as he takes the washcloth from the edge of the tub, dips it beneath the water, and wrings it out over my back. Closing my eyes, I lean over my knees and lay my cheek against my arm. And this, even though it shouldn’t be, is intimate. This act in and of itself throws my mind into a jumbled mess. One of his large hands rests on my shoulder, the other washes over me in gentle movements. He sweeps my hair to the side of my neck to wash over my shoulders, and he’s gotten so close to me now, each time he exhales, the warmth of his breath sends tingles down my spine. And for a moment—a fleeting moment—the tension wound up in my muscles relaxes.
“That should feel much better,” he says, rinsing over my back.
When I look up, he’s standing next to the tub, holding out a towel. I step out of the bath and he wraps the thick towel around me. “I’ll get you some clothes when I go into town…”
He grabs my wrists and takes me to the door, digging the key from his pocket. I stare at him so confused and distraught. “Why?” I ask as we walk out into the hallway. That is all I want to know. Just a why. Why I’m here, why he cares…something.
“Why?” He stops at the top of the stairwell before leading me down. “Why are you here? Let me put it this way, to some people nothing means more than money. Not blood, not love, not life. Greed. One of the deadly sins. That’s why you’re here, darling. It all comes down to greed.”
Sometimes he says things that are so vague I can’t make heads or tails of them. “Stop talking in riddles, would you?” I say.
Now we’re in the foyer and my pulse is thrumming because I do not want to go back into that dark hole.
“Greed and irony…” Max laughs as we round the corner.
“Irony?”
“Yes, irony because you and I have evidently been tied to one another for much longer than the few weeks you’ve been here.”
It’s been weeks…
“Your dad…” He inhales. “Well, he killed my family.” He doesn’t slow his stride. His tone hasn’t changed.
My stomach knots, and I swallow around the lump in my throat. “Sorry,” I manage to breathe that word out.
I know what my father does, but it never seems real. It’s more like a mobster movie or novel because he’s so kind to me and my brother and mother, so tenderhearted, yet at the end of the day he is a cold-blooded killer. You have to separate things like that from the people you love. Sometimes, in order to love someone, you must first forget the things that you can’t love about them. “I’m sorry,” I say again, like those words can change something.
He opens the door to the basement. “Shit happens.”
Once we hit the bottom step, I feel sweat build in my palms and my head goes all dizzy. I stare at that wooden door. Although it’s a mere seven feet in front of me, it seems like miles. When Max slides the lock out and the door swings open, I want to scream. I’m desperate for anything but that solitude—the silence that forces me to think about all the things I don’t want to think about: about death and the parts of life I’ll never experience if I don’t leave here. About the fact that no matter how hard they look for me, the chances of anyone finding me are slim to none. That room is the epitome of what loneliness is.
“How many days have I been here?” I ask, attempting to stall him.
“Thirteen.”
“How many more?”
The lock clicks and he gives me a gentle nudge into the room. “Don’t know.”
Water drips down my back and it’s just now I realize I’m still in the towel, completely naked underneath it. He’s going to leave me down here like this. Naked. And the next time Earl comes in—I can’t let my mind go there. I can’t!
“I’m cold,” I whisper, fighting the desire I have to cry.
“I’ll get another blanket.” I hear the door click shut and Max moves in front of me. “Give me your wrists,” he says as he takes a knife from his pocket and cuts the cord,
“That should feel much better,” he says, rinsing over my back.
When I look up, he’s standing next to the tub, holding out a towel. I step out of the bath and he wraps the thick towel around me. “I’ll get you some clothes when I go into town…”
He grabs my wrists and takes me to the door, digging the key from his pocket. I stare at him so confused and distraught. “Why?” I ask as we walk out into the hallway. That is all I want to know. Just a why. Why I’m here, why he cares…something.
“Why?” He stops at the top of the stairwell before leading me down. “Why are you here? Let me put it this way, to some people nothing means more than money. Not blood, not love, not life. Greed. One of the deadly sins. That’s why you’re here, darling. It all comes down to greed.”
Sometimes he says things that are so vague I can’t make heads or tails of them. “Stop talking in riddles, would you?” I say.
Now we’re in the foyer and my pulse is thrumming because I do not want to go back into that dark hole.
“Greed and irony…” Max laughs as we round the corner.
“Irony?”
“Yes, irony because you and I have evidently been tied to one another for much longer than the few weeks you’ve been here.”
It’s been weeks…
“Your dad…” He inhales. “Well, he killed my family.” He doesn’t slow his stride. His tone hasn’t changed.
My stomach knots, and I swallow around the lump in my throat. “Sorry,” I manage to breathe that word out.
I know what my father does, but it never seems real. It’s more like a mobster movie or novel because he’s so kind to me and my brother and mother, so tenderhearted, yet at the end of the day he is a cold-blooded killer. You have to separate things like that from the people you love. Sometimes, in order to love someone, you must first forget the things that you can’t love about them. “I’m sorry,” I say again, like those words can change something.
He opens the door to the basement. “Shit happens.”
Once we hit the bottom step, I feel sweat build in my palms and my head goes all dizzy. I stare at that wooden door. Although it’s a mere seven feet in front of me, it seems like miles. When Max slides the lock out and the door swings open, I want to scream. I’m desperate for anything but that solitude—the silence that forces me to think about all the things I don’t want to think about: about death and the parts of life I’ll never experience if I don’t leave here. About the fact that no matter how hard they look for me, the chances of anyone finding me are slim to none. That room is the epitome of what loneliness is.
“How many days have I been here?” I ask, attempting to stall him.
“Thirteen.”
“How many more?”
The lock clicks and he gives me a gentle nudge into the room. “Don’t know.”
Water drips down my back and it’s just now I realize I’m still in the towel, completely naked underneath it. He’s going to leave me down here like this. Naked. And the next time Earl comes in—I can’t let my mind go there. I can’t!
“I’m cold,” I whisper, fighting the desire I have to cry.
“I’ll get another blanket.” I hear the door click shut and Max moves in front of me. “Give me your wrists,” he says as he takes a knife from his pocket and cuts the cord,
Similar Books
