“Too late.”
“Tristan.”
“It didn’t have to be this way. But you made your bed. Lie down.” He had a cold look on his face. Kyla’s blood chilled.
He pulled her down and lay down beside her, reached into her kangaroo pocket and pulled out her flip flops and threw them on the floor, his face filled with disgust. That look scorched her soul. They stared each other down for a moment.
“I can’t believe you,” he said softly, “How can I trust you when you fight everything you feel?”
He put his head on the pillow beside her and waited for her to answer. She dashed more tears off her face with the backs of her hands and stared right back, “I don’t wanna feel. I need to use my brain to make sure I survive. And I don’t need or want your trust.” She shuddered and trembled. The chains rattled, her teeth started to chatter. She covered her mouth and sobbed into her hands.
She half expected him to reach for her. He didn’t, he just stared at her. His eyes looked wet, like they were filled with unshed tears and it made them bluer, even more beautiful. They stared at one another for a long time, saying nothing. Inexplicably she suddenly wished, beyond all reason, that he would just reach for her, comfort her like he’d done earlier tonight. But he didn’t. He just stared. She chided herself for wanting him to hold her. How ridiculous was that? After all that’d happened, after all she’d just said to him.
I’ve gone insane.
After a few minutes she closed her eyes and asked sleep to give her a break from the agony that twisted inside of her. And just like that, Kyla lost her title as reigning champion of the stare down.
It seemed like hours later when she opened her eyes. But it probably wasn’t. He was still in the same spot, still staring at her. The sun still hadn’t risen. It felt like it’d never rise again.
“I’m cold,” she whispered, hoping to get under the blankets.
He didn’t say anything. She shifted to try to face the other way so she wouldn’t have to look at him. He tightened his grip on the chain so that she couldn’t turn over. She whimpered and covered her face with the pillow. He took the pillow away from her and threw it on the floor. His expression was still so cold-looking. He evidently wanted her uncomfortable, wanted her to have to face his angry gaze, face the consequences of her actions. She covered her eyes with her hands and eventually fell back asleep.-6-When Kyla woke up again she was in the exact same spot. Tristan was still beside her, facing her. This time he was sleeping but he didn’t look peaceful. His brow was furrowed in his sleep. He was holding her arm chain in a hand and had the leg chain wrapped around his ankle. His other hand was above her head and he had a handful of her hair in his grip. He was making sure she wouldn’t escape.
She felt like shit. That sleep wasn’t restful at all. What little had been left of the night was plagued with his face in her dreams --- his disappointed, hurt face. And, the horror of her situation, which she was still trying to process.
Kyla glanced at his wristwatch, it was only just after 9:am. She needed the bathroom. She’d have to wake him to ask if she could use the washroom. The cuff around her wrist dug into the scab left from last night’s bite. There was a matching painful scab in the crook of her arm, too. And her free wrist was black and blue.
Black and blue. Hah. Like his eyes…
She shifted uncomfortably. She was sore from last night’s excitement. And now, in the light of day, reality was setting in. She’d be stupid to try to run from Tristan again and was lucky to be alive. But what was the alternative? This couldn’t be her life, her destiny. Could it?
And now he was angry with her, probably hated her. He’d looked at her so painfully, felt like she betrayed him by running away. As if she’d ever professed a commitment or undying devotion or anything other than wanting to leave. She felt a pain stab through her chest. What a mess. If he ever drank from her again would she feel that hatred crawl through her again? She didn’t think she could bear it. She knew he’d drink from her again. He’d told her, himself, how addicted he was to her blood. She’d made her bed, enraging him, and now here she was --- laying in it.
Kyla stirred again, making the chain in his hand jiggle on purpose. She hoped he’d wake up. He didn’t. She moved her leg a little so that the chain would tighten around his leg. He still didn’t move. She moved her head a little bit and her hair slipped out of his grasp but it didn’t wake him.