Chapter 11 #2
It looks so soft...
So comfortable.
My tired body almost surrenders to the idea of curling up there. Maybe a few hours of rest wouldn't hurt. Just enough for me to regain my strength... and get out of here.
"I didn't have time to prepare much for your arrival, but we have the essentials," he says as he enters the house, still carrying me in his arms.
He's the type who talks to pets. My mind races with this realisation.
It would be lovely... if I were just an ordinary kitten.
But I'm not.
I don't want conversations. The less he talks to me, the less I'll know about his life.
Isn't that how victims have a better chance of surviving?
The thought of him discovering the truth about me makes my stomach churn. I can't let that happen. If I know too much about him, things I shouldn't, and then he finds out what I really am...
No, I won't let it get to that point.
I take a deep breath, forcing my instincts to calm down.
The best plan? Pretend. I'm just a cat. A harmless, carefree little creature that doesn't arouse suspicion.
So I do what a tame cat would do. I purr softly, almost hesitantly, and lay my head on his bicep. The firm muscle feels like a warm rock against my face, but I can't think about that now. I just keep the gesture natural, non-threatening, all calculated.
He stops walking.
I feel the slight adjustment of his body and know he's watching me. My heart races. In the position I'm in, I can't see him, and I don't know if that's a blessing or a curse. He says nothing, the silence prolonging my agony.
"From fierce to purring in a matter of minutes. I'm starting to think you like me more than you want to admit, kitten."
Is that provocation I hear in your voice?
I'm surprised, but the absurdity of his words and his arrogance almost make me hiss and show my claws.
However, behind my indignation, a wave of relief washes over me.
I'm out of danger.
He starts walking again and I force myself to observe the place, I need to understand where I am and find ways to escape from here.
To the left, the room connects to a kitchen lit by warm light streaming down from hanging lamps.
The light wood of the cabinets shines softly, contrasting with the dark and imposing central counter.
The space is rustic, but with a discreet sophistication, almost as if it had been designed to seduce me.
On the floor, at the foot of the counter, two pet pots catch my attention: one empty and the other with water bubbling in a small fountain.
Just looking at it makes my mouth dry.
Stars in the sky, when was the last time I had a drink?
On the right, a wooden staircase leads to the upper floor. Next to it is a space converted into a home office, with a simple desk, a chair on wheels, and some papers stacked in perfect order. Between the staircase and the office, there is a half-open door, and that is where he is taking me.
"This bathroom is yours alone. I use the one upstairs, in my suite," he says casually.
The bathroom is small but tidy. My eyes move quickly, taking in the details: the sink with shiny metal taps, the impeccably clean toilet, and on the floor between the two, a litter tray stares back at me like an affront.
My face contorts in pure horror, and a wave of humiliation hits me like a punch in the stomach.
Does he expect me to use that?
The idea is so absurd that I can hardly process it.
I meow, a strangled sound of disbelief.
Of course he expects it.
To him, I'm just a cat.
But there's no way I'm going to wear that. Maybe I can hold out until tomorrow. By then, I'll have escaped from here for sure.
I need to find Luther. Only he can help me.
But my body is exhausted and my energy is drained. If I try to run now, I'll end up passing out on the way.
Mark returns to the living room and puts me in the pet bed, his movements too gentle for a man like him.
A sigh escapes me without my being able to contain it. It's really soft and comfortable, and I feel like curling up there and taking a nap.
Then he crouches down in front of me, his eyes locking with mine, and the silence that ensues is almost suffocating. My throat is dry; I swallow hard, trying to understand what is happening.
I don't move. I don't know how to react. My whole body is tense.
He remains there, watching. Staring at me. As if he expects something from me, something I have no idea what it is.
My heart feels like it's going to explode, and my lack of reaction only prolongs the moment. I hold my breath to endure the discomfort, he sighs, his broad shoulders rising and falling slowly.
Then Mark stands up, and his frown seems too dangerous for me to look at directly.
It's sensual, yes, but dangerous.
His jaw is firm, his muscles tense. He runs his hands through his blond hair, pulling it back, and the movement makes his biceps look even bigger.
"You must be hungry. I'll prepare your food and be right back."
I just blink, unable to make a sound.
He holds my gaze for another moment, his eyes golden, like molten gold, so hot they make my skin burn. Then he presses his lips together and turns his back on me.
Finally, air returns to my lungs.
Where on earth have I got myself into?