Rachel
WE HAVE JUST ARRIVED at my house. No words have been spoken since Kai’s heartfelt apology.
I should probably run for the hills. I could change my name and address.
Maybe even my job. That sounds like the right plan of action when you are being stalked by someone who knows where you live.
A smart person would run for the hills. But I am not smart, and instead, I choose to guide the handsome biker with the blue hair and the infectious personality to my bedroom.
I am making great decisions. First the whole kidnapping, then stalking him back, allowing him to fuck me more than once, and now willingly bringing him home.
Fuck. Noah is right. He is my boyfriend.
“Are you coming?” I shout as I reach my bedroom door.
“So bossy,” he smirks. “I bet it must feel so good bossing me around, little criminal.” He is so full of himself.
“Inside.” I bark the order, and he obeys. He doesn’t argue with me. He doesn’t try to object. He walks over and sits on my bed silently, without any snarky remarks.
He looks around, and even though he has been here more than once at this point, he looks as if he is exploring a whole new world.
His wide eyes wander around my small space, and it feels invasive, to say the least. It’s as if I am standing naked in front of him, but even worse.
It’s my soul that is naked in front of him.
This room is an exact representation of everything that makes me, well...
me. It’s my safe space, one that I rarely share with anyone other than Noah.
“How old are you in this picture?” Kai holds the picture frame that usually sits on my nightstand, next to a half-empty glass of water from the night before and the book I was reading before bed.
It’s a picture from my childhood, one of the very few that exist. I guess when you have been raised by strangers your whole life while your parents lived their own lives, there is bound to be very little evidence of your childhood.
Don’t get me wrong; I had a good childhood.
No dramatic background or traumatic events.
I was always fed and well-dressed, with toys that would make any child jealous.
I had playdates with friends I still keep in touch with to this day, and Christmas mornings filled with gifts and tasty food.
It was a good childhood, if you don’t count the fact that it lacked the most important thing a kid needs—love.
So, it’s safe to say that when Rena, the lady who raised me, brought home a small puppy as my gift for my sixth birthday, I was overjoyed.
The picture in Kai’s hand is from that day.
I am sitting on the first step of Rena's house with the puppy on my lap.
“I was six,” I finally respond after being lost inside my head for way too long, more than I should have been with a strange man in my bedroom.
“Cute dog,” he murmurs. His fingers trail over the black Labrador in the picture.
“He was.” I don’t bother to hide the sadness in my voice; instead, I approach the bed and take the frame from his hand. I lay it on the nightstand. Kai watches me as I take a seat next to him.
“Did you have any pets growing up?” I don’t know why, but it feels like the right question to ask. I have this desire to know more about him.
“I had a goldfish,” he tells me like a kid excited for show-and-tell.
“I was so happy when I got it; I poured him and the water from his little bag—the one the pet shop put him in for transportation—into the glass bowl where my brother’s fish was, too.
” His eyes now have a glimpse of sorrow.
“I thought they could be friends and share a home like me and Ryan did.”
“That’s a sweet thought,” I say with a smile.
“It was, but then his fish ate mine in the first hour of them being together.” That took a dark turn.
“Really?” I know this is not the time to laugh, but I have always had a tendency to laugh when someone shares something related to death.
I don’t know why. It’s not that I don’t respect death and what comes with losing someone.
It’s not like I find it funny or anything.
It’s just a twisted way of coping, I guess.
“Yes.” He laughs with me, and now I am truly concerned that this man is completely insane. “Turns out the kind of fish my brother had doesn’t do well with other fish. They are supposed to be housed alone.”
“It must have been terrifying for you.” My laughter dies, and my hand touches his, but I don’t move.
He doesn’t either. We stay so still that I can hear both of our breaths, loud and echoing in the room like thunder in a storm.
I don’t like the silence between us, and as I part my lips, ready to say something—anything—he speaks.
“It really was.” He starts laughing again.
I can’t do anything but join him. His laugh is addictive.
The sound is almost a melody in my ears.
I realize I would probably sound insane myself if anyone were able to hear these thoughts.
It sure is insane finding a man you kidnapped by accident so attractive, but then again, I am pretty sure kidnapping victims don’t usually stalk their kidnappers.
“What happened to the dog?” Kai asks after a few minutes of silence. It’s almost as if he can’t stand the silence either.
“My father decided we couldn’t keep him,” I admit. This story is not one I share; not even Noah knows about this. “I have always wanted to get another one, but every time I talk myself out of doing so.”
“I think you should get one.” He encourages me with excitement. This man, full of tattoos and with darkness surrounding him, is very much like a puppy himself if you think about it. Clingy and following me around as if he doesn’t have anything better to do. Or anyone better to do.
“Come on, big guy,” I say as I help him remove his shoes and guide him under the blanket.
“Time for sleep,” I say. He smiles, getting comfortable in my bed, still a little drunk from all the alcohol he and Leo consumed hours ago.
It makes me wonder how much they must have had to drink to still be drunk so many hours later.
I make a mental note to ask more about this tomorrow, but right now he needs to sleep.
“Nooo,” he complains when I try to stand. He pulls me onto the bed, pulling the blanket over both of our bodies. His arms wrap around me, forcing me to stay in bed with him. I can’t help but laugh.
“Fine, I will stay with you.” I give up fighting this; his embrace wakes up feelings that have been numb for way too long.
It’s nice to be in someone’s arms who wants you to be there, someone who craves to be in your space just for a moment without asking for more—no demands, just affection offered without you even having to ask.
This is not something I am used to, but then again, I can’t say I’ve had many affectionate moments in my life.
My parents might not have traumatized me, but their lack of love to give followed me into adulthood.
I am always chasing emotionally unavailable men who would never stay in bed with me if it just meant cuddling and sleeping.
But this man right here? He is not only willingly staying in my bed, but he is demanding my presence here.
He wants me to be in this bed with him. And who am I to deny him?