Page 72 of Firethorne
“And I can’t stay here forever,” I shouted, jumping off the sofa and turning to face him, my fists clenched, and my breaths ragged as my heart beat frantically against my ribs.
But Damien just pushed himself off the sofa he was leaning on and stood taller, a grin spreading across his face as a calmness fell over him. He took a few steps forward, picked up his coffee cup from the table and took another sip, then announced, “I need to go. I have work to do today. But I’ll be back later this evening.” He put the cup back down and said, “We’ll discuss this later.”
“We’ll discuss this now,” I argued as he walked towards the door, but it was useless. Damien wasn’t willing to engage in this conversation any longer.
“I got to chapter forty by the way,” he called over his shoulder. “Serena Joy told Offred to sleep with Nick so she could have a baby. Gilead sounds grim, like my father’s perfect holiday destination. In fact, I think he’d stay there permanently.”
“I couldn’t give a rat’s ass what chapter you got to,” I hissed. “And I haven’t finished talking about this.”
“See you later.” Damien gave me one last grin over his shoulder then disappeared through the door, leaving me to growl in frustration.
I grabbed his empty coffee cup from the table and threw it at the door, because in that moment, I felt so unbelievably mad at him. And yet, the fact that he’d held me all night tapped away at my brain. Reminding me he wasn’t a total monster.
He’d read from my book, using his voice to soothe me to sleep. And not once, throughout the whole night, did I have a night terror or a bad dream. He’d been there, he’d fought the demons in my mind, and knowing that made me curse him, because I knew then that he had a power over me that even I couldn’t fully comprehend.
I spent the rest of the day pressing that panic button and shouting into the void of the apartment that I needed to be let out.
And guess what?
No one answered.
Later that night, Damien walked back into the apartment with a bag of Chinese food in one hand and a box tucked under his other arm like nothing had happened.
And I just watched him, ignoring the voices in my head that told me to fly across the room and fight for my freedom.
“I figured we might be too busy to cook, seeing as I’m a little late this evening, and you might get distracted once I give you this.”
“I pressed the alarm,” I announced, ignoring his suggestion that I’d be distracted, and he smirked, placing the food and the box down on the coffee table.
“Yes. You gave that button quite a workout today,” he replied. “But you do know what happened to the boy who cried wolf?” He turned to hold my gaze with his as he stated slowly, “Save the panic button for when you need it.”
“When?” I tilted my head in question. “Not if?”
Damien started to pull out boxes of rice, noodles, and chopsticks, avoiding eye contact with me as he replied, “Slip of the tongue. Ignore that. Now eat.”
I had no appetite, but I couldn’t deny, I wanted to know now what he’d brought that he thought would distract me.
What did he possibly think could distract me from my freedom?
After a few minutes of Damien eating silently, as I sat still and stared at him, he pointed at the food and said, “Eat, Maya. Before it goes cold.”
“I’m not hungry,” I replied defiantly, putting my feet up on the sofa and sitting back.
“You’re never hungry,” he stated, putting chopsticks in front of me and then passing me the rice. “But you have to eat. Remember what I said. You need to keep your strength up.”
I had no strength. None that I could feel, anyway. But I knew he was right. So, I huffed like a petulant child and took the chopsticks, then started to pick at the rice. After a few bites, I asked, “What’s in the box?”
“Eat enough of this food and I’ll show you.” His eyebrows danced in delight at the prospect of surprising me, and controlling me, no doubt.
“I’m not that desperate to see what it is,” I snapped, knowing I sounded like a sulky teenager, but I didn’t care.
“Then I’ll just take it back home with me.” He shrugged. “Can’t miss what you never had.”
He liked talking in riddles, teasing me. Pulling me in, like he did last night when he held me on the sofa in my sleep, thencasting me aside, pushing me away as if he didn’t remember it the next morning.
Or maybe it was me?
Maybe I was the one doing all the pushing. Pushing him aside, pushing everything aside.
