Page 36 of Scary Suitor

I can’t run away, and Cassio knows about the fading determination as well.

The underground bunker was well-equipped with armed men, high-tech machines, and a row of butchers digging through human carcasses. They aren’t doctors; their skills mirror medical professionals, but their compassion is of feral vultures.

Before yesterday, I could’ve buried the attraction and hounded the police to get Cassio off my back. Yes, I could’ve prepared for the backlash and consequences of defying an influential individual.

But I can’t anymore. I’m the domino piece that saves the rest, especially those who I hold dear to my heart.

I’m not selfless nor do I want to be praised for being altruistic. I’m a coward. When I met Finny again years later, I could’ve declined her offer for lunch to catch up. I could’ve quit my job the moment Cassio showed up. I could’ve been firmer with him; demanded he leave me alone and cursed him to hell.

There are lots of “could have” decisions.

We both know he’ll go straight to Finny if my finger grazes the door. She doesn’t deserve to face Cassio when she has been nothing but a great friend. Her boyfriend is even more of an innocent casualty than her. I spoke to him three times, not counting the double-date dinner forced upon me.

I roll off the bed, the expensive silk shames the lethargy in my limbs, and my knees hit the ground imprint pain. I welcome it, embrace it like an old friend because I’ve been disoriented for the past six hours.

It’s nine in the morning, says the clock on the nightstand.

Routinely, I look to the corner for my work bag, but I get a small lounging couch. Next to it should be my dresser with a framed picture of my old family cat, yet I get a beach-side view of the horizon. The floor is no longer a cream-colored carpet but tawny wood.

I’m not at home. The large cotton shirt is not mine, either.

I sit on the ground, helpless to the resurfacing memories.

After what happened, Cassio took me to his home. He never told me I was here against my will, but leaving after what I saw was not an option. He had me shower inside a grand bathroom, lather on scented shampoo, and don his shirt.

The last chance to escape was when he took a shower after me. I stayed, foolish and terrified. Occasionally, I regretted the decision, then I thought it was better than getting murdered.

He made me sleep in the same bed, his arms around my body, and smothered me with his grip.

“Why are you on the floor?” Cassio asks, crumbling my thoughts.

My head is heavy as I look up at him by the door, inked arms folded across his chest and eyes blazing with concern despite the aloof voice. I stand on wobbly legs and idle by the bed, contemplating what to do.

“Breakfast is ready,” he intones, tilting his head to his shoulder. “Join me after you wash up.”

He’s gone by the time I blink. My feet drag to the connecting bathroom, sucking in an awed breath at the bright space. Things are stacked, very clean, and not an inch out of place. It reminds me of a hotel bathroom, but bigger, and someone went in here with a measuring tape.

I clean the sleep off my face while my brain is running a mile too slow. When I leave the bathroom with a damp collar and tired eyes, Cassio is waiting for me.

He extends his hand, expecting mine in his with a quirk of his brow. My hesitation smears a tense smile on his handsome face, so my eyes dip to his bare chest, and I hold his hand.

The smell of breakfast twists my stomach, beckoning queasiness to climb in my throat as we walk down the hall to the dining room.

Two plates of breakfast on the table and drinks to the side look domestic. Without letting go, he pulls out a chair for me to sit. I do, knowing my legs will fold in the next second.

He sits across from me, urging me to take a bite and give him my opinion. I slowly bring a fork to my mouth and eat; it’s not bad, but my stomach staunchly objects. The glass of cranberry juice seems like a practical joke, and the woman’s gushing blood comes to mind.

“It’s good,” I croak, dreading the next bite.

He hums with a satisfied smile and starts his breakfast. It’s a one-sided conversation when he tells me about my apartment door being replaced with better locks, but I won’t be needing it since I’ll be living here with him.

“I’m not,” I want to say in-between chews.

Then he reveals Finny called, asking where I was because we were supposed to carpool. At least she’s safe from this depraved man, and how long that lasts depends on me.

I meet his silence with a nod, and he continues. It’s not a suggestion when he casually throws in my unemployment. He just received the resignation confirmation, which I did not know existed or that I had signed, five minutes ago.

“I can take care of you,” he said pointedly.

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