40. Chapter 39
Chapter 39
Maeve Henderson
Things feel weird in this house now.
I don’t really know how else to describe it. Aside from coming home from work and cleaning my piercing, he doesn’t try anything sexual with me.
He says that he won’t have sex with me while my piercing is healing, that he won’t risk it getting infected. While I wish I could say I was grateful, a small part of me wishes that he would touch me again.
A very dark part of me wishes he would come back home in a bad mood, throw me on the bed, and have sex with me while I fight him off.
Maybe he could use the duct tape again?
My ankles and wrists are cut up and sore, but it was intoxicating to feel so trapped and helpless, although that’s how my entire life feels right now.
I feel helpless to anything and everything going on, but during sex it feels different. It doesn’t feel so scary.
The thought of Leon coming home and taking me again has me panting with need. What is wrong with me? Why am I like this?
Better yet, why is he like this?
What does it take to make a man want somebody so badly that they’d kidnap them?
And why me?
Nobody has ever wanted me, especially not badly enough to steal me from my bed.
While this situation isn’t ideal, I’ve grown comfortable here for the most part, I’m just scared of getting sick again.
I’m so scared of feeling how I felt that day. I know it’s only been a few days, but I can’t handle it again, and I know if Leon hadn’t intervened, I would have ended up needing to go to the hospital.
I’m not even sure if he would have let me go. Would he have just killed me if I became more of a headache that he signed up for?
I’m already nervous for the day that he realizes that celiac can cause infertility.
I’m scared that he’ll kill me and dump my body on the side of the road when he realizes that I may never be able to give him a baby.
So while I don’t want a baby, I hope I’m pregnant.
At least then I know I’ll be useful to him.
That also means that I can’t risk eating anymore gluten. It’s not just my health that I have to focus on, I have to think of any potential baby’s health.
I genuinely don’t think a fetus could survive an immune system flare-up like that.
I don’t know, I’ve never looked into it before, I was never ready for kids, and I’ve never made it past the first date to even have to think about it.
If I had my computer and were allowed access to the internet, I’d look it up, but I haven’t been given any permissions since coming here.
Leon probably thinks that I’d contact someone to help me, but I wonder if he knows that there’s nobody I could turn to for help.
God that's embarrassing to even admit.
My mother would just be excited that I'm 'dating' a doctor, and none of my friends would really care. Not that I can say any of them are actually my friends. If they were, I'd assume someone would be looking for me by now?
I've been gone for what, a week now? I don't even know. It could be longer for all I know. All I've done is sleep, read, and cook.
At least I can add cooking to the limited amount of things I’m actually allowed to do, so it’s something to add to my routine and help pass the time.
However, I must say that my motives are selfish.
I’m too scared to let Leon cook in his own kitchen. What if he doesn’t disinfect everything well enough? What if he doesn’t eat gluten-free at all and I get sick again?
No, it’s easier for my mental health if I do all of the cooking.
Today I found a box of gluten-free pasta in the cabinet, so I made that into a vegan Greek pasta salad with Kalamata olives, tomatoes, red onion, cucumber, vegan feta, homemade dressing, and roasted chickpeas.
I don't really know how Leon eats, but nothing in this house is something I wouldn't eat. There's no meat, no dairy, and nothing with gluten.
I have the feeling he did this intentionally, that he'd been watching me and copying my ways so I feel comfortable.
It's sweet in a very disturbing way.
Leon walks through the door as I am putting dinner in a container, filling another smaller one for his lunch tomorrow. "Good evening, ma fleur. Did you have a nice day?" He asks.
What kind of question is that?
I'm trapped in this house, I'm a human incubator, I have no contact with the outside world other than him, and I don't even know how to use his fancy TV. I've read the same book at least a dozen times now since all he packed with me was my textbooks and like three of my books for enjoyment.
The rest I had borrowed from the library anyway, so I assume he took those back.
Leon crosses the living room once his shoes are off, coming up behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist.
I don't want him touching me, but I don't want him stopping. It's confusing how I feel right now.
"Whatever you made smells wonderful, fleur." He says against my ear.
I feel chills up my spine from his breath on my ear, but I don't react. I can't give him that satisfaction to know that he affects me. "Greek pasta salad." I explain flatly.
I feel his hands move down to my hips, holding onto me tightly.
Again, I can't react, not even when I feel him lean into me and his erection presses into my back while his mouth trails down my neck toward my shoulder. "Have you eaten? Sit. I will serve you." He insists.
I want to tell him to piss off, but I also don't want to be a jerk and risk making my captor mad. That seems like a bad idea.
"I got it. Take your leg off, I'll bring you dinner." I say instead.
I'm telling myself that I'm doing this because he's an amputee, that I can't take advantage of the small kindness he's offering when I am not disabled, but that feels wrong.
Is that wrong to say?
I don't know what's correct in these situations but it feels wrong to treat him differently because of his leg, it also feels wrong to treat him the same. I'm so confused about that. Like I'm sure he wants to be treated like a normal guy, but shouldn't I account for his comfort and his pain with his injury?
Wait, is it insensitive to insinuate that he's not a normal guy because of his leg?
Maybe I should ask?
No, shoot. I can't ask, he'll think I care about him.
Leon kisses my neck again and releases my hips from his hold. "I've got it, sit. I want to hear about your day." He insists.
What does he want to hear? That I stared at the wall for a solid hour after he left? That I saw a few deer in his yard and stared out the window half the day to see more? Or that I threw this dinner together in less than 30 minutes and it's the only productive thing I did today other than shower and shave?
Maybe he's just mocking me. He's mocking that he knows my day consisted of nothing since he's trapped me here with no friends and no entertainment.
I take a seat at the kitchen table, fidgeting with my hands until Leon comes back with two plates of my pasta.
He squeezes my shoulder while he heads back into the kitchen for drinks, bringing me water and himself what looks like liquor in a short glass with ice.
"What's that?" I ask curiously.
He takes a sip of his glass, sitting it down before pushing it over to me. "Bourbon. Would you like to try it?" He asks.
I stare down at the glass nervously. I've read that bourbon is gluten-free, but it's made with wheat and barley so I don't see how they can say that. I've read it has something to do with the distilling process. I don't know, but I'm too scared to trust it. "No.” I say quietly. I push the glass back to him, taking a sip of my water instead.
Leon nods, probably knowing why I said no. With the way his kitchen looks after I got sick, I'd say he researched a lot about celiac.
Leon and I eat in somewhat silence for a few minutes.
I just want to eat in peace and go to bed. It feels like that's all I do anymore is sleep and eat.
I liked living a simple, boring life before this, but now it feels like punishment. I feel like a child who's been grounded from everything.
"How was your day? What did you do?" He asks me about halfway through our meal.
I scoff, trying to hide the full out laugh. "Very exciting, I have a packed schedule." I say sarcastically. "What do you want me to say? I stare at the freaking walls half the day. I've read the same book like 14 times. Ooh, I watched a deer walk across your yard today. Exciting stuff." I say with a huff.
I genuinely feel like he's mocking me for not being able to do anything.
Leon sighs, reaching across the table and taking my hand. "Why are you so unhappy? I don't understand. All you did before was go to school and work, read, garden and watch TV. I bought you that reader tablet thing, I have every channel and streaming service available, I grew you a garden, and you have your textbooks." He asks.
I pick my head up, raising an eyebrow at him. "You bought me a reader?" I ask.
He simply nods. "Yes, petite fleur. It's in your nightstand, have you not noticed it?" He asks.
I shake my head and refuse to look at him, I hadn't noticed. I hadn't opened his nightstands. I didn't want to snoop.
"I'll help you set it up after dinner. Has nothing on TV interested you?" He asks next.
Now I feel kind of stupid. I stare down at my dinner, picking at a piece of onion with my fork. "I don't know how to use a fancy TV." I admit quietly.
Again, he sighs at me. Why does he always sigh? "I'll show you after dinner. You should have told me sooner, fleur. I want you to be happy." He says.
It feels genuine, but how can it be when I am a prisoner?
I want to tell him that I miss Shelby, but I don't.
Leon might have kidnapped me, but at least he cares about me.
The more I think about it, the more it feels like Shelby only wanted me for sex.
I don't know what Leon wants, but he seems to care more about me than Shelby ever did.