“Have you thought about college anymore?” I ask him. It’s a touchy subject for him. He’s caught between what he wants to do with his life and what his father wants him to do. I’ll support him no matter what he chooses, as long as he chooses it for himself. Not for me, not for his father, not for anyone else but himself.
He continues caressing my leg as he thinks about his response. After a moment, he clears his throat, “Yeah, I have.”
I lean forward and turn to face him, “And?”
“Remember when you told me I could turn the opportunity with my dad into something good?”
“Yes?” I ask hoping for good news.
“Well, I think you’re right,” he says. He hasn’t looked at me yet. His eyes are trained on the water behind me and glazed over. He’s caught between two worlds right now, but his grip is holding onto my thigh, keeping him leveled.
“But?” I ask. It’s pretty clear to me that he’s not finished. There is something else he wants to say.
He laughs and he finally looks at me, “How do you know me better than I know myself?”
“The same way you know me. We are a part of each other. Now stop trying to change the subject. Tell me what you’ve decided.”
“Okay, okay. I think you’re right, but I just don’t think it’s for me. I’ve had a few scouts express interest. Coach thinks I have a good shot at going pro. I kind of want to see what happens.”
I look into his eyes and search his heart. If this is what he truly wants, then I’ll support him. Always. “And your dad?”
He sighs. “I’m going to tell him.”
“You know he won’t accept it that easily. You’re going to have to fight for it,” I say as I reach for his face and place my palm across his cheek. “Are you ready for it?”
He meets my eyes with determination. “With you at my side? I’m ready for anything.”
My neck hurts. Hell, my whole body hurts. And I’m hungry. Thankfully I’m sitting on a toilet or that could have gone wrong too.
Marcus appears in the doorway. He reaches for the top of the doorframe, holding himself up as he looks in on me. The evil glint has diminished a bit, but I’m not fooled. It’s still in there, even if it’s not glowing strong.
“What?” I ask as I look at him. He’s not an ugly man—quite the opposite, in fact. It was his looks that attracted me to him in the beginning. I’m the first to admit I was vain. He’s toned and tanned, with dark hair and bright green eyes. But once I learned who he really is, all of that twisted into something dark and evil. Something that looks sinister, not sensual.
He doesn’t answer me, just straightens and stalks into the bathroom. He stands in front of me but reaches past me to open the shower door and turn on the water. I turn my head when he begins taking his clothes off, because there is no longer any pleasure in seeing him undress. The hot water from the shower fills the bathroom with steam. Marcus grabs me by the back of the hair and turns my face towards his.
“It’s okay if you look. I don’t mind,” he says and then stands back. I close my eyes and I hear him chuckle. When I open them up, he’s gone, standing behind the foggy shower door. He washes up as I sit on the top of the toilet, staring at the ceiling. If I had to guess, I’d bet the dirty, dishwater-grey ceiling was once white. I can honestly say I will never willingly step foot into another motel in my life.
Then the shower turns off, and I close my eyes again. The shower door rattles, letting me know he’s getting out. I feel a drop of water soak through my pants. I open my eyes when I feel another.
Marcus is right in my face with his hand braced on the wall next to my head, but he remains quiet. I’m not quite sure what to make of it. Before I can begin guess what his next move will be, he does something I don’t quite understand: he reaches up and unlocks the cuff on the bar. He turns away from me, but pauses in the doorway, still completely naked.
“The door is locked. There isn’t anyone else here. The closest person is about five miles away. If you try to run, you won’t get far.” And then he walks back into the bedroom.
I don’t know what to make of any of this, but I’m glad to be out of those cuffs. I couldn’t really feel my fingers anymore. My arms have been hanging for long enough that I couldn’t find a comfortable position that didn’t cut off circulation. I shake out my arms and stretch them out. I even give each finger a good rub to help with circulation. The pins-and-needles sensation burns, but I’m grateful for it because it means my circulation is returning to normal.
I climb down from the toilet and stand. I regret it almost immediately as my ankle gives out. I grab the sink counter to stop myself from crashing to the floor and landing on my ass. I pull my weight off that foot and use the wall, furniture, whatever I can to support myself as I hop into the bedroom. That’s what I get for running, I guess.
Marcus is lying on the bed watching tv in a pair of boxers. When I enter, he reaches for a brown bag on the table next to the bed and holds it out towards me.
“What’s that?” I ask hesitantly.
“Food.”
When I don’t react, he places the bag on the bed, grabs a bottle from the nightstand, and places it next to the bag.
I stare at the bag, practically drooling, but I don’t reach for it.
