Page 73 of Reckoning

“Who said that?” I ask calmly. Even now I’ve not raised my voice. If she wants to scream, if she wants to fight, if she needs to sate her anger on me, then fine, I’ll be that person, I’ll let her vent, I’ll let her purge. It’ll only make her depend upon me more.

“The therapist they make me see.” She spits the words. “He delighted in going through it all, wanting to know how I felt, wanting to psychoanalyse me like I’m a bloody lab rat.”

“Yeah?” I reply. “And you didn’t put him in his place?” Oh I see the need for a therapist, the need for a counsellor, for some people they work wonders, but for me talking was not going to fix my trauma, fighting was far effective than talking ever was. And by the looks of it it’s not helping Sofia all that much.

She jerks her chin, looking up at me and those beautiful dark eyes flash. “Maybe I did a few times.”

I can’t help the chuckle. She’s like a raging animal that doesn’t know how to control all the anger inside her and that’s why she keeps exploding. Maybe after tonight she’ll have a better outlet, one that truly eases her soul.

I turn back to the food, giving her a moment to recollect herself and she slips back onto that same barstool.

When I put the plate in front of her, I expect her to react, to visually respond but she just stares at it before picking up her fork and begins to poke.

I pick my own up, scooping up some grilled peppers and make a point of focusing on that.

“He…” She gulps, stabbing a bit of chicken. “He used to keep me chained up.” She says so quietly. “He didn’t feed me much but when he did it was in a bowl. A dog bowl. Half the time I think it was actual dog food he gave me and they’d all be there, laughing…”

She stammers most of it out, like she’s confessing her sins and not someone else’s. My eyes snap to her, seeing the way her eyes are down, the way her hand trembles. She looks like she’s on the verge of a panic attack.

“…I used to only eat when I absolutely had to and then, after the drugs, I stopped caring.”

“That’s why you don’t eat around others?” I reply softly.

She shrugs. “It feels too intimate, it feels too personal. Maybe he fucked with my head too much and I can’t separate it.”

I reach across, taking her hand and squeeze it. “Your head just needs a little time.”

She bites her lip, “Maybe,” She shrugs. “But them spiking my food hasn’t helped either.”

“That won’t happen anymore.” I state. “No one can get near you now. Everything is checked, everything is tested.”

Her eyes widen. “Seriously?”

I give her a grim smile. “I learnt from Darius. I won’t make any mistakes, have any weak points that allow our enemies to strike.”

She stares at me for a moment, as if she’s trying to see the lie in my words and then she turns her head, focuses on the chicken still impaled on her fork and slowly, almost delicately she takes a bite.

Koen

Igave her some space after we ate. Maybe she’s unpacking her things, maybe she’s just clearing her headspace.

But I wanted her to have that, a few hours, some time before I took her down.

When I tap on her door, technically my door, she’s quick to open it. She’s got a bright, fake smile, like she hasn’t just been crying her eyes out or something and is trying to cover it.

“Are you ready?” I ask.

She nods, folding her arms, clearly trying to put on some show of bravado. I know I could call this off, give her a few more days, weeks even but what good would that do? No, I promised her this, I’m going to deliver.

She follows silently after me. The house is empty apart from a few guards and they’re smart enough to keep their eyes forward as we pass by.

I open the heavy set door and Sofia’s gasp echoes down the stark, unlit stairwell.

“It’s a good few stories.” I murmur, hoping this doesn’t freak her out.

“You could have sorted the lighting.” She replies.

My lips turn into a smirk as I flick the switch and bright, fluorescent strips illuminate the space. “Good enough for you, princess?”