Page 136 of Captive Souls

He nodded, tipping pasta into boiling water before reaching for a tin of fish.

I put my hand on his wrist. “There needs to be more context as to the question and the response. Doyouwant children?”

He looked at me blankly for a moment then let out a bark of cold laughter. “No,” he said soberly. “Absolutely not.” His face screamed of shame I wished I could scoop right out of him.

“I’m not … capable,” he stared down at the boiling water. “I’m barely capable of loving you in a way that won’t destroy you wholly.” I watched his knuckles whiten as he gripped the tin he was holding.

It didn’t surprise me, his stance on children. I’d have been knocked over by a feather had he said he wanted a family. But I felt relieved, nonetheless. Not relieved about the trauma heendured that made him believe he was not worthy to be a father, but that we would not be separated over such conflicting needs.

“What would you have done,” I asked, stroking his hand. “If I had said yes, that I wanted a baby?”

“I would’ve gotten you a baby,” he replied without pause.

I swallowed at the answer, the devotion with which he spoke. As if I just had to request anything in the world and he’d procure it for me, human beings included. “And where would you be in this equation?”

His gaze shuttered. “Close,” he murmured. “Close enough to watch you both, to keep you safe. Ensure that your lives are long and happy. But you’d never lay eyes on me again.”

My body revolted against the promise in his tone, his certainty.

“You’d l-leave m-me?” I pulled my hand back. Or attempted to, at least.

“I’d never leave you.” He snatched hold of my wrist again. “I’d give you everything you deserved and ensure you kept it.”

I looked over his shoulder as I digested this. “What if I met another man?” It was unfair, cruel to us both to keep the hypothetical going, but I was a woman. I couldn’t help but live in the imagined future.

Knox tightened his hold on me.

“If I met another man?” I pressed, even though he was radiating deadly fury. Even though my wrist was beginning to protest with a pain I was becoming used to

Knox’s eyes darted up to me, the can clattering against the counter. He backed me against the fridge.

I gasped at the impact against my back as he caged me in. I was never complacent with him, my body never becoming accustomed to his nearness, his need. Every time was like the first time.

Knox hovered inches from me, hips pressing into mine with sublime pressure. “If you met another man, I’d imagine his death every moment of my life. But I wouldn’t kill him as long as he made you happy.” His eyes made a slow tour up and down my body. His gaze told me he was hungry, needful, but irate too. “Now are we done with this fucking insane conversation?”

I pursed my lips, nodding, knowing when to back down.

“Good.” He pushed off the fridge and resumed cooking as if the most intense conversation I’d ever had hadn’t even happened.

We’d eaten in complete silence, not speaking since the conversation about children. Knox was still stewing. I was a little angry at myself. I couldn’t help but push him, strain the limits of this dynamic between us, trying to find the edges.

There was no edge.

No end.

I was scared I had hurt him, ruined something sacred between us, until the second we finished the meal when h sent all the plates clattering from the dining room table then fucked me on it. The man had never-ending stamina, as did I, despite my injuries and the general trauma of the past week. If anything, it made me more desperate for the escape he offered. The safety of our coupling, drowning out everything that wasn’t connected to our bodies.

Still, we hadn’t spoken, not afterward, not as we cleaned up or as he carried me to the bedroom, tugging my naked body so I laid on his chest, arms locking around me just a little too tight. Just how I liked it.

“Will we survive this?” I asked in the darkness.

Gone was the quiet the woods offered. Sirens sounded in the distance, street noise filtered in, grating against my ears.

Knox’s arms might’ve tightened around me had they not already been as tight as humanly possible.

“The real world,” I continued. “Will we survive it?”

Some of the tension in my body slackened with relief of asking the question that I’d been torturing myself with.