Page 30 of Fallen Petal

Chapter 15

Petal

She’s smiling when she enters my room today. That’s unusual.

I’m sitting on the bench below the window, the duvet cover from the bed wrapped around my shoulders, occupied with nothing but my own thoughts. Jayson left the room without touching me today, another occurrence that’s out of the ordinary. He seemed distracted, even worried.

I thought I could come up with something I could offer as a bargain for him to give me a taste of the outside world, but so far I haven’t been able to. After all, what can I give him other than myself? And why would he bargain for something he can take any time he wants? He owns me, all of me. What could I possibly give him?

I reciprocate the girl’s smile, tentatively watching as she walks over to the table. The rose in the vase is starting to wilt visibly, and it saddens me every time I see it. I wonder if it will be exchanged with a new one eventually? Would I even want that?

“I made the stew you like.”

Hearing her voice startles me so much that I physically jerk up upon hearing it, fixating her with wide eyes after she placed the tray on the table. The smile on her face widens when she catches my gaze.

“He’s out,” she explains. “He can’t hear us right now.”

Out? He left the house? Does that mean...

“So, you could let me out?” I ask, jumping up on my feet with such hurry that the duvet cover glides off of my shoulders.

But the expression on the girl’s face changes right away. Her smile is replaced with an apologetic look when she shakes her head.

“No, I can’t do that.”

My heart sinks, but not as much as it would have a few days ago. There’s a sinister solace in knowing that I’m going to stay locked up in here. After all, this is all I know. Him. Her. This room. There’s no freedom of any kind, but this gilded prison provides something the outside world lacks: safety.

The girl points to the stew on the table. “Don’t you want to eat while it’s still hot?”

“Why can’t you let me out?” I probe, cautiously stepping closer. “Why is he keeping me here? And why are you working with him?”

Her face is blank when she looks at me, and for a moment it looks like she regrets ever opening her mouth in the first place. She takes a step back, making it seem as if she’s about to hurry out the room, leaving me behind with unanswered questions once again.

“Okay, okay, wait,” I say, holding up my hands in an appeasing manner. “Will you... stay and talk a little if I stop asking these questions?”

Her face softens and she slowly suggests a nod. “For a little, yes.”

We exchange another smile as I walk over to the table. I’ve always wondered why there are two chairs arranged around it because I always eat alone. Up until now, the rose has been my only company during meals.

The girl hesitates for a moment, waiting for me to sit down before she reluctantly takes a seat in the other chair across the small table. I notice that she always tries to keep a certain distance between us, and can’t help but wonder why. Is she afraid that I might attack her? Does she worry I could hurt or threaten her in an attempt to get myself out of here?

Is that what a brave person would do? Is that what I should do?

I’ve never been provided with any cutlery other than a spoon, and the meals she’s been bringing me have always been the kind that wouldn’t require anything else. Sandwiches, toasts, soups and this particular stew. I’m pretty sure that this is not a coincidence or any sign for lack of cooking skills on her side.

“Thank you,” I say, looking at the stew in front of me, but meaning so much more. Her willingness to keep me company means a lot to me, even if she refuses to help me or answer any of my most pressing questions.

The enticing smell of the stew is curling beneath my nose and making my mouth water. I pick up the spoon, suddenly feeling a little awkward about her presence. We’re sitting in straining silence, our eyes flicking back and forth between each other and the tabletop between us. I want to talk to her so desperately, but I simply don’t know what to say. If I can’t ask anything, what else is there to say?

Eventually, she’s the one who breaks the silence when I begin to eat.

“How are you doing?” she asks, her voice low and laced with concern. “How are you feeling?”

I throw her an empty look. “What do you think? How would you feel if you were me?”

She swallows dryly, nodding while guilt overcasts her expression.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, her eyelashes fluttering nervously as she tries to maintain eye contact with me. “I really am. You have no idea how sorry.”

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