Page 78 of Into the Blue
I think he’s talking to me but he isn’t.
The snake extends its head away from my arm back to him and Milo places it back into the wall-width glass enclosure.
“Gets easier, don’t it?” He asks me now that he’s closed up the tank.
“What does?”
“The snakes. I think Indica might like you more than Sativa does.”
I blink several times.Is he serious?“Excuse me?”
“Before,” he gestures to one side, “you would shrink back. Even when you first saw me with her constrictin’ around my head. But then you were holding her, just fine.”
“Just…fine?”
He nods and then sits on the bed. There is already that box from earlier there.
The clothes I picked out lie on the bed next to him and I snatch them getting dressed quickly. If he notices my nerves he doesn’t comment on it at all.
Holding his hand out, he asks. “How does it feel?” I place my right hand in his and he looks at his knife work.
I look down at my hand that hasn’t started bleeding again, but still angrily screams his name. “It’s tender,” I respond carefully.
With the diligence of a medical professional, he cleans his hands. There’s care but unmistakable pleasure in the process of him applying that cream from before and a new bandage.
“Let’s go eat and we’ll talk.” Not a question or a request. I don’t validate it with a response, instead I just follow him to the kitchen.
The house feels no different, but when we reach the dining room, there’s already four men there. They sit on the bar stools and two others at the dining table.
That is definitely different. Before, I knew there were guards outside of the house but never inside as well.
“This is Marcell and Lonny,” he gestures to the men at the bar stools . “This is Benito and Davis,” he gestures absently to the table before grabbing some food from the kitchen.
A whole heap of seafood dinner comes out of a thermal bag that he begins handing out. Everyone gets something and then he takes the remaining two containers for us.
“It’s seafood night. We’d normally have it delivered to work but since I’m here, we’re having it at the crib.”
I try for nonchalance when I suggest, “You don’t have to have it here. I’m fine on my own.”
His lips tip down on one side. “Wish that were true.” And he doesn’t elaborate.
“I’m actually not the biggest fan of seafood, so I’ll just—”
“Damn. I might have known that if you told me the truth. So, how about it?”
I’m taken back at the casual way he’s said that. Looking up, I try to see if anyone else has caught on to what he’s said. They are unbothered, talking among themselves at the other side of the table.
A piece of his salmon rests on the tip of his fork and he waves it in their direction. “They work for me. They don’t care if you’re embarrassed. I mean lyin’ is pretty embarrassin’.”
I drop my own fork. “Lying? What have I lied to you about?”
“Can’t put my finger on it just yet, but I will.”
I bite my tongue to stop a quip from coming out. There is the thinnest of ice underneath my feet. I can’t take any risks.
The harsh way he continues to eat his food like it’s pissed him off is the only cue that I have to his true feelings at the moment. “Nothin’ to say to that, huh?” I don’t say anything. Just begin picking at the food on my plate. It has been a few days since I ate anything so before long I’ve cleared my plate.
“Rest of y’all, to your new posts.” To me he says, “You, come with me.”
