“Why aren’t you talking?” he asked.
“You don’t want to hear me talk.” She didn’t want to say a word. With what Priest had just said, she felt so cold, so empty.
Wrapping her arms around herself, she moved back toward the kitchen where he’d gotten some food. Without waiting for him to order her, she put her butt right back in the chair and even placed her palms on the handles in order for him to tie her back up.
“I’m not leaving for the rest of the day. I’m not going to tie you up.”
Cleo still kept her hands in place. She didn’t know why she didn’t move, but it felt odd.
Priest kept staring at her. What was he thinking? Did it even matter?
“I got Chinese food,” he said.
She loved Chinese food but didn’t say anything. Staring at the table, she waited as he pulled out little cartons of food, opening up each one.
“Fork or chopsticks?” he asked.
“Chopsticks.”
He held out the chopsticks to her. “Take your pick.”
She got up, picked up the first carton, and saw some vegetable fried rice. So, she started to eat, chewing her way through the food.
The silence was awkward. This was one of the reasons she talked. Pointless talking helped her avoid real emotion. It was her mask. Almost all her quirks were survival techniques to avoid getting hurt.
She still didn’t feel tired though. She hadn’t lied to Priest last night. Sleeping was difficult for her and always had been. When she was asleep, she wasn’t in control, couldn’t protect herself from the Bogeyman.
Taking another mouthful of rice, she looked up to see Priest watching her intently.
“What?” she asked.
“You’re quiet.”
“Why aren’t you enjoying the peace?”
He pointed his chopsticks at her. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
At that moment, nothing was going on in her head. She was still reeling from his harsh reality check. She had to remind herself that she wasn’t the only one with a story.
She took another mouthful of rice, chewing thoughtfully. “I can’t leave, can I?”
“No. Those men are out looking for you, waiting for an opportunity to strike.”
She nibbled on her lip and stared at him. “Does this mean I can, like … get a whole new identity? You know, run away? Hide? I don’t know. Isn’t there like witness protection stuff?”
“It doesn’t work. Not with these guys. You’ve seen way too much.” He ran a hand down his face before reaching for another carton.
“It doesn’t matter what I saw because the guy I reported is already dead. They have no reason to want me.”
“The dirty cop they sent to shut you up ended up dead. You’re most definitely on their radar.”
“You did that, not me,” she said.
He shrugged. “Details.”