Page 46 of Punishing Penelope
I twitch, and my heart skips a beat.
“I’m not arresting you, Pen. I’m gonna show you what you think you’re fighting so bravely with your writing.”
“How?”
“You’ll see.”
My heart skips another beat when I realize he said my name. Not Wilder. He said my name, Pen, like back in the day. Something inside me softens, and in his care gradually relax into a near-hypnotic, meditative state that is amazing. The lethargy is overwhelming, and the last little bit of fight leaves me.
I fall asleep in the arms of the enemy, and I’ve never felt safer.
Something tickles my cheek. I swipe at it and come back to consciousness.
Peter.
Jolting, I pull away, my body reacting before my mind tells me it’s okay. I ache everywhere.
The tension leaves me as quickly as it appeared. Falling back against the backrest, I exhale and open my eyes to meet his curious blue gaze. He crouches before me with an amused expression.
“Hey, there. Got you a little to eat,”—he cocks his head at the table—“but we gotta be on our way.”
I look at the living room table, at the tray holding a new cup of steaming tea and two sandwiches, ham and cheese, with a few green leaves of arugula strewn over each. Simple, but it looks delicious, and I’m famished. Sitting up, I reach for the food, then moan as my sore muscles protest. Peter points at two white pills next to the cup.
“Advil.”
“Are you gonna say you’re sorry?”
“No. Are you?”
I pop the pills and swallow them with some tea.
“For what?”
Peter laughs, then ruffles my hair and gets up.
“Eat and get dressed.”
He fucking ruffles my hair. Why do I think it’s cute?
I think of my ruined clothes. “In what?”
He points at a pile next to me.
Biting into a heavenly sandwich, I chew as I pick through the clothes—sweatpants, a long-sleeved shirt, thick socks.
“I’m gonna look like a clown in these.”
“You’re not going to a fashion show, and you’d look fantastic in a cardboard box. Get dressed. It’s two in the morning. We don’t have much time.”
I want to ask, for what, but I’ll let him take the lead. It’s kind of thrilling, and I’m always up for an adventure.
Looking like a clown, I snort when I catch sight of myself in the hallway mirror.
“Good God.”
The socks substitute for shoes. He guessed correctly there’s no way in hell I’d walk in my high heels after our…exercises, and his shoes are all huge, so socks it is.
With a slight limp, firmly supported by Peter, I follow him back to the garage. Moving through LA by night again, the mood is vastly different. I steal glances at him, and he keeps doing the same. There’s tenderness in his eyes, and I want to touch him.