Page 58 of When Sinners Fear

But now, alone in the house after he’s gone, I feel nothing close to comfort.

Unrest plagues me as I run over the few words we shared this morning. We shared something else, too. Going down on him felt … empowering. He wanted me, and I liked the feeling of being wanted. Only it felt strange after that when we talked. Distant. Did he really want me to stay? He said I could, but I feel unqualified to navigate the true sentiment behind his words. I want him to be genuine and sincere, but I’m not sure those qualities match Knox. Not the version he puts on display for people, at least.

I stay riveted in his bed – the only bed I’ve ever woken up in that isn’t my own. When I came back last night, and he was still asleep, I couldn’t help but watch him, studying his face and staring at his chest rising and falling. It gave me peace and lulled me into my own doziness. When we were in the cage, after he took a beating, I’d watch for his chest rising and falling to make sure he was still alive. Seeing him healing and safe grounds me in a different way to when we were captive together. Neither scenario offers any clear or logical explanation.

We’ve spent so little time together, just getting to know one another, but in some ways, the time has been forged stronger than any other bonds through pain and suffering. Together.

Friendships don’t come easily to me. I’ve always been brighter than my peers, which was difficult growing up. Then, when I was advanced through school, the other students already had pre-defined friendship circles, and I wasn’t the outgoing or popular student who could break into those. At university, I was finally accepted, but it’s still hard.

With Knox, I want to see where things could lead, and I’m anxious to see if what started off as an innocent date, before the kidnapping, could be something we both want to pursue. In some ways, being with him is easy. He’s intellectual and insightful, and after last night, I now know my body craves him. There was nowhere to hide in that cage, and modesty wasn’t offered, so it's becoming natural between us. At least I think it is.

I run my hand across the empty space in the bed next to me and my mind drifts back to last night. The heat, the intensity of need. It was so much to process. I didn’t ever think sex could be like that. Previously, I had a very naive view of intercourse, and for a short time, after Knox first took me, it was something I never wanted to experience again.

I flop back against the pillows with questions and doubt circling in my mind. At night I forget them, or, more accurately, they make way for the nightmares, but they're hard to ignore. The vision of his brothers pouring into the room, guns drawn, and murder in their eyes. The association with both the men who caused our suffering. The words he and Reed spoke – what Reed taunted me and him with. Naja – her name is emblazoned in my memory, but I have no idea who she is or what Knox could have done to warrant such a reaction. And Knox was mad – furious beyond belief, but he wasn’t confused like I was. Does he know why it happened?

If I could turn things off, and stop my mind processing, then I would. It’s not an option, though. And there might be even bigger reasons why I should consider these questions and start filling in the gaps. Because if he completes the gaps with more darkness and pain, maybe it will be easier to rid myself of my feelings toward him.

~

The house is always quiet, but today it’s eerie. I make breakfast. The little hunger pains in my stomach give me the needed motivation, but progress is slow because, after every movement, I find myself pausing to listen. It’s silent, except for the occasional hum from the refrigerator, but nothing to cause alarm. I repeat that over in my mind, but I’m not settled. Without even realising, I’m looking and waiting for something now I’m here by myself.

The coffee helps to calm my nerves, despite the effects it should be having on my nervous system, but after eating, it’s clear I can’t wait downstairs. There are too many windows to catch my attention, too many doors to check behind.

As I’m walking to the stairs, the phone startles me. It continues to ring as I catch my breath. Instead of upstairs, I go to the study to wait for Knox to leave a message. Or see who’s calling.

“Yeah, Knox, I’m on my way with the car.”

It’s one of his brothers, I presume. He doesn’t announce himself or say goodbye. At least I’ll know someone is on the way.

I go back to my bedroom and shut the door, making sure I’m really alone. It’s stupid, but I can’t make my mind think any differently. To distract me and kill some time, I take a shower, telling myself that normal actions will help.

I finally brave the mirror, and I’m glad I waited. The colouring of the bruises is still there. Although, the swelling has subsided now. My hunger pains are still present, and as I stare at my reflection in the mirror, I realise it could be something else. I sigh in relief at the thought of my period once I do the quick calculation in my head. That would solve one painful problem that I’ve pushed to the back of my mind. However, there’s a pang of guilt as I think that.

Mother taught us that any life is a gift from God. So, although I don’t believe in God, the fact that I’m glad about not being pregnant causes some element of sadness that it’s not what my mother would want. Thinking about her brings back another roll of guilt, crackling through me as I stay rooted to the floor, looking into the mirror.

I should be home. This isn’t the solution.

Once I’m dressed, I head back down to his study and pick up the phone to call my mom – we both need it. But I pause before plugging in the last number. If she doesn’t answer, I’ll have to go through the questions and scrutiny from Father. Matthew and Evie will be at school, so I know they won’t be there.

I sit as my index finger presses down on the final digit, and I hear the line connect, and it starts to ring.

One ring.

Two. Three.

“Hello”? Her frail voice answers, but my words catch in my throat. My mouth opens to speak, but nothing will come out. “Hello, is someone there?”

Still, I can’t say anything. Sentences cut and score in my throat as I try to speak, so I swallow them back down where they can’t do any harm.

“Is that you, Peyton? Is it?” The hope in her voice cracks a fissure in my heart. I nod my head even though she can’t see me. “You’ll come back to us. I know you will.”

“I love you, Mom.” I slam the phone down and stare at it as if it might grow legs and attack me. My knees pull up under me as I recover. It should be easier than this. It should be simple. It’s anything but. Tears come, more tears as if they now stain my cheeks in a permanent testament to my pain.

I brush them away and think of Knox’s hand brushing my cheek. His lips on my collar.

How has everything gotten so twisted?

~