Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 77841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
“Raya,” he prompts again. “Spit it out.”
I look up at him, having to swallow a lump that's formed in my throat. Tears burn the back of my eyes for no other reason than in preparation of his rejection. “If you put the collar back around my throat and attach it to the chain…” I swallow again. “Can I go outside?”
He blinks at me as if my words were spoken in a foreign language and he's having a hard time understanding.
“I know the answer is going to be no,” I rush out. “But it's just that it's my birthday and I wouldn't be asking if—”
“Are you going to try to escape?” he interrupts.
I roll my eyes, the question completely ridiculous because where would I go? Back to my parents? How would I explain the fact that I've been missing for a month?
“You don't have to wear the chain or the collar because you'd never outrun me, Raya.”
And there it is, the threat in his voice.
“I don't know,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. “I've been running a lot on that treadmill. I am as fast as the wind now.”
He narrows his eyes at first, but when I smile at him he realizes I'm joking.
“Okay.”
“Okay?” I ask, shifting on my feet. I never expected him to agree.
“I don't have shoes for you to wear.”
“I don't care,” I rush out, my heart racing at the thought of being outside for the first time in a solid month. My heart rate kicks up double when he walks across the room and opens the front door. I feel locked in place as if maybe this is a test of his own. I have to wonder what the tradeoff is going to be. What he's going to expect in return. And as someone outside looking in, they would realize how crazy I've actually become. The thought of an ultimatum thrills me rather than scares me.
I take a few tentative steps in his direction as he steps out onto the porch. The entire thing is screened in, covered by an extension of the roof. I only think about running for a split second because I know he will chase me. But then I reconsider. If he chases me, he'll have to touch me to catch me, and the thought of that thrills me.
He gives me less space than usual. It doesn't go unnoticed that he keeps himself between me and the screen door leading out into the yard. I see nothing but sand.
“It's hot out here,” I complain. He doesn’t say a word as my eyes skate over the landscape. It's beautiful, I realize. There's nothing to obstruct the land or the setting sun. How have I forgotten how beautiful a sunset can be? Did I stop noticing those things before I was taken?
“Are we still in Texas?” I ask.
“Barely,” he responds, but he doesn’t elaborate.
The silence around us is interrupted only by the sound of bugs and crickets.
“It's strange not to hear any road noise,” I say more to myself than to him.
“It's very secluded out here.” His words sound like a threat, a warning, but I don't feel that rush of fear that I probably should at realizing that even getting outside doesn't mean I can escape. “No one around for miles,” he says in an absent way. It doesn't sound like he's warning me this time.
I'm wondering how hot the desert sand would feel under my toes as I take a step back. His eyes track me as if he fully expects me to shove past him and run away. I like his eyes on me. I like the dark circles under them when he wakes up because it means he spent a lot of the night watching me.
It was weird when the room was fully dark but now shadows are cast through the room from the night-lights he installed after the night I hurt my toe.
“Liam,” I whisper as I take a couple steps closer to him. Normally he would move. Every other time we got within arm's reach he would shift out of the way. It became a habit for me to do it as well. I give him distance. He gives me distance. He doesn't move and even the Texas heat doesn't prevent the chill that it sends down my body. I gasp when he reaches up, cupping my cheek.
There have been brushes. It's hard to be in such close proximity with someone for a solid month for there to be absolutely no inadvertent touches, but this is different. My pulse pounds, my eyes fluttering closed, and I do exactly what feels right in this moment. I press the palm of my hand to his stomach before looking back up at him.
He looks just as dazed as I feel. Just as wrapped up in this moment. I'm scared. I'm scared he'll back away. I’m scared that he won't. He leans in closer. Nothing exists in this moment but him as his lips brush mine. He doesn't deepen the kiss. He looks sad and heartbroken when I open my eyes.