Page 41 of The First Cut
I turn around and start getting dressed without responding. I can’t just switch off my brain and pretend Driller never happened, that he didn’t damage me in so many ways that I question everything I say and do. He doesn’t leave like he could, not offended by my silence in the least. Instead, he watches me dress, taking in every single movement. I won’t lie and say it’s not a little unnerving. I put it out of my mind until he bends down to do my socks and shoes for me once more.
“Why are you being nice to me?” I can’t help asking.
“Because I can, because someone should be,” he says as simple as that. I guess it is. I think about his words as we leave the changing room and collect my new things, saying farewell to an all-knowing Claire.
It is easy to be kind to someone. Yet I’m surrounded by people who act like it’s such a hardship. I’ve done nothing to any of them. They chose their side in a game of playground politics I had no idea I was a part of until I was left alone on the outside looking in. It made me question everything. None of the friendships I’d made—though there weren’t many—were true friendships, or they wouldn’t have turned their backs on me. I’m ashamed to admit I’ve felt more at home in the last week, locked in Hannibal’s room during the day and in his arms at night, than I ever did back in Ohio.
“You need anything else?”
I jolt out of my thoughts at Hannibal’s words.
“Just some toiletries, maybe?”
With his hand in mine, he leads me to the bath and body area, grabbing far more than I need before tugging me next door. I pause in the doorway of the store, my eyes skating around all the toys. Hannibal lets go of my hand before walking to the shelf in front of us and grabbing a soft toy shaped like a motorcycle. I watch in stunned silence as he pays for it and walks back over to me with a grin on his face.
“Gotta get our boy set up from the get-go.”
“What is it? What’s wrong?” he asks when I burst into tears again.
“Hormones?” I manage to choke out as he wraps his arm around my shoulder and leads me out to the car.
How the hell can I admit to him that he’s the first person to acknowledge the baby without anything other than disdain? I’m not counting Nevaeh’s concern for my baby when she saw my bruises. I’m still not sure if it was genuine concern or if she felt like sheshouldbe concerned. Ugh, I’m not even making sense to myself anymore.
Hannibal opens the door and makes sure I’m settled before dumping the bags in the back, taking off his cut and laying it across the back seat, and climbing into the driver’s seat.
“You hungry?”
“I could eat.”
“What do you want?”
I don’t even have to think about it. “A burger and milkshake.”
“A woman after my own heart.”
I smile and turn to look out the window. The lull of the engine relaxes me so I close my eyes.
The next thing I know, I’m in Hannibal’s arms and being carried back to the bedroom. I breathe him in before he puts me on the bed and slips off my shoes.
When he looks up at me and sees I’m awake, he sighs. “Sorry, I tried not to jostle you.”
“I’m more hungry than tired,” I whine. I really wanted that burger.
“I’ll get the prospect to warm your food and bring it up. I didn’t know what to get you, so I got a couple of things.”
“I’m not picky.” I can’t afford to be.
“You gonna be okay on your own for a bit?”
I frown at him. “I’m good. I’m used to being alone.”
He doesn’t like that answer, but I’m not sure what he wants me to say. He hesitates but leaves without another word.
I sigh and stare up at the ceiling. Today has been such an odd day. Good, but also unexpected. I know how to deal with bad days. That’s all I’ve had lately. I don’t know how to deal with the good ones, though. How pathetic is that?
Cursing myself for being dramatic, I climb off the bed and strip down to my underwear. I slip on one of Hannibal’s shirts and a pair of his boxers, knowing that soon I’ll have my own clothes brought up and I won’t have to wear this combo anymore. What I won’t do is try to analyze why that thought makes me feel sad.
I fold my clothes and place them on the dresser when there’s a knock at the door. Biting my lip, I hesitate, not sure if I’m allowed to answer it or not.
