My baby. Our baby.
I clear my mind of the thought. The responsibility I am undertaking. I don't want to think about how I am using this child as a tool for my own survival. Or how I am bringing it into a terrifying and uncertain world. I can't afford to labor over moral ambiguity. I can only focus on what needs to be done for survival.
I close my eyes and soak in the warmth of the water when I hear footsteps. He wants me to hear. He can be a damn ninja if he wants, so when I hear him, it's because he's either taunting, doesn't care, or maybe in this case (I hope), showing some kind of deference to my space.
I push the door open with my toes to peer out as I rinse off.
He's there, in his full glory, face exposed, dressed in a well-worn t-shirt and jeans, setting a tray of food on the table. My stomach goes queasy, unsure of how to act around him after last night. Now that I can see his face, he's so human, and it's like I am getting to know him all over again.
He must know I am watching, but he doesn't acknowledge me. Maybe it's weird for him too. Then he moves out of my line of sight. He can't be leaving so soon. I turn off the shower and grab my towel, chasing towards the door like a curious puppy. He's already gone.
I sigh with disappointment. I have to build on last night before he erects his walls again. But the door reopens, and he's back, this time with another small table.
I freeze, standing there, dripping wet, wrapped in my thin towel, caught staring at the door from which he departed.
“Good…morning,” I utter awkwardly, like some girl who is seeing a boy she first kissed the night before.
He nods. This is the first time I have gotten to see him in the light of day. Some of his thicker scars are almost opalescent with the sun shining through the skylight. But the sun shines on his other features just as brightly, and he is even more handsome than I thought.
He sets the table against a wall and steps back out. I wait patiently, wondering what he has up his sleeve. This time he returns with…a record player. A record player!
I haven't felt like this since my grandmother surprised me with a trip to Disneyland when I was ten. I desperately try to play it cool, but a smile fights its way to the surface, and then I'm just grinning like a fool.
He places one album upright, behind the player, against the wall. The soundtrack to Saturday Night Fever. It's a small glimmer into who he might be. I doubt he had time to go buy it this morning, so it must be from his own collection. I never would have guessed.
I run over to the record player, but he puts a gentle hand on my forearm and points to the other table.
Eat.
Of course. The excitement had made me forget the pain for a moment. The plate is loaded with fruit and bacon—a rare treat—hard boiled eggs, toast, oatmeal and pulpy orange juice. This is a feast by the standards here. I grab the toast first and take a few eager bites.
“Thank you,” I say through a full mouth.
He doesn't say anything, but looks at me, almost coyly, from the corner of his eyes. As I shovel oatmeal into my mouth, I observe the small pleasure he has afforded me. Maybe something did change last night.
Unlike my other feedings, he doesn't leave, instead, he sets up the record player and then sits in his chair. Once I have enough food in my belly to slow down, I figure I should say something for the both of us.
“You like the Bee Gees?” I ask.
He shrugs.
“Did you see the movie?”
He nods.
“Did you like it?”
He shrugs.
“I saw it with”—I stop myself before mentioning Carter—“friends. It was fun. I actually had a friend who was obsessed with the movie. She's in love with John Travolta. She saw it, I think, ten times. One night, when we were studying and needed a distraction, she taught me one of the dance routines.”
He raises his eyebrows a bit, I can't tell if he's feigning interest or not.
“It would be nice to have a name for you, you know?” I ask. “A real one.”
He shifts in his chair and doesn't acknowledge my request.
I am stuffed like a piggy by the time I scoop up the last bite of food and fall back on the bed. “Ugh, I think I'll explode,” I say. The satisfaction of the meal only last seconds, before my new friend, morning sickness, returns. “Oh no,” I mourn, covering my mouth as I run to the bathroom. I bend over the waste hole and nearly all of that delicious food purges from me.