Julius settled on the side of the bed. It dipped slightly at my hip where he sat. “Nothing to be embarrassed about. Being hungry is a perfectly natural thing.”
I knew it was natural. It was my normal state of being. I lived hand to mouth, and God knew, they didn’t feed me often after I’d been caught. They’d left me starving most of the time. Had done it to control me.
I tried to sit up on the pillows, but my arms wouldn’t pull me up. My muscles trembled, protesting with the effort. “Just lie back. I’ll feed you.”
“I can do it.” I hated to be this feeble. I had to be strong to survive. My life depended on it, and I was shocked to my core to discover I really was at the mercy of another person.
“Katia, you are very weak. Your body has taken a huge beating. Let me feed you. Build your strength. There are protein enhancers in the food to help your body recover, but if you try to sit up and feed yourself, you’ll most probably spill everything over the bed. We can try if you want to, but I’d much rather the food get into your stomach than on the sheets.”
“Does anyone else know I’m here?”
He shook his head, “Just the people who saw you at the hospital. They won’t tell anyone you’re here.”
“Can you trust them?” From my experience, trust was blind.
“Yes. You’re safe here.”
Experience had taught me that being safe and trust were only a matter of opinion, but I sipped the soup from the spoon he held to my mouth and flavor erupted on my tongue. Flavors burst in my mouth, and I realized I was absolutely famished. He chuckled, a nice sound, before holding anther spoon to my lips.
“How was I asleep for so long?”
“You were in a state of suspended animation. Quite miraculously, really. Your heart rate was very low, one beat per minute, your respiration almost undetectable. There was a series of drugs in your system that kept your brain active. They managed to shut down your organs without deterioration.”
“How did you wake me up?”
“There’s a new drug I’m working on for people who are in a coma. It works to reset their system to a waking state. In effect, the body forgets it was in that deep sleep state so that the brain can work to wake.”
“Is that why you woke me up? Because you’re a coma doctor?”
There were fine lines around his eyes when he smiled, but they didn’t age him. They just made it look as though he smiled often, and I liked that. It made me relax a little more. “Yes. That’s my area of expertise.”
“I didn’t know that could be done. The world is so different now,” I said, my words a little slurred because I was becoming drowsy.
“It has changed, but I’ll help you find your place in it, Katia.”
“Why would you ... do that?”
Before I knew it, he was scraping the bottom of the bowl. My stomach was warm and satisfied. Heaviness tugged at my eyes, drawing the lids closed.
“Sleep, Katia. I’ll be here when you wake up, and I’ll answer more of your questions.”
The next few days were a blur of sleep, rest, and eating. Julius was nothing but kind and gentle with me. I looked for cracks, wondering why the hell he would do this for me. Why me? What had I done to warrant this attention, this thoughtfulness? He had provided a sanctuary for me, and for that, I would be forever grateful.
Alongside the medical attention, he would speak to me, make me calm. He never brought up anything about my scars or the pathetic heap he’d found in my bathroom. I’d learned not to show emotion, and I’d gone and shown him my greatest weakness of all.
All I could do was trust as it was now, keep my guard up, no matter how tempting it was to simply accept Julius for what he was—a kind and caring doctor. Maybe my past was just too tainted for me to ever fully relax, but that was a demon I was more than willing to embrace if it kept me alive. Whatever this situation was, I had no choice but to accept it for the moment. I would be selfish. I would use him and allow myself to heal.
• • •
Her poor hand was already a bloodied, battered stump. There was only one finger left on her right hand. It stood out at an obscene angle, all broken one by one before they’d started cutting them off. Heather was barely conscious. Her eyes so badly beaten that she was effectively blind from the swelling. Victor splayed his fingers through her hair pulling her head back from where it had fallen forward. Tears ran silently down her cheeks.
“Look at her, Katia. You’re doing this to her. Do you enjoy torturing your friend?”
“Just stop. Please.” My teeth had started to chatter as adrenaline spiked through my blood. My knees buckled, and I slid down the wall. The restraints at my wrists prevented me from slipping to the floor, so I hung there, feeling the bite of pain as blood slid from my hands. I didn’t care. It was nothing to what Heather had endured.
I closed my eyes, but a slap on my cheek had my mind reeling and my eyes snapping open. “You’ll watch what you’re doing. You’ll see everything that we do because this is your fault, Katia. All. Your. Fault. It’s so easy for this to finish. Do what you were built to do. Show me your power. Open the restraints. Help your friend.”
I shook my head, pain bubbled up from my chest into my throat. I didn’t want to cry in front of them, but I couldn’t stop the tears from flooding my eyes. “Stop this. Please stop this. My thought-energy. It isn’t strong enough to do anything.”
“Only you can stop this, Katia.”
Victor placed Heather’s poor broken hand onto the bench. Four bloodless fingers sat on top in a pool of blood. Heather stiffened, a pathetic high-pitched sound came from her throat. She tried to pull her arm back, but the guard pushed her wrist onto the bench with his massive hands. Victor positioned the knife over the last remaining finger.
“Last chance, Katia. Just stop me. That’s all you have to do.”
“Don’t you do it, Katia! Don’t you dare!” Heather cried.
“Heather. I can stop this. Please. I can stop this! Just let me do this for you!”
“But then it will never end. Don’t you see it will only get worse. He won’t just stop with me. You know that.” Victor backhanded Heather across her face. She slumped to the side, groggy. But her eyes never left mine, and I held on to that connection, every muscle in my body tensed so hard it began to cramp.
“Have it your way, then!” Victor said. The crack of bone severing was a gunshot in the room. And I knew just how insane Victor had become.
I sat up, sweating and gasping for air like I’d run a marathon. My limbs were tangled in the sheets, my skin hot and sticky. I waited for the usual nausea to pass, then concentrated on breathing. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, holding my head in my hands, trying to scrape away the nightmare from my mind. Finally, I lifted my head and blinked myself back to the moment, trying to ignore the heavy press of guilt that weighed me down.
There was a pile of clothes neatly folded at the end of the bed. I stood, surprised that my feet were so much better in only a handful of days. I slid my palm over the clothes. They were soft, warm, and felt comfortable. I picked up the top article. A long-sleeved pullover. It was clearly expensive and well made. The design was exquisite. I put it to my cheek and could feel my skin sighing. So soft. I could hardly wait to put it all on. I slipped out of the robe and quickly dressed in pants, socks, an undergarment, and the pullover. The pullover hung over my stomach and I had to pull the waist of the pants with a belt. But they were clean and nice. I actually felt human.
He’d clearly gotten them for me. Had thought of me. It was almost too hard for me to accept them, but I clearly couldn’t go walking around naked, or dressed in pajamas, so I stifled any discomfort about his gift and promised to thank him.
I looked about the bedroom. His space. It was the first time I’d been strong enough to take it all in. The room was comfortable, if not disheveled. No wonder really. He’d been glued to my side since all this madness began. Clothes were piled in a heap on the floor. Books, on
e opened on top of an untidy stack, were on a low table next to the bed. Next to the books was a glowing transparent lamp that threw soft light around the room.
On one wall were large semi translucent doors. One was ajar, and I saw clothes peeking through the gap. Shirts, jackets, pants. The usual assortment of male garments. I felt the sleeve of one of his shirts between his fingertips. It smelled of him. That spicy masculine scent that wove inside me to places I’d long since ignored.
I trailed my hand on the top of the dresser made from dark, polished wood. Several photo frames were set atop. The last frame was face down.
Julius was in a few of them. I picked up one, studying it. He had his arm thrown casually around the shoulders of a beautiful woman. In the photo, he was smiling and looked happy. He wasn’t looking at the camera; he was looking at her.
Next I picked up the frame that had been set down. It was a picture of a little girl with dark hair, rounded cheeks, and a pink pursed mouth. She was laughing and moving around so much that the drink she held was spilling over the edge of the cup. She was at a party. I saw a colorful number five printed on a balloon in the corner of the photo. Her fifth birthday? A friend’s? A frown puckered my brow. I wondered why it was set face down. Such a gorgeous, vibrant photo. Such an innocent child.
I traced her face with my fingertip, my mouth tugged with a returning smile. She was such a gorgeous child. I wished I’d been there that day with her. A feeling of regret washed over me. Maybe it was because I wished I had been that little girl, laughing so freely, so happily when the photograph had been taken. Maybe it was because I liked looking at her while she was laughing. As though it eased my soul, knowing that somewhere, at some time, a little girl had a carefree, loving childhood.
Or maybe it was because I’d never have a child myself. Could never offer a child a life like that. Not living the way I was. Not being who I was. I’d be too deluded to think I’d ever have a chance as precious as that.
I placed the photo back down, battling the hollowness that had settled inside me. My childhood had been ripped away from me. I’d often fantasized about having a child of my own and being able to offer her everything I’d missed out on. We could have a childhood together. Discover things, live and laugh. I would share my time, and she would show me how to love. And I knew I’d never ever leave her. And I knew, without sharing that type of love, I’d always be empty with nothing to give of myself. Like I was now and had been for years. I wasn’t even sure if I knew how to be anything else anymore.
The house was silent. I hesitated at the bedroom door. I hadn’t ventured outside of this room since I’d been here. I’d just been in a cycle of eating and rest, my body fighting to recover.
I walked out of the bedroom and entered a tidy living area. The furniture was understated, designed with the same flowing lines as the dresser in his bedroom and built with the same deep, polished wood as the dresser in the bedroom. The room was decorated in neutral, warm grays with touches of color in a picture on the wall and a white glass vase on a bench. There was a low couch along one wall with matching armchairs on either side. A blanket was folded up at one end of the couch. His pillow at the other end. I traced the indent his head had made with my fingertip. The couch didn’t look long enough for his tall frame. He must be so uncomfortable because I’d taken him out of his bed.
A dark wood wall table was placed beneath a window with the blinds drawn. Soft light filtered around the edges. Opposite the couch was an open wall with a large white shiny screen mounted on it that took up most of the wall space.
“Julius?”
There was no answer. I wandered down a hallway. There was another bathroom, this one slightly larger and housing what I recognized as a bathtub. There was a closed door at the end. I pressed the door, which swung open easily to a bedroom of soft pink walls and polished white furniture. There were toys on some shelving, dolls with princess dresses, teddy bears, and some others I didn’t recognize at all. The bed was neatly made and pink. Frilly little pillows were artfully piled on top, waiting for a little girl to toss them to the floor.
This was strange. I was under the impression Julius lived alone, yet clearly a little girl lived here, or maybe she only came for visits. Maybe since I’d been here, Julius hadn’t had her here.
I heard a clatter from the living area. I quickly closed the door and stepped back into the lounge room. Sounds came from the kitchen, and I peeked around the door frame to see Julius chopping up vegetables in the most technologically advanced kitchen I had seen in my life. The stove, oven, and sink were designed with clean, flowing lines. I could identify a cylindrical kettle with steam twirling from the spout. Other appliances I could also identify. A toaster, rectangular in shape and made from a gleaming charcoal metal, still had two slits for bread. It was good to know sliced bread was still available. There was an oven with a clear glass window, but that was where the similarities ended. To one side of the window was a complicated series of blue squares and blinking lights, some blue, others white and red, having some meaning I couldn’t determine from looking at them.
“You were out?”
Julius glanced up, his face easing into a quick smile that made my heart flutter. “I thought you’d still be asleep.”
“Where were you?”
He hesitated, a pause so short it was almost imperceptible. “I just went out to get some food for us. How are you feeling?” I let it go, not wanting to cause an issue.
I shrugged, “I’m feeling much better, thank you. I’m really not used to sleeping so much. Well, not before I slept for a century anyway.”
“It’s good to see you up and about. Sit down.”
I sunk onto one of the stools that lined the island bench. I noticed glowing blue energy panels were set into a glass backsplash, like others set throughout the house. I knew that they opened and closed, but other than that, they were a mystery. I pointed to one, “What do those things actually do?”
“They are control panels. That one’s for the kitchen. You can turn any appliance on or off. Look.” He pressed a part of the closest panel, which lit beneath his finger tip, and the kettle started to boil. He swiped his finger across the panel, and the lights above the island bench he stood at blinked on. “Of course, you can just use voice technology if you have dirty hands. Fridge.” At his word, the door to the refrigerator opened. I hadn’t even noticed it as the front matched the white of the cupboards. I breathed in some relief as I recognized apples and various vegetables on the shelves. “Close.” The door closed with a quiet tap of the cushioned seal.
“Oven,” I said. The door to the oven slid sideways, revealing silver shelves. There was a hum as it started heating. “I didn’t mean to turn it on!” I said, now nervous I’d somehow wrecked his appliance.
“It’s okay. It starts when the door opens and automatically corrects the heat temperature when you place the food inside.”
“You mean I don’t have to set the temperature?”
“I have to admit, it does make cooking easy.”
Vegetables scattered around the gunmetal stone bench tops. A delicious smell came from a pot on the stove. Saliva flowed into my mouth like a river. “I hope you like pumpkin soup.”
He’d cooked. For me. I nodded, finding my polite tongue. “I do.”
Julius spooned some soup into a bowl and set it on the table where another bowl was already steaming. He looked different out of his doctor’s scrubs. A black T-shirt stretched tightly over his biceps sloping to a smooth stomach. It was tucked into straight-leg dove-gray pants that molded to his lean, toned thighs.
Suddenly, this was way too personal, way too close. I sat so still in the chair. This was out of my realm of experience, sitting in a kitchen with a man I was getting to more than just notice.
“Eat, Katia. I’m sure you’re hungry.”
I scooped some soup and closed my eyes at the taste. It was so much better than the scraps I normally ate on the run. And even better knowing he
’d cooked it. For me. I put my fingertips to my lips. “Hmm.”
I opened my eyes to find him chuckling. “At least I know you’re going to love my chicken no matter how badly I cook it.”
“Do you often go out of your way to cook a chicken badly?”
He looked at me, brow raised, spoon halfway from the bowl to his mouth. Surprise had him in its grip. To my complete amazement, I smiled. I didn’t know I had it in me to make even half a joke. His mouth tipped, and he chuckled. I bit my lower lip and drew my attention back to the soup, fighting to stop smiling, but it felt so dammed good to at least feel lighthearted for a little while.
I peeked at him as I dipped my spoon into the soup. “Thank you for these clothes. They are lovely.”
He nodded, the humor escaping his face to be replaced with deep sadness. Then anger flashed.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you,” I said.
He half smiled. When he returned his gaze to me, the anger had disappeared. “You don’t offend me. They are my wife’s clothes.”
I was stunned. I didn’t expect him to be married. I was surprised when a wave of jealousy slapped me. Immediately, I swatted the emotion aside. I had no right to feel that way. He had a right to a life, friends, a wife. I wondered where she might be, why I hadn’t seen her already, considering I was in his house. In his bed.
“She’s not here.”
“Oh.”
“She’s ... not going to be here. She died five years ago.”
I’d overstepped my boundaries. Pushed him to a place that he clearly didn’t want to go. “I’m ... sorry to hear that.”
“At least her clothes are being worn. I kept them all. Didn’t know what to do with them, really. Then when I brought you here, well, what better use. I’m glad I can give them to you. You just have a bit of filling out to do.”
“What do you mean, all this time?”
He paused. “She left me years ago, but I never got around to removing her clothes.”
The lady in the photo. The one he looked so lovingly at. Why else would it be in his bedroom? I wondered what it might feel like to be on the end of a look like that. From him.
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