Page 90 of Overcast

He frowns at me.

Good.

Not only did he make me scared for my life, but he's still holding it within the palm of his hand. He won't give me what I deserve. What I should have. He won't extract himself out of my life because he's selfish and stupid.

Emric lowers down again to align himself with me, but nothing he says is going to do a lick of good. There is no taking back what he did, the memories and fear. It's all locked inside my head now.

“I’m sorry,” he concedes. “You were a case of mistaken identity I guess.”

“You guess? Didn’t I…” Tell you.

A million freaking times.

I pleaded and begged. I cried so many tears when he left me that I could fill a small pond. I thought about death more times than I ever should at my age because he mistook me for someone else.

"Tell me," he finishes for me. "Yeah...sweetheart, you did.”

“Stop calling me that," I snap, but it doesn't have the effect I want it to.

I'm exhausted, my body aches, and the temperature in this room feels like it's below freezing when I know it's not. It's because I'm sick, and my body is worn down from worry, dread, and him.

“I will, for today, if you eat.”

“I don’t negotiate with terrorists.”

He chuckles with his deep voice rumbling his chest. “Terrorists? Damn, baby, you got me confused with what I normally go after.”

“Don’t call me—”

“You said ‘sweetheart’”, he counters. “But if you open your little mouth to let me feed you, I’ll lay off the nicknames for today.”

“And tomorrow?”

He shrugs. “Depends.” My teeth clench together as I avert my eyes. “On what you do for me in return.”

I don’t owe you anything.

Hesitantly, I open my mouth, letting him think he’s won.

I’ll let him believe what I want him too. That I’m going to obey, stay here because he has things he needs to still do.

That's fine.

When I get my strength back up, I'm gone.

I’ll play by his game, still disguise myself as the pawn. Better to play the submissive right now and surprise him when one morning he finds me gone.

And I’ll be the last person to say “checkmate”.

Warm soup finds my tongue, and I swallow the chicken noodle as he continues, focused on making sure he doesn't spill any.

We don't speak, ideas flooding through my brain, and God only knows what he's contemplating. More than likely his sister and her trip to Italy. Hoping that she'll be safe and sound for a little while when he does what he does.

“Few more bites,” Emric urges.

Again, I obey to keep him from speaking, and after a couple of spoonfuls, he follows his end of the bargain, placing the bowl on the table. "I need to just take a quick look at your bandage."

I’m aware that he does, I just don’t want him to remove this blanket.

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