Page 17 of His Gift
How does he know it's quiet now? How does he know it has such significance in my life?
"I'm getting cold."
He groans. It's not the answer he wanted, but he complies anyway, sliding out of me and getting us both out of the bathtub.
"Here, stand a moment, I'll take the towel." He steadies me and then retrieves the towel and proceeds to dry me in a businesslike manner, caring more for speed than accuracy. In less than a minute I'm almost dry and carried to bed, where he tucks me under the covers before sliding beside me.
"I keep telling you and you don't trust me. But I care about you."
"I do believe you care. But I already told you I want to go home. And that I don't believe we'remade for each other."
Conrad keeps quiet. I bet he's not thinking about what I said. He's just waiting. As if it's inevitable for me to talk. And maybe it is. Why not? It's his fault? merit? if the fog has finally lifted. Maybe he deserves to know.
"My parents thought they couldn't have children. When I arrived, it was a big surprise. They celebrated. For a while. Then reality hit. They were already in their forties, completely dedicated to their academic careers, free of any burden, financial or otherwise. I changed that. But my mother had a brother. Unmarried, working part time, good with kids. The perfect choice. Uncle Owen became my nanny. And he was fun. He really cared for my shenanigans, whereas they annoyed the hell out of my parents.Whatever I liked, he loved. Often I slept at his house too, because my parents had dinners and meetings and whatever else. On those occasions, we watched cartoons together before bed. I must have been around seven when he took my hand and shoved it down his pants. And when he came, he told me I couldn't tell anyone—that it was our little secret and if I told anyone, we wouldn't be able to see each other ever again. And that I made him feel so happy. Maybe he didn't say all that the first time. Probably the things he told me piled up during the next couple of years. I didn't like it, but he was extra gentle with me, extra attentive, and it really was a matter of a few minutes watching TV and a sticky hand. It wasn't worth losing my uncle over it. Then he asked me to use my mouth. And I refused. Things went on for a while until one night he decided to take the matter into his own hands. I was scared because I'd never seen him so mad, but more than that, I wouldn't budge. I knew it was wrong and his rage brought it all together. I was fighting and losing when my mother arrived. She had my uncle's keys. Don't know why they came to pick me up; we never spoke about it. She stood frozen at the door for a second, then she grabbed me by my hair and dragged me out and inside my dad's car. When he asked what happened, she just said, 'Your daughter's a slut.' We arrived home, I was sent to my room, and in a few weeks, we moved to Philly. We never spoke about it. I never saw my uncle again, but since then my entire life was constantly under scrutiny. No matter how much I tried to please them both, it was never enough."
Conrad has taken my hand and placed it over his heart. I realize now that his heartbeat has given a rhythm to my words.
"Since we moved to Philadelphia, my mom became incredibly religious. I had to attend every function she went to. And I was told over and over that I would marry a pious man. That man came in the form of a widower, twenty years my senior, who arrived at our parish grieving and with two kids in college. Looking back, I think my mom told him exactly what happened. Or what she decided had happened. And chose him because he would perpetuate her cycle of shaming and control. There was nothing about me that was good enough. My hair, too untamable; my weight; the way dresses fit me. And Ben kept that going. I don't know, maybe now I'm imagining things, but it doesn't really matter."
I roll onto my side, cuddling closer to Conrad, and he picks me up and pulls me on top of him, wrapping his arms around my shoulders and burying his hands in my hair.
"Are you okay? You look so…"
"Calm? Detached? Yeah. Saying it was less burdening than keeping it trapped in my head. But I'm also mad. At them, at myself. It's like watching a rug come together, each strand of color and texture meticulously placed to form the design. I'm not quite there, but I feel it taking form."
He stays silent, his fingers tracing patterns in my hair as sleep gently pulls me away. But I have one last thing to say.
"I want to go home now. Please."
fourteen
Harper
Ibolt upright in my bed.
My bed.
He brought me home.
He left me home.
A quick swipe of the small apartment confirms he's nowhere to be seen unless he's hiding in the bathroom.
I plopback onto the mattress, my head light. He drugged me again. Didn't want me to see where he lives. Fine by me.
I wonder what did the trick. Probably realizing what a mess I am. Will he search for his missing piece now that he knows I'm not it? I should call the cops. Send him to prison. But I already know I won't.
I turn around and see my phone charging on the nightstand.How thoughtful.
With a bitter taste in my mouth—the taste of rejection, as crazy as it may be—I pick up my phone and check it out. I find the email I supposedly sent to my boss requesting a two-week leave of absence for personal reasons, along with his supportive reply. And a message from Paula, the paralegal, wishing me well followed bymy"Thanks, very kind of you."
The fucker left nothing to chance.
Then I check the date. I still have one week's leave, but I'm going back to work tomorrow. Only God knows what a mess I'll find, and I refuse to check the metric fuck-ton of unread emails right now. I haven't been there long enough to get on top of things, and the paperwork must be reaching the ceiling.
I let the phone fall on my chest and heave a dramatic sigh. My messy apartment, a riot of color and objects, feels alien after the stark order of my captor's house. It reflects me, though. I don't really know what made him think we'd be right for each other.
The lock turning makes me jump, and I grab my phone before it tumbles to the floor.
