“My mom begged for mercy. That’s the part I really remember. That’s the worst part. How she begged him, realizing what he was going to do, and…then the bastard made me live.”
Elise moves closer all of a sudden, wrapping her arms around me and pressing her body against mine. Hugging me. I’m tempted to pull back, not wanting her pity, but the scent of her shampoo hits me, the feeling of her arms secured around me, and I decide maybe sympathy is okay. A tentative hand comes to rest on her back, but she’s still full-on wrapped around me.
“I’m sorry I made you talk about it,” she says, her voice muffled since her face is pressed against my shoulder.
Yearning. That’s what I feel. There’s no pain from the memories I just shared with her, just a deep yearning as she holds me, wanting this—more of this. I don’t care about anything outside of this embrace.
But I don’t even hug her back, so she eventually pulls away.
Worse, she looks a little embarrassed. “Sorry,” she murmurs, with a slight smile. “It seemed like the time for a hug.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” I murmur. “I’m… just not terribly affectionate.”
She shrugs like it doesn’t matter, but it clearly does. “I never had anyone to be affectionate with. Always thought it’d be nice.”
I never really thought that before, but it’s different with her. I’m not opposed, and I don’t know why my stupid mouth won’t open so I can tell her that.
I just can’t shake the feeling that I’d be playing on her sympathies. She’s not being affectionate because she wants me, but because she feels bad for me. Not because it’s something she wants, but because it’s something she can offer.
I don’t know how I can ever not feel like I’m taking advantage of her.
For literally the first time in five years, I wonder if this is possible. In my head, before it was real, before she was here, this should’ve been easy. But that was assuming we were on the same page. That was assuming we got out and Elise was happy about it, happy to be free again, happy to move on with her life.
I never considered how hard this would be if she didn’t feel that relief. If she’d been damaged, molded into some kind of Stepford wife.
“Well, I bet the oven’s heated up by now,” she says lightly, breaking away from my wall of silence to warm up the damn food.
Chapter Seven
“You should bring Elise by for dinner tonight.”
I glance at Mateo in the back seat, messing around on his phone as he tosses out the casual invitation. “Meg coming tonight?”
He shakes his head. “Not tonight.” Then, with a slight smirk, he said, “Vince and Mia will be there, though.”
“It’s not Sunday,” I point out.
“Maria’s understaffed. Someone’s gotta bring me my salad.” He says it lightly, like a joke, but I can already anticipate Vince sulking about it.
I shake my head. “You’re such a dick.”
He looks up just long enough to flash me a grin, then he goes back to his phone.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Why am I such a dick?” he asks, pulling a fake pout. “Tragic childhood.”
I roll my eyes. “No, something real.”
I have his attention now, and he drops his phone back into his pocket. “Of course.”
“Did you kill Elise’s dad?”
“Yes,” he says, without even the slightest hesitation.
I nod, sighing. I kind of figured, but that’s going to make meeting her desire to see them quite a lot harder. “Her mom still alive?”
He shakes his head, a wordless no.
“Great.”
“Why?” he asks.
“She wanted to see them. See if they were okay.”
He shakes his head, glancing out the window. “Women have an astounding capacity for forgiveness, I swear to god. Why would you want to see the assholes who literally sold you?”
I scoff, shaking my head. “I don’t know, Mateo, why would you admire the man who bought you?”
“I’ve been good to Elise,” he states, like that makes it all right.
“Because of me,” I point out.
He smirks. “I would’ve still been good to her—just a different kind of good.”
“Sometimes it’s so hard to remember why I want to keep you alive,” I tell him.
He smiles, unconcerned. “How are things going for you two? Is she everything you hoped she’d be?”
I don’t immediately answer. I don’t even think I’m going to, but then suddenly I say, “She’s still working on deprogramming.”
Mateo quirks an eyebrow at me. “Deprogramming?”
“You have her trained. She doesn’t know what to do with herself now that she’s not stuck cleaning your house and cooking your dinner.”
Mateo sighs heavily, as if disappointed. “You’re trying to fix her, aren’t you?”
I look at the rearview mirror, glaring at him.
“Does she want to be fixed?” he asks.
“Like you care what women want,” I mutter.
“Adrian, just enjoy her, for fuck’s sake. Jesus Christ. You worked five years for the girl. Have you even fucked her yet?”