Page 13 of His Gift
"You're not eating? Don't you like them?"
"I liked them, sweet girl, though I'm sure I've never had gnocchi as good as yours. Now, I can't process solid food." He can't… My mind goes back to the first day and how he enjoyed feeding me. And to all the prepped meals in his fridge. Then I look around at a kitchen that seems like a waste of space now that I know he can't even use it.
"I built this house thinking of the person who would share it with me," he answers my silent question.
I don't know what to reply. He's delusional to the point that he's starting to make sense.
"Did it happen when you were in the Marines, or is it hereditary?"
"The last mission I told you about. There was too much damage. But I have a carefully tailored diet, and it doesn't affect me much anymore. So, are we cooking?"
He doesn't wait for me to stop staring with my mouth partially hanging open. He just drops the gnocchi he set aside into the boiling water andstores the rest in the fridge. After five minutes he drains the pasta, plates it up, covers it in sauce, then just sits and stares at me.
"Are you gonna come over?" He wants to feed me again. It doesn't bother me this time. Honestly, I feel like I'm eating for him, and I even stop between morsels to tell him how they taste. It's ridiculous to feed a twenty-eight-year-old as if she doesn't know how to do it by herself. But in this case, it's not. I love food. I don't even care that I carry around the excessive weight to show my appreciation—as everyone in my life has always noted. To be unable to eat solid food ever again… That would suck. Big time.
"So, what do you eat?" I ask, when my plate is empty.
"I'm still on protein and nutrient-packed shakes. Not tasty, but effective."
"There's nothing of the sort in your fridge."
"I moved everything to my lab before I brought you here. I wasn't sure when I'd tell you."
I turn on his lap to get a better look at him.
"How did you imagine it would work between us? Why wouldn't I be curious about why you weren't eating with me? Or ever, for that matter?"
He shakes his head lightly but doesn't reply.
He doesn't like people. He most likely lived alone all his life. I mean, foster homes or the Marines must not be the same as a family, a roommate or a girlfriend. He didn't know what to expect when he brought me here.
My heart is heavy right now. I shouldn't sympathize with my kidnapper. I don't even know if he'll keep his word. But I can't avoid it. As I can't avoid feeling attracted to him. Every brief touch when we were cooking, every gaze from those enigmatic dark eyes, every word spoken in his deep, usually calm voice, pulls me to him. Which is bad. So so bad. And it won't work. He said he wouldn't touch me unless I asked. I won't ask. I'll make the best of this time, hoping like hell he's been truthful, and then leave all of it behind. I won't even report him to the police, unless…
"If I leave, will you search for someone else?"
"Harper, I know you think I'm crazy, but even if you were right, there's method to my madness. I said you're perfect for me. So, if you leave, you leave. It's done. There's no point in me searching for someone else."
"Wouldn't me leaving mean that you were mistaken and there's someone else out there who's perfect for you?" I must be as crazy as he is, poking the bear when I don't know if there's a limit to his composure and he'll snap at some point. It'd be so much easier reporting him to the cops. That way I'd be safe; other women would be safe. I don't want to imagine him locked up, though.
"No, it would mean you didn't understand. You're perfect for me, sweet girl. You may not believe it. That won't change my mind."
And to that, I really have no answer.
twelve
Conrad
I'm free-falling and she's right.
I'd had no clue what it would be like between us. What it would be like to willingly share my life, my space, my past with someone. I found camaraderie when I was in the army. I truly considered my squad to be like brothers. But it's definitely not the same here.
And she confuses me more with every passing second. Making pasta together just reinforced how right I am. How perfectly we fit. And that shetold me how the gnocchi tasted shows that she cares for me. Her every glance speaks volumes of interest, care, or desire. But she's not on board with any of it. She doesn’t want it.
"You're probably tired. Go to bed. I have a few things to check and I'll join you later if it's still okay." I despise asking her if we can share my bed. I promised I wouldn't do anything she didn't ask for, though. And I'm not a liar.
"Yes. Thank you." She hesitates for a moment before standing up and leaving. I needed her gone. I need to be on my own. And I need to eat. I should try integrating something other than shakes into my diet, but I’ve found such a perfect balance that I’m not keen on making changes.
I'm never keen on making changes. Yet, for her, I've made the biggest one. And it was all for naught. Not only that, but if she decides to go to the cops, I'll have to leave this house. To make so many changes.
