Page 91 of The Thinnest Air
Five Days Ago
Ronan strips my urine-soaked panties off me as I stand in a moldy shower. “I meant to come back sooner. Media’s been swarming my house lately, trying to get a statement.”
“A statement?”
He smirks, flicking the water on. It’s icy on my skin at first, morphing to a somewhat tolerable lukewarm seconds later before transitioning to a near-scalding temperature that my freezing body welcomes. This cabin gets so cold, sometimes I can see my breath. I’d linger in this boiling shower for hours if I could.
“Ever since they caught wind of my link to you and the department putting me on leave, they all want to pin it on me.”
“And you’re not worried?” I ask.
Shaking his head, he massages a bar of soap into a damp washcloth.
“There’s no body, no evidence, no proof. Just an angry mob wanting answers.” He glances up at me, sliding the ragged, sudsy cloth between my thighs. His touch is gentle, his stare all-pervading. “Like I said before, as soon as the case goes cold, no one’s going to even remember your name. We’ll be free to move on.”
“Did this make national news?” I ask, wondering why the thought had never occurred to me before.
He chuffs, brows angled. “Um, yeah. A wealthy white woman goes missing from a ski town? The media’s eating this alive right now. It’s a fucking feeding frenzy. Andrew’s been giving interviews left and right. You should see him. All dressed up like he’s some kind of celebrity, designer sweaters, his hair all combed nice and neat. Don’t think for one minute he’s not trying to figure out how to profit from this. Guarantee you he’s got publishers knocking on his door offering seven-figure advances.”
I try to take Ronan’s words with a grain of salt; for all I know, he’s trying to manipulate me.
All this time I’ve been wrapping my hope around the fact that Andrew loves me, that he’ll do everything in his power to find me. But maybe I’m wrong? I’ve been wrong about him before, misjudged him. Assumed things I shouldn’t have assumed. But that was then. I thought we were better now.
“So I guess you could say this whole thing is win-win for everyone.” Ronan slides the rag higher, washing, stroking. I’m surprised he hasn’t forced himself on me yet, though something tells me it won’t be long. “Andrew gets fame. You get a chance at a normal, happy life with a man truly deserving of your affections. And I get you.”
Bracing my hand against the shower, it takes all the strength I have to keep from falling. The room begins to darken, and my lungs gasp for air. The steam must be getting to me, the hot air aggravating my dehydration.
“I think I’m going to pass out,” I say, breathless.
Ronan jerks the shower lever before wrapping me in a towel and scooping me up in his arms. The chilled air clings to my damp skin as he carries me back to bed. Once there, he situates me on the edge while he grabs a T-shirt from a nearby drawer.
I wish I had the energy to run.
I wish I had the strength to kick him between the legs, drive the heel of my palm into his nose and eyes, and run the hell out of here.
But the room hasn’t stopped spinning yet, I’m still struggling to breathe, and my body is mush. I imagine his underfeeding me is somewhat deliberate, an attempt to keep me weak and reliant on him, unable to fend him off or run away should I get the chance.
Tugging the shirt over my head and shoulders, he crawls into bed beside me, hooking his arm over my stomach.
In this moment, I’m free of restraints. But I’m still his prisoner.
Nuzzling his nose into the bend of my neck, he exhales. “God, I wish I could stay here with you all night.” Ronan’s hand slides down my damp T-shirt, past my caving stomach until he tugs at the hem, drawing it up. “I’ve missed this, Meredith.”
My breath suspends.
He stops.
“Soon,” he says. “You need to get your strength. I won’t fuck you like this, when you’re shaking and tired. I wouldn’t enjoy that. You wouldn’t either. I’ll wait until you’re better, when you can give yourself completely to me. Just like you used to do.”
The warm graze of his lips against my neck sends a sting of hot tears to my eyes, and for the first time, I’m grateful for the dark.
Closing my eyes, I lie in silence, sensing his breath on me as he watches me. The bed shifts with his weight as he climbs out.
If he thinks I’m asleep, maybe he won’t drug me tonight?
I’m statue-still, refusing to so much as turn my head or lick my lips or make any other move that might indicate I’m not in the early stages of a sleep coma.
Ronan’s feet shuffle across the hardwood floor, followed by the creak of the door. He returns, kneeling beside me, the mattress dipping with his weight. The quiet rustle beside me tells me he’s getting ready to restrain me for the night.
