“Here.” He moved to a cupboard behind him and rummaged for a box, which he held out to me. “I was just making myself something, as well. We can share if you like.”
“Okay,” I said. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I stood there in the middle of the kitchen holding the box, knowing I should choose to do something. Lean against the counter. Sit at the dinette. Something. Anything.
The guy stopped and looked at me. His body seemed to go slack, arms falling to his side.
“Aye. You must be Angela then.”
My breathing skidded to a halt and picked back up in quick time. Had Colin told him about me? What had he said?
I nodded, still not looking up.
“Someone bought food. Sit here with me.” He led me to a chair and I sat obediently.
He cut slices of sharp cheese and some sort of sausage and put them on a plate between us, then dumped crackers on the side.
“Help yourself,” he said.
After he’d taken, some I gingerly took one cracker with cheese and nibbled it. My stomach let out an obnoxious, embarrassing gurgle of happiness.
“Eat up. Don’t be shy. I’m Graham, by the way.”
My eyes flicked up and found him watching me. He was like a younger, punked out version of Colin, and I couldn’t help but stare as he shoved as cracker sandwich in his mouth. He seemed just as intense as his brother, never smiling, and it made me wonder what they’d been through.
When we’d cleared the plate he slouched down and crossed his arms, bringing a thumb up to touch his lip ring. He stared at the shuttered window.
“It’s strange isn’t it?” he asked. “Afterward? You know you should feel safe, but you don’t. You know you should be happy, but you aren’t.”
I stared at him. How did he know? The way he sounded—the certainty and understanding in his voice made something vulnerable inside me crack open in a way that psych lady couldn’t dream of achieving.
“Yes,” I whispered. “And I know I should want to be free, but…”
“But you don’t know how anymore.”
He looked at me now, and I felt a camaraderie like I felt with Josef. It made me miss him terribly.
“How do you know?” I asked.
“Colin didn’t tell you?”
My pulse sprinted and I shook my head.
“He may not want you to know. He’s a secretive shit, but fuck it. I feel like, maybe…I dunno, maybe it might help or something.”
He looked nervous and unsure now.
“You can tell me,” I said, and not just because I was dying to know their story, but because it seemed like he needed to get it out, whatever it was. For himself and for me.
He took a deep breath, and his hand shook as he raked it through his hair.
“When I was a wee lad, only ten, and Colin was sixteen, our Mam and Dad were killed. I was kidnapped and sold into slavery. Colin wasn’t home.”
Holy shit. My heart stalled. I couldn’t breath. I covered my mouth to hold back the sounds of shock and mourning my body wanted to release.
“Seven years later he found me. Colin saved me, but I was a fucking disaster. Still am.” Graham grabbed his earlobe. “Fuck, I need a drink.”
I don’t know what made me do it, but I reached across the table and took his hand. We both stilled, and then he gave my hand a squeeze.
“Ever play video games?” he asked.
“No.” I almost giggled.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-two.”
“Same as me,” he said. That would make Mr. Douglas twenty-eight. I felt myself warming all over at the thought of the older, rugged man.
“If you’re having trouble sleeping you can hang with me,” Graham said.
“Okay.”
He had the master suite at the far end of the house. He brought us both sodas and we sat on funny gamer seats in front of the television. What I found was that Graham wanted to talk, but needed a distraction to cushion the intimacy it would require. While he killed zombies, he asked questions and I answered. Then he answered in return.
How many masters did you have?
What was your master like?
Did he beat you? Drug you? Fuck you?
Our question and answer session, with both our sets of eyes on the screen, felt oddly normal, though it was anything but. It wasn’t like talking to the psychologist. It was like talking to my friends from the villa because they’d lived the same life. Graham understood. The pain and fear that could have arisen from discussing it was tampered by the click of his fingers and thumbs across the controls, and the sounds of the bangs and pows coming from the game.
After nearly two hours I must have fallen asleep because the silence of the game being turned off startled me and I jumped.
“Sorry,” he said.
I gave him a small smile. He searched my face before looking away.
“Thank you, Graham.”
He nodded.
“I’ll see you later, right?”
“Aye.” He pushed a hand through his locks, seeming nervous.
“I won’t tell anyone what we talked about,” I promised. “I don’t really want everyone to know those things about me either.”