He didn’t, though. Throwing the spoon aside, he tilted my head up. At first I thought he was going to force feed me more, but then his lips crashed down on mine.
The kiss stole my breath, his body pressing the air out of my lungs. My body burned with pain, and I twisted under him, but he held me fast. The feelings that my meds would have cut off sprung into high alert, and at the same time so too did my body.
Traitor body, to respond to his kiss that way. The same way as it had responded the first time I had pressed my lips to him. The burn in my body was no longer just pain, but an aching lust. As he deepened the kiss, his tongue tracing the outline of my lips, I arched back against the wall, trying desperately to convince myself that I didn’t want any part of this.
I didn’t, of course. I couldn’t help the sharp ache that began to press against me from the inside as he pressed against me from the outside. His hands held my arms back at the wrists, and I was only grateful that he didn’t slide them up my bra to where the razor was hiding.
The razor. I couldn’t let him know.
He broke away from the kiss, his eyes burning with an emotion I hadn’t seen in him before. It lasted only a split second before the curtain fell again and his eyes turned on me flatly, expressionless. His arms hung limply at his sides.
“You wasted a trade, kitten,” he said. “Wasted food, too.”
I gulped. A tear had found its way to the corner of my eye and began its slow journey down my cheek. I wiped it away. I did not want him to see me cry.
The anxiety was gone, replaced by hatred and rage. At least I could do that. I might have been able to attack him with the razor, but it was better to wait until he uncuffed me. I would have a better chance, then.
“I had hoped that we would have a better day today, kitten,” he said. “Yesterday was so promising.”
He waited for me to say something, but there was nothing else to say. He gathered the upturned bowl and the spoon from the floor, and went to leave without uncuffing me.
“It’s your birthday,” he said, and I was surprised that there was no hint of anger in his voice. “I’ll be back later with your present. It would be better for you if you obeyed me then.”
Gav
Of course, her birthday. She would respond better once she saw that I was going to treat her well on her birthday. I should have started with that, maybe. Now I had to find a present that would suit her.
I dug through my closet upstairs. There had been something I’d found a while back, a box of jewelry from my mother. I’d stolen it and hidden it away after she’d died. My fingers touched something hard in the back of the shelf, and I pulled out the rosewood box. It gleamed a dark red where I brushed the dust off of it.
Opening the box, I took out the necklace. A silver necklace, two hearts intertwined. I remember my mother wearing it, the silver chain sparkling around her throat. Her throat…
Her throat was cut. My father held the knife. Blood, blood everywhere.
The box clattered to the ground, spilling the other jewelry across the floor. The shadow swirled up, the darkness invading the bedroom. No. I did not want the shadow here. Not again. It was too soon.
The silver chain in my hands dug into my skin, but I clutched it all the tighter. I closed my eyes but I could still feel the shadow there, waiting patiently at the periphery of my eyes. Waiting for me to find it again. In my hand, the thin metal hearts seemed to beat. Mother. Mother. My mother…
I howled, and the sound echoed through the empty, empty house.
Kat
The razor had cut through the bottom of my bra, and I was adjusting it so that it wouldn’t poke out when the light on the stairs came on. Hastily shoving it back underneath the padding, I leaned back against the wall, my arm twisted up and hanging limply from the pipe.
Gav pushed open the door slowly. Still topless. He hadn’t put another shirt on. I didn’t know whether or not he was trying to show off his muscled chest, or if he actually didn’t care. From what I knew about him, I’d have to guess the latter.
Now, he was holding something in his hands. A present, he’d said. He came to me and held it out. It was a necklace. A silver chain, dangling from his fingers. The heart charms hanging off the end gleamed brightly in the thin light.
“Here,” he said. “Your present.”
“You didn’t wrap it,” I said. I wasn’t going to play this particular game, not after he had chained me back up to the pipe.
He paused, and as his face turned halfway to the light I could see that his eyes were rimmed red under his dark lashes. Had he been crying?
“Do you want me to wrap it?” he asked. His voice was small, confused. In his fingers, the necklace turned, the hearts spinning at the end of the chain.
“I don’t want it,” I said. I tried to sound confident, but for some reason I couldn’t make my voice raise any higher.
“Why not?”
“Because I want to leave.”
“You can’t leave. You can have this, though. It’s a gift.” He sounded pleading.