Page 16 of In You
My stomach grumbles. I nod reluctantly, suddenly realizing I'm starving. "Uhm…can I please have something other than fish? I'm allergic."
"Absolutely." His eyes tighten on mine before he turns and heads out of the hall. Once I'm sure he's gone, I walk as fast as I can back into the bathroom and lock the door. I place Tink on the floor, turn the shower on and then rip off my tank, aiming the spray so it doesn't hit me directly.
Using a hand towel set out on the little wire stool next to the bathtub, I wash and rinse, then wash and rinse, then wash my hair before washing and rinsing again.
The water goes cold, and I'm thoroughly tired, sunk to my butt in the tub, crying so hard I feel sick.
Ugly, big fat tears fall down my face to mix with the water, and even Tink poking her head through the shower curtain isn't enough to help right now.
I'm scrubbing myself raw, desperate to be free of the Captor's scent, and sweat.
"I'm clean," I whimper, shivering on the floor of the tub, rocking back and forth as I rub the towel repeatedly between my legs. "I'm clean. I'm clean. I'm clean."
Tink tucked under my arm, I take a deep breath and then timidly step into the living room with my bare feet. My skin burns because I've just about scrubbed it off.
There's a roaring fireplace, and the bull horns cast long shadows across the wall and ceilings.
The throw pillows on the two leather couches are plump and look like they've been chopped into submission.
The end tables are free of dust, and the window to the left of the fireplace is cracked a few inches, letting the fall breeze flicker through the sheer curtains.
A loud clunk, followed by a bit-off curse brings my attention to the archway beyond the couches.
I walk a little further in, following my nose.
A six burner stove is roaring with three pans going, it looks like.
Something spits in a cast iron skillet, and I see a plume of steam rising off a tall stainless steel pot.
Caleb walks back quickly in my line of sight, grabbing up the skillet and then busies himself taking grease out using a spoon.
I stay back in the shadows of the threshold, just watching him. He's so big it's nerve wracking.
Visions of Calvin laying in a pool of blood come to the forefront of my mind's eye, causing me to bite my lip and then take a hesitant step back.
My eyes shoot to the opened back door right off the kitchen.
A screen door keeps the bugs out. The sun is setting, the last of the rays barely making its way through the trees to pool on the meadowy grass outside.
Fruit litters the ground under a couple of them.
It looks so normal here. I can hardly believe this man killed Calvin.
Stepping into the kitchen, I peek down into the trash can, seeing a mess of baked fish and rice thrown in.
The liner is yanked up as if he was in the middle of taking out the trash and then something distracted him.
My eyes go back to where Caleb stands, and I stay silent as he picks up another steaming pan and pours what looks like mushrooms and gravy over whatever is in the cast iron skillet, before popping it in the oven. It smells amazing in here.
He takes a rag and then wets it in the sink before wiping down the counters.
His muscles ripple as he works. His body is free of the black button down shirt, now leaving just a form fitting black t-shirt.
I spot my name on the medicine bottle on the cabinet and grab it. Realizing I can't open it, I clear my throat softly, looking up through my lashes as he turns to look over his shoulder. When our eyes lock his flicker to the bottle in my hand, then back to me. I hold it out to him wordlessly.
When he turns completely to face me, I lose my nerve and then place it hastily on the counter before backing away almost completely out the kitchen.
Trembling, I press my lips to Tink's fur and then watch him warily as he opens the bottle, takes out one pill, then places it on the counter next to a bottle of water which he opens.
Placing the water down too, he backs all the way to the stove then turns his back to me, grabbing a strainer from a cabinet above and then placing it in the sink.
I walk forward just as he's grabbing the big stainless steel pot off the stove and then pop the pill in my mouth quickly just as he's pouring it into the strainer.
Big chunks of boiled potato fall out with the water, and then he unceremoniously puts it back in the pot, putting the strainer in the dishwasher.
Sniffing, I catch the scent of bleach. Looking down at the floor, I arch a brow at the fading streaks of water and the mop and bucket near the basement door. Man's a neat freak.
I stand silently as right there in the sink he pours in a bit of cream to the pot, adds a stick of butter followed by some seasonings, and begins to mash the potatoes with a fork. No masher.
"Are you tired, Tamryn?" he asks softly, turning his head to look at me.
I wet my lips nervously at his hawkish brown eyes, shifting my weight from foot to foot. "Not really. The shower helped wake me up."
He nods. When he's done mashing, he reaches into a drawer and pulls out a little spoon, dipping it in and then handing it to me.
Twisting my lips, I slide my eyes to his, feeling timid.
It takes ten heartbeats length of time before he sets it on the counter and then puts the pot back on the stove, keeping his back to me.
"Go sit at the table, make yourself comfy," he murmurs, grabbing the cast iron skillet out of the oven then takes it to the little round table that's caddy corner. I'm a little shocked to see we aren't using the formal dining room. I know he has one, I saw a glimpse of it.
Keeping Tink in my arm, I grab the spoon and sit on the cushion, watching as he sets the bubbling dish on the center of the table.
I hum in pleasure as I taste the potatoes, keeping my eyes on the stove.
As luck would have it, he made my favorite meal; smothered pork chops.