Page 45 of Lamb

Except, I did not have parents. None who had not tried to kill me. Or friends. Or a partner …

Guessed I would talk to myself then.

Lamb placed the scraggly black cat onto the counter, earning a curious look from the saleswoman. “That, too,” he added before pulling out his phone from his back pocket.

“Sorry, sir,” the woman said as Lamb double-tapped the screen and reached over to the card reader with his phone. “Banks don’t allow contactless for orders over—”

Beep.

“I think I’ll be okay.” He gave her a pleasant smile, and she just looked at the card reader with wide eyes, swallowing down her words.

Great, now he is communicating with other electronics.

“Okay …” she breathed. “Enjoy… your purchase.” She gave me a sympathetic smile, and I would have burst into flames if I could.

“We will.” Lamb reached over to grab the several bags, and I leapt for joy at the thought of escaping his grip so I could sink as deep into the Earth’s crust as lava burnt me to a withered crisp, never to be seen again. Instead, Lamb grabbed the several bags with ease into one hand and lifted them from the counter like they weighed nothing more than a few hundred grams.

I cursed under my breath, reaching forwards and snatching my damn cat from the counter, and waited for him to lead me out of the shop.

This trauma would require more than a glass of whiskey to get over.

Perhaps a few thousand.

“Advanced Latin?” I scoffed, staring at the ridiculous array of language books stacked alphabetically from the top down to the bottom. “Who even needs to know Latin anymore?”

“Most modern languages have roots in Latin or Greek. Learning both can help your ability to comprehend the others,” Lamb countered, wrapping the fresh white bandage over my foot. His fingertips rested on my calf, not enough to hold me still, but just so his warmth bled through to my skin. Static from his touch ran up my thigh and into places it did not need to be.

“Oh, so you know Greek, as well?” I coughed, trying to hide the effect his simple touch was having on me as I read through the spines on the bookshelf. I could see the names of a few of the bigger-worded textbooks, but the other fine prints were lost to me in blurry blotches.

Lamb tied the knot of the bandages before turning and pointing at a book, a little higher up. I could not read it, the fine lettering on the spines too blurred to make out, but I did not have to, to know he was pointing at what would no doubt be a Greek textbook.

“What is the point of having all these bookshelves for show?” I grumbled, my head flopping back on the bed. The red silk sheets cupped my head, and I would have felt worse for touching the vile thing if the exhaustion had not begun to creep in. I was supplied with a consolation drink upon arriving back at the house, my ratty little cat in hand, and now I was feeling the soft buzz washing over me, the warmth still tingling at the back of my mouth as the sweet whiskey lingered on my tongue. Life was good … if only for a moment.

“It’s just a place to keep them,” Lamb interrupted, standing and looking down at me. “I’ve never needed to revisit a book I’ve read once before.”

I closed my eyes, not wanting to see his smug face. Of course, he did not need them again. They were probably just for show, with little cutouts in the middle, hiding the USB or microchip they inserted into his brain to transfer the data.

“So, you can just read any book once?” I asked, wondering once again why I was torturing myself like this. I had quizzed him on the way home, too. Knowing four languages fluently, and another five or six at least conversationally was a devastating blow to your pride. I knew three languages, and I could not even claim I knew them fluently. Learning them had not been much of a priority as I was growing up. I memorized enough to get by, doing well enough to stay off the radar, but I was not out there to impress anyone. I had long since given up on that.

“Usually,” Lamb said, pottering about with the drawers to the dresser. “If it’s just a textbook or blocks of information. Sometimes, if it requires more interpretation and comprehension, it’ll take a little longer to read, but once is still normally enough.”

“Right. Of course.” I sighed, rubbing a hand over my eyes. I had changed into a set of pyjamas; a pair of long pyjama bottoms and one of Lamb’s long shirts that had somehow made their way into the small selection of clothes that had magically appeared in the dresser one day.

Lamb was getting a little too comfortable playing house with me. I was a doll in his little house for him to bathe, and dress, and brush my hair. He seemed to think he could order me to do anything, and I would run to fulfil his every command. I wished we could go back to the traditional kidnap; chains, basements, and a little starvation never killed anyone. This was torture.

“Come on; sit up,” Lamb probed, his voice echoing in my tired ears. He slipped his fingers around my wrist, warmth shooting over my skin, the hairs standing on end.

“What?” I growled, trying to shake him loose. “Why?”

“I need to turn down the sheets.”

“No,” I grumbled, rolling onto my side and pulling my knees into my chest. “I will just sleep here. Like this.”

“What about me?”

“What about you?” I peeped one eye open, staring down at Lamb as he lingered at the edge of the bed. His head was cocked to one side, his eyes deceptively playful as he stared at my curled-up form.

“It’s going to be hard for both of us to fit, if you lay like that.”

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