Page 12 of His Gift
I'm so confused. Tired. Shaken. I lashed out at him out of desperation and he caved. But Idisappointedhim. Such a stupid word. And yet I understand it has a deep meaning for him. He promised he'drelease me in a week. And I trust his words even though nothing he has done until now speaks of a sane man, one I should trust.
My hand goes to his heart, and his eyes follow it.
"I agree. You asked me for a week. It's not much. I agree."
He nods but doesn't speak, doesn't move, his eyes still fixated on my hand. Time appears to both stand still and fly by. Our breaths synchronize slowly and I finally relax, my head full of questions and doubts but my body asking me to give it respite. I don't know how long I slept, how long he kept me sedated, but I don't feel rested.
"Are you hungry?" he finally says, but he's still not looking at me.
"No. I'm tired and yet I don't want to sleep. I feel restless, but I don't have the energy to do anything. What happened to me?"
"You said it. It was my fault." His tone is so distant. So cold. I shouldn't care. I just have to spend this week here and then I can go back to my life. Why do I care?
"It was unfair. It's not the first time I've been overwhelmed by my anxiety. It has never been so severe, though."
Again, silence blankets us. I don't like him like that. I don't like how quiet and withdrawn he is now. To be honest, it scares me a little. What if it was all a ruse? What if he thought I would accept him and his crazy theories, and now that I didn't, he has no use for me anymore?
"Hey, breathe. What's going on in your head?" He's looking at me and there's at least concern in his eyes.
"I'm scared," I murmur, not willing to elaborate.
"I don't… You're scared I'll hurt you. That I'll kill you. That I won't keep my word." I nod and he sighs. "I don't really know how to make you trust me. Tell me what you want. Anything but leaving before the week is over. Do you want this room by yourself?"
"Maybe it's best." He makes a low, discontented sound deep in his throat but doesn't protest. As he said he would, he gives me what I asked for and leaves.
It doesn't feel better. In fact, it feels much worse. I'm so tempted to call him back. The bed feels empty. I feel lonely. My breathing is speeding up again. My head is spinning even though I'm lying down.
What the fuck is the matter with me?
"Breathe. Harper, breathe." He's shaking me, and I drag a long gulp of air. This is new. I've never almost passed out from holding my breath.
"Conrad."
"Yes, sweet girl. I'm sorry. I said I'd leave you alone, but when I saw you panicking like that…"
"You're not leaving me alone if you keep watching me."
"Guess you're right."
"Don't go again, okay?"
He leans closer, his lips a breath away from mine, then he moves his head a little to the side and feathers a kiss on my cheek. "Okay."
But he doesn't lie down. He keeps looking at me, and I can't stand it.
"You're starting to see I'm not so perfect as you thought," I mutter. Oh my God, I'm so out of control. My mouth is a loose cannon.
"Nonsense. It has been a couple of tough days. As you said, you're restless, and I'm too. If you're up for it, let's do something together. We could prep a meal. What do you say?" Of course, he knows I like to cook. It's not a bad idea anyway.
"I can try." He stands back and allows me to sit before lifting me up, as he always does. His face buried in my hair, he inhales deeply and then helps me to my feet, giving me time to find my balance. I'm shaky, but it feels good to be out of that bed and to have a purpose. Something that doesn't require me to think and second guess. And I have just the right dish in mind to keep us both busy for a while.
eleven
Harper
Conrad knows his way around the kitchen and he's good at following instructions. When I told him I wanted to make gnocchi and tomato sauce from scratch, he agreed immediately. I've had to sit down a couple times because I felt lightheaded, but the last two hours have been so peaceful and quiet that I find myself unable to stop smiling. It usually takes a lot less time for me to make gnocchi, but I'm sluggish and I don't know my way around his kitchen. Plus, he kept asking about everylittle detail, and I tend to over-explain things. So, two hours. But now the tomato sauce is simmering nicely and the gnocchi are all laid out on the countertop. As I guessed, Conrad has a touch of OCD because the kitchen is back to being spotless, and it was not my doing, or my style. Usually, my kitchen looks like a bomb has exploded when I'm done cooking.
He sets apart a handful of gnocchi and nods. "These should be enough for you. They look so tasty. We can freeze the rest." I frown, dumbfounded.
