Page 44 of Creatures Like Us
I feel like I’m being manipulated to become something I’m not, but at the same time, I don’t think Noah even knows how to manipulate anyone. He’s a lousy liar, but he’s willing to keep me here. He’s willing to kill. Animals, at least.
Fuck, I don’t understand him. I don’t understand anything. Not myself, not this place, not why I did what I did, and not how to fix it. Noah didn’t deserve that to be his first sexual encounter, but it doesn’t seem like he shares my sentiment, and I don’t know how to make him understand—or if I can even stand to try.
I sling my arm over my forehead, feeling the clammy sweat on my skin and the result of my mistake drying in my pants. I’m at the mercy of Noah to get clean, and I don’t know what the hell he’s getting up to, but when he comes back, I’ll have to ask him for a bath and new clothes.
God, why does it feel like the hardest thing I’ve ever done? Again, he’s the one who kidnapped me, yet I’m the one who feels like I’ve done something wrong. Fucking insane is what it is.
I don’t have to wait long. The sun is still shining when Noah comes downstairs with a bowl of soup and a few slices of bread.I’ve felt my appetite returning day by day, but thoughts of the conversation I need to have with him are making me nauseous. I force a few spoonfuls into my mouth and take a few bites of the bread before I set the bowl aside.
“Didn’t like it?” Noah asks.
He looks the way he always does—his long black hair a little messier than usual, maybe, but his expression is the same. Blank and unfeeling.
“It’s not that.”
“Then what? Are you cold?”
“I need a bath.” There. My cheeks heat furiously, and I feel like a child who’s wet the bed.
“Oh.” His eyes flit to my crotch, and my cheeks heat up even more. “Okay.”
He unlocks my wrist and leads me into the bathroom. Just like last time, he closes his eyes as I undress. Getting rid of my soiled underwear, I step into the tub, and for once in my life, I keep quiet.
Noah watches me, equally quiet. It feels like the cracks are showing between us. We’re different now;I’mdifferent. Maybe I’m becoming as much of a weirdo as he is.
“Wait here,” Noah says. “I’ll get you some new pants.”
And he just?…?walks out.
Without handcuffing me.
It’s only now that I realize he hasn’t got the knife either. I should be ecstatic about this revelation—that he, what, trusts me enough that I won’t escape?
But I’m not ecstatic. Not even close.
A jolt of anxiety shoots through me. Not the adrenaline of fight or flight, but something else.
I could escape right now.
I could stumble naked up the stairs, out the door, and scream for help.
I could leave this dank basement behind me. I could leaveNoahbehind me, but I?…?Fuck, I don’t know what to do. Every option I can think of feels wrong, but somehow, the one that feelsleastwrong is staying in the warm bath and waiting for my captor to return.
Again, I have to ask myself what is wrong with me, and again, I can’t think of an answer. Tears prickle at the corners of my eyes, and I wipe them furiously away.
Did he do this on purpose? Face me with this choice? If so, it’s cruel, and I?…?I?…
“Why are you crying, Goldilocks?”
He’s back. I’ve been sitting here for so long, panicking over a choice I don’t want to make, that he’s returned with a fresh pair of pants and a puzzled look on his face.
Pushing away my tears, I ask, “Why did you leave?”
“I?…?I had to get you new clothes. You told me to.”
“Stop lying,” I sob.
“I’m not lying, Asher.”
