I’ll let you go.” With a nod, she accepts my answer and the air is different between us.
“Another drink?” I ask even though hers isn’t gone yet.
She only nods, her eyes turning glossy. “Another drink.”
Delilah
A hot shower can wash away a world of hurt. Something about the cleansing heat lies to the mind and whispers that it’s all gone, it’s all going to be all right and that the filth and dirt that wish to linger won’t come back tomorrow.
Even with my eyes wide open staring at the tile in my shower, I listen to the promises and let myself believe it’s all behind us now.
Taking my time, I dry myself without a hurry to do a damn thing. I let my lush curls create a halo around my face and accept myself for all that I’ve become.
When I step out of the bathroom and the red dials of the clock blink in the telling fashion that the power’s been tripped, I feel the pull of a soft smile.
I don’t think of my gun; there isn’t an ounce of fear that runs through me. Instead there’s a warmth of knowing. Maybe it’s because I feel his presence already. The air is different—easier, calmer and more peaceful. As if he alone is my fate and what makes it all make sense.
There is no thinking, no torture, no pain. Only him and I.
“Have you thought about it?” he asks me and I hum an answer as I open the top drawer in search of something to wear. With the towel still wrapped around me, I settle on a simple black satin camisole and matching boy shorts.
“Have I thought about what?” I question back without even seeing Christopher yet. The towel drops around my feet in a heap with a soft thud and when I look up Christopher’s waiting for me, stalking toward me.
He takes his time to place a palm on the dresser on either side of me, essentially caging me in. “You know what,” he answers and places a small kiss on my bare shoulder before pushing off and taking his place on the end of the bed.
One thing I’ve noticed in the past few days is how he doesn’t stay still for long until I lie down with him. Then it’s as if we could remain together forever.
“I was thinking of something,” he says, letting the previous conversation go for a moment. As I slip on the cami, I keep my eyes on him.
“What’s that?”
Falling back onto the bed, he watches the fan spin above it as he tells me, “I remembered this plate. You know the switch plates for light switches in children’s rooms?”
“The wall plate?”
“Yeah,” he answers and I still don’t know where he’s going with this.
“Yeah, I know them.”
“I don’t remember much about my parents, or my aunt really. But I remembered last night that I had a wall plate of this cartoon character in my bedroom when I was a kid, and I think it was at my aunt’s house too.”
“A wall plate … what made you think of that?”
“I was just wondering what my parents would think. And I remember they loved me. They loved me so much they screwed a cheap switch plate on the wall with some cartoon dog on it. I barely remember living with my aunt, but I think she took the switch plate and put it up too.”
I’m careful with my words. I’ve never talked to Christopher about his family. With Cody I only ever spoke about his uncle and even those conversations were short. He’s not well and the last Cody spoke of him, he’d forgotten who Cody was. “You’ve been thinking about your childhood?”
“I was wondering why … you know … why it happened and if there was any sign that I would be like this before I was taken.”
“And?” I prod him for more after a long moment of quiet.
“And all I remember is how much I loved that stupid wall plate and that my mother was the last one to kiss me good night and turn off the light. I remember watching her do it.”
“I don’t think I had a wall plate that I remember, but I had wallpaper of pink polka dots, just a few inches off from the ceiling.”
“Sounds like a nightmare,” he comments and I let out a small huff of a laugh.
“Do you want to keep talking about it?” I ask him, reaching for my face cream, but hesitating to open it.