Page 58 of Blood Ties
“Well... it’s hard to explain. But maybe I can show you.”
I open the book on my lap, scooting up against him so he can see too, and start to read aloud. I follow the words with my finger, but Kai keeps looking at me instead of the page, long sideways glances when he thinks I’m not paying attention to him. I let him look. Let our knees and shoulders brush as we’re sitting together. Because at the end of the day, I don’t really give a fuck if he actually learns to read. This is just a way to be useful to him other than sex, now that losing my birth control has made that risky. It’s also a way to spend time with him. Get him attached to me.
I keep expecting him to interrupt me. He must have an ulterior motive here too, like a boy asking a girl to study as an excuse to get in her bedroom. But after a few minutes, Kai stops staring at me and looks at the book instead, dark hair falling around his face as he leans down to see better. A couple times he stops me to repeat a word, or ask what it means. But most of the time he’s quiet, his brow furrowed as he listens to my voice.
An easy hour passes as I read aloud. I gradually relax as I realize he doesn’t intend to make a move on me. Maybe I shouldn’t have expected it. I have no doubt that he wants me — he’s made that very clear — but he’s shy, even after what we’ve done together.
In the silence as I turn a page, he suddenly sits upright, looking up at the ceiling. I follow his gaze and hear footsteps above.
“Shit,” he mutters. “Dad’s home. I have to go get dinner ready.”
“Okay. That’s fine.” I close the book as he stands and stretches.
He hesitates at the foot of the stairs, glancing back at me. “Can we do this again tomorrow?”
I smile. “Of course, Kai. You can come back whenever you want. Not like I’m going anywhere.”
Probably shouldn’t have said the last part. It strikes a dark tone in our lighthearted conversation. But as he guiltily glances at the shackle on my wrist, I decide that maybe it’s a good thing after all. I shouldn’t let him forget why I’m here. I need that guilt to grow, little by little, until he has no choice but to confront it.
?Chapter Thirty
Kai
Ihead back to thebasement the next day, just like I promised. I’ve been thinking about the story ever since last night; when I tell Riley that, she smiles, which makes my stomach flip. It’s hard to concentrate on things like letters and words when she’s so close to me, her soft skin brushing against mine, the smell of her hair filling my nose with every breath. But I do my best in the hope it will make her smile again.
Momma did teach me a little when I was young, so some of what Riley tells me is familiar. But it’s been a long time, and I make a lot of dumb mistakes, tripping over sounds and mixing up letters that I know should be easy.
But Riley is patient. And when she sees me getting frustrated, she tells me to just listen to her reading for a while. I love the sound of her voice more than I love the story, but both are nice. Relaxing. I can see why she called this an escape. It’s nice to imagine the fantasy — both the story in the book, and the fiction of being normal with her. It makes the world outside of the basement fall away for a little while.
Weeks drift by. I go down to the basement as often as I can. On the nights I can’t get away from my chores, sometimes I see Knox slip past me on his way there. It makes my blood boil, but I grit my teeth and carry on; I know our agreement, and I know what Dad will do if I make any trouble about it.
At least he doesn’t leave any more bruises on her. Not as far as I can see. I check every time I go down to the basement the night after he does.
Riley is always quiet on those evenings. She never smiles. Sometimes she asks if we can stop reading early. It gnaws at me, just like every time I hear that chain clank against the concrete floor when she turns a page.
Of course I think about setting her free. Sometimes I daydream about it when I’m supposed to be listening. But every time I walk back up the stairs to Dad yelling about dinner and Uncle Frank cleaning his gun and Knox smirking at me like he knows exactly what’s got my head in the clouds. I go up to the attic to talk to Momma and feed her, and I know that freeing Riley is a fantasy. It’s no more real than the wardrobe in the book, and the world outside of this house might as well be Narnia.
