Page 30 of A Princess, Stolen
I always sat motionless and today was no different. The sweet smell of peanut butter chocolate brownies wafted through the corridor and my stomach became hard and tiny like a walnut. The hunger was almost unbearable and my circulation would soon fail if I didn’t eat something soon. I was already feeling dizzy. Tired, I closed my eyes behind the blindfold. The leader, probably Nathan, had tied it tighter a few times so that it wouldn’t slip. Several times, I was tempted to call him by his name, but then I didn’t dare. Maybe I was wrong.
Now, I thought of my old home. It was the smell of the brownies that reminded me of Boston. We had lived there before Mom drowned. I tried to remember the kitchen, the dark, fine wood, and the long work surface on which Mom had sometimes baked with me without any help.
“Mom? Mom, the brownies are ready!” I saw myself with my cinnamon-brown braids in my little gold dress standing in front of the oven, smelling the wonderfully sweet aroma wafting out of it. “Mom?” I walked past the long counter, searching, with my white stuffed rabbit, Mr. Sparkles, tucked tightly under my arm. Everything had a high polish, spotlessly clean, the work of Penny our maid. Mom never actuallycleaned, she didn’t have to. “She’s probably in the living room,” I said to Mr. Sparkles. “She’s probably lying down.”
In fact, she was lying on the couch. She looked beautiful, like a sleeping angel with cinnamon-colored hair spilling over her shoulders onto the ebony-black designer sofa. “Mom, get up! You have to get the brownies out of the oven!” I knew I wasn’t allowed to do it myself, but Dad and our family doctor had also told me that Mom needed a lot of sleep. Normally, I would have called my nanny, Claire, but she had left early today because of an appointment. Nervously, I dug my finger into Mr. Sparkles’ stomach as I always did when I was stressed. “Mom?”
“Shh! Quiet, sweetie. Mom’s sleeping!”
“Dad!” I whirled around and ran into Dad’s arms, which he held out for me. “You’re already home!”
“I finished early. Mom called me because she was so tired.”
I let go of Dad and pointed to the kitchen. “The brownies are ready. The clock on the stove rang.” I felt very grown up at that moment for taking over Mom’s task.
Dad grinned broadly and winked at me. “Did I just hear brownies?”
I giggled.
“You know, I’m dying for brownies! Come on, let’s get them out of the oven!”
On impulse, I looked at the sofa where Mom was sleeping. “How much longer will Mom continue to sleep so much?” I asked. “She never has time for me!”
Dad smiled and took my hand. “She had a bad bout of the flu; it just takes a while.”
“It’s been taking a while, Dad!” Suddenly I was sad, so Dad squeezed my fingers and then let go. “First to the oven!”
“Hey.” A voice brought me back. It belonged to the leader, who had surely come to give me water. However, he didn’t come in, at least, I didn’t hear anything to indicate that he had.
“Troy baked brownies,” he said, sounding much nicer than usual. “Do you want a piece?”
I turned my head away because I didn’t want him to see my tears. I had been crying without realizing it, probably because of the memory of Mom and because I missed Dad so terribly. Maybe even because of the sweet smell and my unbearable hunger.
“You have to eat something,” he said, now quieter and strangely touched.
His gentle tone suddenly made me angry. “I thought you were going to treat me like a hostage,” I said bitterly.
He sighed. “Would you like a piece, yes or no?”
“No.” In truth, I would have given anything for a piece of cake and I would have even swallowed my pride for it, but I didn’t want to ask about the ingredients.
“I’ll take the rope off you so you can eat by yourself. What do you say?”
“No.” Even though the offer was tempting, it would be too dangerous.
“Okay. Then not.” He laughed briefly. “Then I’ll take it back with me and eat it myself.”
I had to swallow. Suddenly, I felt incredibly alone. I didn’t want him to leave, but I didn’t want him to stay either. And I wanted to hit him with something. I don’t know why. Maybe because he was standing there being so pleasant that it confused me. Or maybe because he had laughed so stupidly.
I looked in his direction or at least tried. “You know, you can keep pretending you don’t know me, but I know exactly who you are. I remembered your name, just like you asked me to…Nathan.” In the silence that followed, you could have heard a pin drop. I could no longer sense anything, no feeling or movement, perhaps because I was so tense.
“Why don’t you say anything?” I whispered. What if I had hit the nail on the head and he was now afraid that I would betray him later? I wanted to see his face, the expression on it. Maybe he would drag me to my feet and squeeze my throat. Maybe he would just throw me overboard!
In my panic, I barely noticed him leaving. I only registered it when his footfalls sounded far away.
“Nathan?” I called out. “Wait! Please, talk to me!” He didn’t stop. But, in my mind, I saw him in front of me since I had drawn him as an adult over and over again: the narrow sea-gray eyes with eyelashes like raven feathers, the harmonious lips like seagulls’ wings, the serious angry face, and the dark hair that reached his shoulders. He had always been a fantasy figure in my mind, just another picture in my collection of paintings. Unreal and a pipe dream. But in my dreams, I had secretly imagined what he was like. However, reality had absolutely nothing in common with these fantasies.
Nothing at all.
