“Do you feel you’re losing your sanity?”
I flip him off and sit on the couch. “I want to run away. I think I might take my chances out there. Death is preferable to dying of boredom.”
“Is torture preferable?” he asks, walking to the front door.
“Why are you so rational? Weren’t you ever bored here?”
“I was trained to deal with long periods of silence.”
Glancing back at him, I imagine his old life. Silence, waiting for his assignment, no desire, no choices.
“In all seriousness, are you a robot?”
“I don’t think you’re serious. I think you’re insulting me in your Odessa-way.”
“How can you not want more?”
“I just don’t.”
I stand up and walk to him. Quill doesn’t look at me. His gaze is on the woods where nothing moves.
“It’s too quiet,” I say to ease the tension in my gut.
“Yes.”
“Is someone coming?”
“No. The wind sometimes stops before the fog rolls through.”
“Are you afraid of the fog?”
“I’m not afraid of anything.”
“What if something came out of the fog and tore off your arm?” I ask, caressing his muscular bicep. “Would you be afraid then or would you shrug it off?”
“You need to stop touching me.”
“You didn’t kill me when I pushed you. Why would you kill me for gently touching you?”
“I have no control over my instincts. When they kick in, I react,” he says, and his jaw twitches with agitation.
“Why would they react now but not when I attacked you?”
Quill finally smiles, and my entire body reacts to the sight. He’s the most flawless man I’ve ever seen. His smiling lips beg to be kissed. He needs me to show him how to feel.
“You were attacking me?” he sneers. “I know you have violence in you, but that attempt was pathetic.”
His words lose their power while his arm muscles spasm under my fingertips.
“Stop,” he says, glaring at me.
I stare into his eyes as my nails lightly scratch his bare forearm. “No.”
“Do you want to die?”
“You’d kill me quickly, wouldn’t you?”
Quill narrows his eyes and grabs my throat with his free hand. I flinch and begin to struggle. Flashing back to John’s hand around my throat, I fear the sensation of running out of air. Except Quill isn’t John, and I’m not in my old life.
Regaining my composure, I reach forward with both hands and touch his cheeks.
Shoving me to the ground, he exhales like an angry bull. I’ve enraged him, and his anger makes me smile.
“You do feel something,” I say, staring up at him.
“Do you want me to hate you?”
“Hate is better than nothing. If you weren’t a robot, you’d know that, Quill.”
Leaning down, he snatches my arm and yanks me to my feet. I don’t flinch at his rough touch. I’ve known violence, and Quill is only trying to scare me.
“I will lock you in your room again.”
“Okay, but you don’t want to. A part of you is bored too. Who knows how long I’ll be around to entertain you? Why throw away an opportunity for a distraction?”
“You overestimate your worth,” he says, squeezing my arm until the bone threatens to snap. “My only concern is for myself. You could die tomorrow, and I wouldn’t even bury you. I’d leave your corpse for the wolves to clean up.”
His words cut deeply. I hear a truth to them. Quill might hunger for comfort in the way I do, but he will never give into the desire. He would rather let me rot than relent to any tenderness inside him.
I step back, and Quill releases my arm. We stare at each other, thinking very different thoughts. He resents me for my lack of manners and self-control. I only want him to make the pain go away.
Deep inside, I feel cold and empty. The sensation began in my chest when I first arrived, and it’s spreading. I don’t know how to feel alive again. The voices in the basement promised me death would ease my pain, but I don’t want to die. Despite his callousness, Quill needs me around for a while longer.
Moving without thinking, I walk straight for the basement door and hurry downstairs. The voices chime in with dozens of thoughts all at once. I can’t think with them screaming. I barely notice Quill behind me until his angry voice breaks through the noise.
I look at him for only a moment before swinging the bat. The cracking sound of contact between his head and the weapon startles me. I recall how minutes earlier he told me I had no strength, yet somehow I knocked him out with one strike.
Dropping the bat, I know what I need to do next. If Quill was angry before I hit him, he’ll be absolutely homicidal when he wakes up and sees what I have in mind for him.
Chapter Seventeen
Quill