Page 29 of Blind Devotion
“Better for you, no?” I hated how weak I sounded. “Why do you hate me so much? What have I ever done to you?”
“It’s not personal.”
“It feels pretty personal to me.”
I twisted myself out of his arm and made for the bathroom. With a relieved bladder and a few fresh splashes of water on my lower face to avoid the eye dressings, my pulse steadied. I was alive. I was healing, and I was going to figure all this out. There was no other choice.
He remained in his chair when I came out, quiet and unassuming, if not for those bothersome scratching noises. I wasn’t quite sure whether I was disappointed or not by his presence. At the very least, he was company. Aside from a couple of short visits from Dr. Conde, the physical therapist, and the nurse, I had been nothing but alone in a place I didn’t know, with little to think about except for my memories of the boats and my time at sea.
As I stood in the bathroom doorway, I debated what to do. If I followed the right wall, I would eventually reach the bed—the same bed I had lain in for the last twenty-one days, counting today. The same, relatively safe spot I had barely left since I woke up from my coma. I didn’t want to go back just yet. It meant peace and solitude, but it also meant boredom. There were only so many times I could count to one hundred or tap against the bed and furniture in any semblance of music before I went stir-crazy.
That reminded me of Alizé’s demand. At the very least, attempting to seduce him would be a distraction. It couldn’t be any worse than him threatening to kill me.
“What exactly are you doing?” I asked.
Gripping my aching side, I fumbled my way to a round wooden table surrounded by two leather sofa chairs. One empty and one occupied by him and his large feet, if the feel of his long moccasins against my bare feet was anything to go by.
“Move. I’d rather not have the imprint of your toes on my shoes.”
Jerk.
“You’re a big ol’ grump, you know that?”
I stepped back until my calves hit the second chair and gingerly lowered myself into it. A sigh of relief escaped me from the release of pressure.
Something rustled right next to me, followed by a few crackles, and then that miserable scratching took over. I couldn’t resist. My hand shot out and met…paper? That was what he was doing all this time? Folding paper?
A heavy thunk vibrated through the table. Curious, my fingers explored, coming up against something sharp. A knife’s blade. I hissed and pulled my fingers back, sucking on a small cut on my fingertip. He’d stabbed a knife into the table.
“Don’t touch.”
He sounded so growly and irritated as if I had inconvenienced him. I chuckled softly at first, then harder and louder, pressing my wrapped wrist to my throbbing side.
“You done?”
“I’m sorry.” I huffed between laughs. “It’s not that funny, I swear.”
“It’s not.”
I imagined him shuffling his weight around as he said that with absolute seriousness, swishing his fists back and forthmenacingly. I cackled, and it hurt so freaking bad, but I couldn’t help it.
“You’re very strange.”
Those words…said in that smooth, deep voice of his, they wrapped around me like a thick, soft blanket on a cold night. They echoed in my head in different variations, the voice less gruff, sometimes irritated, sometimes amused, sometimes younger, and yet each and every one of them sounded exactly like him. It was very confusing. It was like being pulled in many different directions, never quite sure which way was up or how to avoid spiraling out of control. My laughter cut off sharply.
“I don’t want to die.”
My life before might have been great, or maybe it really sucked, considering my injuries, but I couldn’t know that for sure.
“Why do you want to kill me?”
The paper crackled more, this time loudly and with no subtlety. A rip tore through his movements, and then a fist thumped against the table. He sighed long and deep.
“It’s not about what we want. It’s about what we must do.”
“That sounds like a cop-out. Make me understand.”
He groaned as if I were the one who was insufferable in this exchange.
