Page 54 of When Sinners Fall

He’s doing this for me.

I repeat the line over and over in my head, and it seeps into my chest, settling something.

He didn’t say he loved me.

But he did say that this is what love looked like for him.

Is it one in the same?

As I sit and think things through, there’s a warming sensation that spreads through my body at the thought of him going to these lengths for me.

He would kill to protect me. He already has.

And why is that playing to all of my darker urges and fantasies? Why does that make me feel powerful all of a sudden?

Maybe I need a shrink?

I look out of the window and note we’re back in the city and heading in the wrong direction to go back tomyhome.

“Do you have coffee at home?”

“Yes.”

“Do you haveenoughcoffee at home?” I try and make a joke, but his face is still so serious, like he’s less than happy about the events of the day and what he’s just said. I don’t ask him to stop so we can grab some, but then frown. What’s going to happen if I want to pop out for coffee? What are the rules in this new world I’ve suddenly been thrust into?

We arrive back at the apartment, and it’s a mess. The broken glass, furniture and remnants of the fight decorate the space. We’re both a little tentative as we walk through, and I head to the kitchen. It's the least destroyed, and right now, a distraction with caffeine might be needed.

“Coffee?” I ask.

He just sets about fixing a pot.

Roles seem to have reversed. It’s my turn to try and talk through this gulf, and he’s the one with the limited vocabulary. He at least makes a good coffee. I carry it around the apartment, looking at it this time with fresh eyes that are presumably trying to tell me that this space is now mine. Not in the literal sense, but it is where I’ll live according to ‘all in.’

Before the mess, it was a gorgeous apartment – masculine earthy and very Dante. Maybe I could have one of the bedrooms as a home office?

As I’ve wandered the rooms, he’s been lurking, like he’s waiting for me to say something or accept something, perhaps?

“When you said to stay here, you meant permanently, right?”

“Yes. I thought I was pretty fucking clear.”

“And is that the same order now? Just stay here?”

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

“Until I say so.”

“You abducted me from work. I’ll be perfectly safe there. You can even walk me or drop me off and collect me.”

“Not today.”

“Is there going to be a difference tomorrow?” I push, feeling claustrophobic by the sudden house arrest.

“I doubt it.”

“Dante!” I turn to face him. “You can’t lock me up.”