Page 59 of A Pawn in the Game
I grab my clothes and enter the bathroom. “I’ll leave the door ajar, is that okay?”
“Yeah, thank you.” Another smile.
Leaving the door open enough if she needs me and closed enough so I can have some privacy, I undress. I showered less than twelve hours ago, but I’m aching for another one. Some things are unwashable, I know. Like Uncle’s words about Zvone justplayingwith Sophie, or the sight of him cornering Sophie on the couch, or the feel of her scars under my fingers. But it doesn’t hurt to try to wash them off.
I lather my body with soap, remembering the last time I was naked. Withher. My dick hardens in a second. The bastard has no morals. He doesn’t care that I’m the one keeping her caged in here. He doesn’t care that I’m the reason she almost got raped.No, he only cares about the way her tight heat felt wrapped around him. I give him a rough tug, to help it settle down, but it hardly helps.
He stays erect the whole time I’m drying off and getting dressed. When I get back to the main room, seeing she served our food on the little table, and she’s waiting for me with a smile, he twitches in my boxers.I sit across from her, nerves racing through me. It’s not who I typically am.
But she makes me nervous. This whole situation makes me nervous. She sees me as a hero, but I’m the furthest thing from it.
She digs into her food while I’m stuck in place, observing her. The way her lips wrap around the plastic fork, the way a tiny moan escapes her as it gets in touch with her taste buds. The way she licks her lips after swallowing a bite.
“Not hungry?” she asks, noticing my stare.
“Just tired.” I drop my gaze and start eating. The least I can do is not creep on her. I cut into a piece of chicken in my container. “How long have you been a vegan?”
She looks startled by my question. “Eight years.” She pats her mouth with a napkin.
“You’re an animal lover.”
“Not particularly.” Her gaze drops to the side. “Except my dog, of course. He’s the love of my life.” She looks back at me and I see tears forming in her warm eyes.
A wave of guilt crashes over me. But it’s not like I can tell her the truth. What good would it do? Instead, I clear my throat and ask, “How did you become a vegan?”
“Oh, I read a hundred articles about the benefits of a plant-based diet,” she says so matter-of-factly that it makes me chuckle.
“You read a lot?”
“You could say.” Her lips turn up. “I mean, I do read a lot. But not really fiction, or even books.”
“What do you read then?”
“Researcharticles.”
“On what?” My eyebrows lift.
“On whatever is my current hyper fixation.”
“What would you read now if you had the chance to?”
She glances at the book still lying on the bed before looking back at me. “Stockholm Syndrome.”
I almost choke on a bite of chicken and start nodding to save the situation. I’m definitely not an expert in psychological disorders, but I’ve seen enough movies to know that Stockholm Syndrome is when victims fall for their captors.
She continues eating like what she said wasn’t a big deal, but I’m stuck on her words. A knot forms in my stomach, coiling itself deep and heavy. My hunger is suddenly gone, so I chew on my food longer than necessary, just to postpone the actual eating part.
I’m not sure if she implied that she’s falling for me, but Iamsure that she shouldn’t be doing that. She should hate me for taking her freedom away. Hate me for not having a peaceful night’s sleep for over a month since she’s been here.
She finishes her meal and disposes of the containers in the small trashcan in the room’s corner. I do the same, though my food is far from finished.
“Chess?” she asks, with a spark in her eyes.
I both want to run away and stay here forever. It’s inexplicable. My legs are full of energy, ready to get out of here, while my heart pumps wildly in my chest, pulling me in the direction of that damn table where she’s setting up the chessboard.
I respond by sitting down across from her. She’s playing black. Again.
I make my move, though I have no qualms about her beating me in ten moves or less.
