feel the steady beat of his heart and knew he wasn’t angry at her. Maybe because his warmth and strength were used to shield her, not hurt her.
More than that, he seemed to recognize when she needed a moment, and he gave it to her. He was reading her cues, she realized. It was amazing; it was beautiful. Terrifying. He could hurt her so much worse than the others. He seemed to know what she was thinking even without her words. He knew what she was feeling. And hadn’t she stopped talking to protect herself from such a thing?
No, that wasn’t right. She didn’t stop talking, she couldn’t speak. She had never spoken. It was just easier that way. Best not to think about it.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” he asked with a tap to her nose.