“Will you go if I say no?”
“Probably not.”
My lips twist and I take a step back. “I guess you better come in then.”
“I uh… brought you something,” he says, holding up a blue lunch bag.
“What is it?”
He sets the bag on the table and pulls out a small container. “When I last spoke to your mom, she said you were having issues eating. She was worried. You can't survive on broth, popsicles, and Mountain Dew forever.”
“Says who?” I ask, smugly, staring at his hands. “You forgot about the apple cider, hot chocolate, and cherry-flavored Jell-o.”
“Most people, and those added options aren't helping your case.” He twists off the red top and the smell of butter and cheese wafts in the air. My stomach grumbles.
“When was the last time you ate something?”
I shrug, taking a seat in the chair, tugging at the sleeve of my shirt. “I don't remember.”
Frowning, he sets the food in front of me, adding a plastic spoon. “Then it's probably time to eat again.”
“What is it?” I lean my face closer, examining the white and creamy substance. “It's a bit too thick to be what I think it is.” I take a little off the top off with my finger and bring my tongue to it. “Not as salty either.”
Grunting, he shoots me a glare. “I guess there's no need to ask how you're doing because clearly you're feeling like yourself again.”
I bark out a laugh, scooting closer to the table. “You can stop trying to read me because you're still terrible at it.”
Sighing softly, he pulls the lounge chair to the table and plops down, tucking the throw pillow under his arm. “It's mashed potatoes with cream cheese, shredded cheese, and butter. It's been my favorite thing to eat lately.” He pauses, resting his hand on the table. “So many things felt weird between my teeth and were too thick for my throat.”
“That's what she said,” I say, my smile teasing.
“I'm starting to think I'm the only adult in the room.”
I gasp, bringing my hand to my mouth. “Wait, there are supposed to be adults here?”
He searches the room and sits up taller, his smile fading. “Where's your mom? Please tell me you're not alone.”
“She's…safe. That's all you need to know, and do I look alone?”
“I won't be here all night.”
Is he sure? He's showing no signs of leaving anytime soon and is way too comfortable in his chair, kicking his shoes off. “Did you only come to make sure I ate?”
His lips press together and he fumbles with his hands. “I don't really know why I came. I…”
I study him carefully as he stumbles on his words. He's a man who was always so put together and now he's this blubbering, nervous wreck. I've never wanted him more. I grit my teeth, hating the way his sad, lost eyes hold me in place.
“You what?”
“I…I don't know what's happening. I guess it's part of being isolated together and only having each other in those dark times. Social glue I believe is what it's called.”
“What are you saying?”
“I don't know… nothing feels right. When I wake up and you're not there, I'm struck with panic, and the longer you're gone, the further down I get pulled into this black hole. I can't find my way out until I hear your voice. Sometimes even that's not enough.”
Trauma bonding. Who knew Everett was so adaptive in such a short amount of time. What took me half a year to grow an unhealthy attachment to my captor, only took him one month. I still think about the man with the rough hands, wicked smile, and orange spice scent he brought with him every time he entered the room. My gut twists, wishing I could bury the memories under the ground so deep they could never resurface.
“What do you think we should do about it?”