Chapter 4

Is it crazy to feel sorry for having shouted at my captor? For feeling that he was very generous to me, giving me so many books when I had been so horrible to him? For feeling grateful that the frown was gone before he left? These thoughts make me stop when I open the first book, but I force them to the back of my mind. I did more than enough thinking these past hours, now it's time for some reading.

I find myself just as engrossed in 'The Neverending Story' as I was the first time I ever read it. I forget everything around me as I tear through page after page.

Yet I still seem to suffer from lack of sleep, as one moment I'm reading, the next I find myself jerking awake, cheek resting on the open book.

Great. First I complain I need something to do, and when I do, I fall asleep...

It must be after noon--I've been reading quite a lot and I also feel quite refreshed, so I must have had a good sleep. I set the book down on top of the pile I made of the others, open pages facing down so I can easily find where I stopped. As I sit up, my eyes scan the apartment, and stop at the door to the other room, slightly ajar. Seeing Kevin in profile, without glasses and holding a shirt in his hand, I realize that his features remind me of classical Greek statues and Pre-Raphaelite paintings. Before my inner voice can swear at me for checking him out, Kevin turns away, and my mouth literally falls open as I stare at his back... pale skin riddled with scars, just like the backs of his arms.

He hears my gasp and whirls around, obviously mortified. I'm so sickened by what I saw that I have difficulty to find my voice. Kevin moves to shut the door, but finally I manage to force words past the lump in my throat. "Who did this to you?"

He stares at me, standing frozen, hand on the doorknob. I rise from the cot and walk closer to the bars, then turn. With shaking hands I brush my hair forward over my right shoulder, then undo the lacings at the front of my corset and lower it, showing Kevin my own back... riddled with scars, faint now, but still there.

An unexpected gentle touch sends shivers down my spine and almost brings tears to my eyes. I never allowed anyone to see or touch these scars--never let my clients embrace me or fuck me from behind when my back is naked--but somehow this is different, because he knows. I release a deep breath, almost a sigh, I didn't know I was holding; the fingers withdraw quickly, as if I burned them.

Fighting down a whirlwind of emotions, I concentrate on lacing up my corset before I turn to face Kevin. His hands are gripping two bars so hard that his knuckles are white, and I expect the iron to break any moment.

"My parents... both of them," I explain, finding the hatred and pain still there, even though I haven't seen or heard from them in years. I don't even know if they are still alive.

Kevin looks at me, and nods.

"Where are they?" I ask softly, an image flashing through my mind.

A figure, hunched over... bodies?

"Dead," is the whispered answer, and the look in his eyes confirms my suspicion. I find that I can't blame him.

"This..." I gesture to indicate the cell, "This is where they... kept you?" At least mine kept me in a golden cage, I think bitterly, Cold comfort as it was to me.

Kevin lowers his eyes; on an impulse I cover his hand with mine, earning a surprised look from him.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, quickly turning to stand in front of the cot, hugging myself. I'm not quite sure what I'm apologizing for, or if I'm crying for Kevin or myself... or both of us.

After a while I can hear the door to the other room close, and Kevin doesn't emerge for a long while. We are both quiet and withdrawn the rest of the evening.

Later when I sleep, the angelic voice I had dreamed of that first night sings to me of solace and comfort.

*************

The next day I don't ask if he will let me go or what he wants with me. Instead I find myself telling Kevin about my family, and how I ended up in Basin City. He doesn't speak a single word, but I know he listens intently--more intently than anyone has ever listened to me. It feels strangely releasing.

He watches me as I eat, and I find that I don't mind, despite his intense stare. After he comes back from wherever he always goes during the day, Kevin indicates I should read to him from 'The Neverending Story', and so I do. He sits on the floor outside my cage cross-legged, back against the bars, unmoving for the longest time. I read until my voice grows hoarse, and he brings me a glass of water before turning off the light and retreating to the other room for the night.

Again the Angel sings in my dreams.

*************

I'm starting to miss him when he's gone. It's crazy, but I do. Somehow I got used to Kevin's presence, even if I can hardly ever hear him move about, even if he doesn't utter a single word the whole day.

I don't know what to think of him. On the one hand I know he murdered his parents--But that is hardly inexcusable. If I had had more guts, who knows... I shake my head and steer my thoughts back to my present concern: Kevin, who on the one hand is a murderer, but on the other hand seems to be a gentle, kind young man.

Oh yes, a gentle, kind young man who likes to carve words in others' skin. Maybe he's only waiting for the right moon phase to kill you, my inner voice pipes up.

I shake my head. That's crazy. I ended up here by chance, not because he abducted me for some ritual involving human sacrifices.

So? Maybe you two just met at the right moment. Or the wrong one, depending on the perspective.

And maybe he's a reincarnation of Buddha. So what? He's too strong for me and I don't have anything I can use as a weapon, so I'll not drive myself crazy with the Ten Most Horrible Theories about What Kevin Could Have Planned for Me!

I can almost see the sneer. No, instead you drive yourself crazy with fantasies...

Shut the fuck up! Just because I'm... I sigh in frustration. I don't think he ever had anyone who understood him, or really cared about him. I want to help him, that's all.

Ignoring the laughter in my head, I pick up the next book on the pile--'The Borgias'--and try to read.

*************