Silence.
“When I’m asleep?”
More silence.
“Creighton!”
Still clutching both his fork and knife, he lifts his head while chewing slowly. His look is unnerving, so absolutely blank sometimes that I’m terrified of the depths it hides.
Sometimes, he looks at me like he won’t let me leave his side, ever, and if I try to, things will get ugly.
A secret part of me likes that. Too much. It scares me.
“Yes?”
“Do you have someone who comes over?”
“Not yet. I have a stock full of food that will last us for a few months. But even if we run out, you don’t have to worry about it. Needless to say, if you have any plans to escape, you might want to abandon them.”
My lungs deflate with a long breath as I let my fork stab into the salad without bringing anything to my mouth.
“Can I at least call my mom and tell her I’m okay?”
“So your father can track the call?”
“I’ll just text her then.”
“No. There are no phones here.”
I release a groan of frustration. “What if one of us gets injured or sick and we have to call for help?”
“I’ll think about that when it happens.” He pours himself a glass of wine. No kidding, he drinks wine. At fucking twenty.
He’s like an old man sometimes, I swear.
But I don’t say no to a drink, so when he pours me a glass, I take a sip, too.
The bland stuff is starting to grow on me. Or maybe his family only keeps premium wine, because I never thought I would like it until now.
Creighton leans back in his chair twirling the glass of wine and watching me with a little smile.
I stuff my face with salad. “Why do you look so pleased with yourself?”
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“Gee, I don’t know. Because you kidnapped me?”
“You like it here.”
“I do, but I don’t want to be trapped in this place for the rest of my life.”
“It’s better than being surrounded by the outside world.”
Oh.
It dawns on me then.
The outside world, the truth about his origins and my parents’ involvement, is what tore us apart, so Creighton has purposefully chosen a place where they can’t reach us.