Her pounding headache was gone, replaced by a mild throb. Her throat felt parched and her forehead was sore. She remembered him. She remembered trying to pull away from him and hitting the door. She must be lying on Vivian's floor, but it didn't feel like a floor. It felt like a bed. A warm, comfortable bed. And the air didn't smell like moth balls either. It smelled like...like...chicken soup.
She cautiously cracked an eye open, discovering an unfamiliar room. She opened her other eye and quickly scanned her surroundings without moving her head. She was propped up slightly and could see an open bathroom door to her right. Directly in front of her was a triple dresser that housed a television on one side and what looked like a decorative art piece, a teepee made from metal, on the other. A large mirror was attached to the back of the dresser and in the mirror's reflection she could see a beautiful portrait of a forest scene. A snarling bear was standing on all fours. She could see its sharp teeth. Windows flanked both sides of the portrait, but the curtains were closed. She could also see what she guessed was the top of the headboard. She sat up a little bit and saw her face in the mirror.
There was a prominent purple bump right smack in the middle of her forehead. She had bruising under each eye. Her hair was plastered to her head. She raised her hand to touch it and realized it was damp. It was then that she was hit with a recognizable discomfort. She needed to empty her bladder and she needed to do it immediately. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she quickly realized she had tried to sit up a little too abruptly and was overcome with dizziness. Gripping the bed’s edge, she closed her eyes for a moment and when she opened them she was staring at a belly button. She slowly looked up, taking in the dark tan skin, the flat stomach with defined abs, the smooth hairless chest with a myriad of tattoos. When she got to his eyes, she didn't see anger, or aggravation or even concern. She saw...nothing. They were penetrating and unsettling. She started to shake.
She looked away then and said, "Bathroom," followed by a very weak, "please."
He lifted his hand to grab her arm and noticed her flinch. "I'm not going to hurt you," he told her. Taking her elbow, he helped her stand and walked her slowly to the bathroom door.
"Thank you," she said, without looking at him. "I have it from here."
Anthony watched Christy slowly shut the door behind her. He went to his dresser and pulled out a T-shirt, hastily pulling it over his head. He stared at himself in the mirror, his long hair still slightly damp from the shower he took earlier, and reflected on the woman who was using his bathroom. After feeling confident that the cold water helped reduce her fever, he stripped her out of her clothes and dried her off. He was a little surprised that his earlier observation of her breast implants had been wrong. It's not like he lingered while he was drying her, but he couldn't help but notice they were the real deal. He tried to deny the slight stirring he felt. I'd not be a man if they didn't cause some kind of reaction, he convinced himself. It's been too long since I’ve had a woman.
The bathroom door opened and she hesitantly walked out.
"Where are my clothes?" she asked, her voice sounding small.
"You had a fever and I had to get you in a cold shower. I couldn't put you back to bed soaking wet. You're wearing my T-shirt. Your clothes are in the dryer."
It took every ounce of strength she didn't have to stand there and have a civil conversation. She was in a strange man's house. In a strange man's clothes. And not just any strange man. She was in the Neanderthal's house. The Neanderthal's bed. She was at a serious disadvantage. She knew she wouldn't be able to talk her way out of this one. At least not in her current condition.
Fear gripped her with its piercing talons and she knew her only recourse was to play along until she felt better and could think clearly. She nodded, choosing not to mention the fact that she wasn't wearing any underwear. She already knew the shirt she wore had to be his because it fell below her knees. She also knew that he had to be the one who undressed and dried her. She could feel the humiliation as it started in her toes and slowly worked its way up to her cheeks. She wouldn't allow herself to acknowledge she found the smell of his shirt comforting. And safe. Where could that be coming from? Especially after it was obvious that he'd followed through on his plan to abduct her.
He noticed her blush and sneered, "Like I said at your house, you have nothing I want. Your virtue hasn't been compromised." He waited for her sarcastic rebuttal and was caught off guard when she replied, "Thank you," and after a short pause, "for taking care of me." Her voice was slightly shaky when she asked, "Would you happen to have an extra toothbrush and a comb or brush I could use?"
Her politeness surprised him. Then he remembered that she was ill. She would probably “please” and “thank” him to death until she was feeling better at which time she would return to her arrogant self. She was sick enough that maybe keeping her here until he worked things out with Van wouldn't be intolerable. X would have Nisha on a plane first thing in the morning freeing him up to stay here with Christy while Anthony took care of business at the camp and landscape office. It was probably best that Christy stay here instead of X's place anyway.
He walked past her and came out of the bathroom holding a hairbrush and a toothbrush still in its packaging. Tossing them both on the bed he said, "The toothbrush is new, but you'll have to lower yourself to sharing my brush."
She gave him an odd look and instead of retrieving the items, she hobbled to a corner and sat in a chair. "Where am I and how long have I been here?"
"You’re at my house and you've been here for a couple of hours. It'll be dark soon."
"I figured it was your house," she countered. "Where is it?"
"That's not important," he answered evenly.
She looked away from him and nodded to herself. She wouldn't challenge him. Yet. He could tell she was thinking. "Are you going to take me home or is this part of your plan to ransom me to Van?"
So, she remembered, he thought.
"You being at my place wasn't part of the plan, but like I said in your mother's bedroom, it can go down easy or it can go down not so easy. Either way I win." He waited for her reaction and not getting one he continued, "Besides, I don't think you're in any condition to be driving yourself anywhere right now."
She looked up at him quickly then and asked, "You have the 'Vette here?"
"Yes, and you're not getting the keys." After a beat, he asked, "Will anybody miss you? Somebody at home waiting for you? A roommate, a boyfriend?" He paused. "A manicurist?"