Page 25 of Reckoning

“I’ll be ten minutes.” I say, getting up and disappearing, because the need to rinse my mouth out is overwhelming me.

* * *

We traipsefrom one house to the next. I don’t know what exactly I’m looking for, it’s not like I have a ‘dream house list’ or anything, but I guess I expected to feel something, to walk through the doors, and get a sense that one of these overpriced monstrosities felt like a home.

Only none of them did.

They were all too fancy, too fussy, too somebody else.

In the end, I settle on the most basic of them simply to be done with it. Ben side-eyes me as I fill in the paperwork and I can see he knows this house is merely a stop-gap, a temporary solution, just as the penthouse suite had been.

Luckily, it’s fully furnished so I don’t have to worry about fitting it out. The entire space is a mix of off-white, black and beige, as if the interior designers forgot that they had an entire rainbow worth of colours to work with. When I point that out, Ben is more than eager to suggest how we can brighten it up and, if only to stop him from ordering an shop worth of scatter cushions, I ask him to take me back to the hotel, to help me pack what little belongings I have and make this official.

By the time we get back, Roman has already sorted out what seems like an entire army of guards.

They stand, two abreast, either sides of the gate and as we drive through it feels like they’re even suspicious of me.

I don’t have any kitchen items. I don’t have any real belongings beyond my clothes and I dump them in the walk-in closet, leaving them in the bags because unpacking them feels like far too much energy.

Ben loiters.

He produces mugs from god knows where and makes us coffee. Perhaps Roman left me a care package, emergency supplies, bread, milk, eggs, that sort of thing. If he did then Ben was the one who put them away.

When I walk into the kitchen, it feels stark, clinical. The white polished marble countertops gleam. The oven looks like something worthy of a Michelin star chef. A flash of guilt hits me because I doubt this place will be used for anything more than cheese toasties and takeaways – although now I’m worried about eating even those. Would someone go so far as to poison that? I doubt it would take long before whoever is behind this realises I’m no longer at the hotel. In fact, I suspect they’re already more than aware. They probably had eyes on the place, probably watched every move I made, every time I left, every time I returned, maybe they even had someone on the inside, taking note of every order for room service.

I chill runs down my spine. Was I really that stupid? To put myself in such a vulnerable position?

“You okay?” Ben asks.

I sigh, looking at him. “Fine.” I reply.

He narrows his eyes, seeing the obvious lie but like always he doesn’t call me out on it.

“What do you want to do about dinner? We could order pizza?” He says.

Food. It’s always food. That’s my biggest weakness, isn’t it? If I didn’t need to eat, if my body could go without, then I’d be in a far safer position.

“Pizza is good.” I state, feigning the enthusiasm I used to have. Pizza used to be my favourite. I used to live off it.

Ben disappears off, no doubt to talk to the guards and sort it out. In my head I figure I’ve got at least one days reprieve, one day of risk-free meals beforetheyfigure out where I am.

When he comes back he has a bottle in his hand, champagne no less, and he pops it while stating we should celebrate my newfound independence. I smile, I nod, I take the glass he hands me and I force down the drink because it’s Ben, because he’s trying to be kind, to be considerate and to refuse him now would be an insult.

The bubbles catch in my throat. The taste is far too sweet and it makes that feeling of nausea multiply.

When the food arrives I’m grateful to actually line my stomach but I still only manage a few slices.

Ben chats away merrily, he fills the empty room with that bright optimistic charm of his that I both admire and hate.

The house came with a huge cinema room. It seems ridiculous to have such a thing when I’m going to be living alone but for anyone else, such a place would be a luxury. Ben declares we should try it out and we end up, sprawled on the floor, with the pizza boxes around us, watching some action movie that I barely pay attention to.

I feel exhausted.

I feel drained.

I feel like days ago I had some sense of control – when I burned the house down, I felt like an avenging angel, I felt powerful, untouchable even. But now, now I feel like I’m back to me, the scared, fearful creature Otto created.

I don’t mean to cry. I don’t even realise I’m doing it until one silent tear becomes two. Until I’m silently sobbing.