Page 71 of Reckoning

I open the fridge and there’s nothing. Not even a carton of milk. What the hell is this girl eating? She can’t be living off takeaways, surely?

When I open the freezer my eyes widen. It’s packed. Rammed. Full to the brim of frozen ready meals. Lasagne, curries, even a mini roast. As I pick a box up and examine it, Sofia walks in.

“This is what you eat?” I ask her.

Her face goes pale, the way one does when you’ve discovered a horrid secret.

“I can’t cook.” She says. “And I, I didn’t trust deliveries.”

I frown. “Trust them?” I repeat confused.

She sighs, dumping the bag in her hand. “When I was back at the hotel they spiked my food. Now I can’t eat anything because I know it’s an easy way to get to me.”

“But microwave meals are okay?” How does that make any sense?

“They’re sealed.” She states. “They come in a big order from online. I made sure they couldn’t be contaminated.”

Fuck, is this how she’s living? Fearful of even eating? No wonder she’s a mess.

My eyes scan the room again. Perhaps that’s why it all feels so lifeless, because she’s not living in this space, she hasn’t made it her home, she’s just existing here the way she does everywhere else.

“I’m all packed.” She says.

I raise an eyebrow, staring at the one bag at her feet. It’s not small but it’s certainly not big either. Most girls I know travel with a whole city’s worth of shit. How has she managed to fit everything she needs into the one holdall?

I grunt in reply, crossing the kitchen, noticing more, seeing blank walls, empty shelves where there should be books, trinkets, picture frames. “Where is everything?” I ask.

She blinks back at me in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Your stuff? Where is all your stuff?” I’d put money on all this furniture coming with the house because none of itfeelslike items Sofia would choose. It’s all too generic, too safe. It feels like a safehouse. Like she’s in witness protection.

“I, I don’t have anything.”

I turn back, staring at her expression that seems locked down like Fort Knox. “Why not?”

“They destroyed my things when they burnt the Montague House down.” She says quietly.

“All of it?”

“Everything.”

My eyes fix on the wall behind her. Where someone has scrawled in a thick black ink‘You’re letting them win.’

Apparently I’m not the only one thinking it.

She sighs, eyeing the writing in a way that makes me wonder if she was the one that wrote it.

“Let’s get out of here.” I say.

We’ll keep the guards in place, more as a precaution than anything, Besides, it’ll be interesting to see if anyone attempts to break in now that Sofia is no longer staying here.

* * *

I let her unpack,after insisting she take my room. There’s a saferoom built off the walk-in wardrobe so logically it makes most sense. But I’ll admit there’s a deeper, more primal want for her to be there, in my space, in my bed. In time it will become our room - I just have to play the long game for the moment. If I move too quickly I’ll be fucking her before she’s ready and I’ll do far too much damage.

I want her to come to me. I want her to be the instigator. She doesn’t realise it but she’s going to lock herself inside my trap, willingly step inside, and then let me devour her.

When she comes back down, she’s wearing her own clothes, a pair of jeans and a thick woolly jumper. Her hair is scraped back into a bun and she’s obviously put some concealer on to hide the bags under her eyes.

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