21 Chapter Twenty-first

I turned, the air running out of me, all of it turning cold. Frozen stiff for that split, torturous second, I watched his face – watched the mirth subside, the hilarity of it all wash off – his muscles grow tenser, serious, determined as his eyes sharpened on me. Then, and only then, I truly, fully believed!

"NO!" I screamed, panic-driven as I turned abruptly back towards the phone, fingers desperately slamming the dial in an attempt to punch in an emergency call, fully aware I had no chance of finishing one. I didn't see Chris tower over me as I jealously arched over the phone, tightening my fingers around the handset as if my life depended on securing it there; I only felt the turbulence of his grabbing the base and yanking it from the wall, the cord instantly un-burrowing itself from beneath the wallpaper before snapping. I screamed, shuddered and froze as the phone smashed against the floor somewhere on the kitchen… and though I saw him slowly move back towards me from the corner of my eye, I didn't dare move.

"Not so good at reading from context, are you?" he teased, smiling still "Maybe you haven't heard much from your cop friend after all!"

I heard his steps – his booted steps slowly walking behind me, encircling me, then back the other way, watching me down from his height with those amused pair of eyes.

"Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the secrecy, I do!" He looked down, ran his hand through his hair as he paced around me, thinking "…but I almost wish he had said enough – not too much, I wouldn't want him to spoil things for you, but… just enough to make this less awkward." And he stopped behind my shoulder, adding to the suspense.

Slowly, insecurely, I turned my neck to look at him. He stood there, hands in his pocket, that smug twist on his lip:

"My explaining to you exactly what it is I'm gonna do… to you, of course!"

I dropped the phone – that is, the useless handset that had stayed behind in my desperate clutch – and watched him smile down on me, realization hitting me like a train.

"I swear if I didn't know you were so naïve…" he counted, lifting his eyebrows as he animatedly laughed "…I'd think you were just playing dumb, but then I remember: You're not that 17-year-old party girl you pretended to be. That's right!"

He pursed his lips and clenched his fist as if remembering – and regretting.

"I think you're just too young to expect it: the danger in people… their real, not-so-noble intentions… I can work with that." He pondered "…because fortunately, you're not too young to provide."

I took a nervous step back, nearly fell, but picked myself up again, being careful not to turn my back – not to shut my eyes, not to blink under his stare.

"Are you sure you're not afraid of me?" he mocked, watching me from across the corridor as I slowly distanced.

"P-please…" my cowardice leaked, pouring out from my shaky throat.

"Oh, we are down to begging now." He raised his eyebrows and puckered his lip, feigning surprise "That's a very peculiar courage you display. Honestly Abby…" His head shook playfully "I'm almost disappointed."

As I assumed some careful – dreadfully scared – steps back, I sought the wall, as if without it I could fall again – looking behind me to secure a safe step was not an option. Looking away from him was no viable alternative.

"I was curious to see how that brave façade of yours was gonna play out… how long it would hold… just what would break it…" he sighed "it would be a refreshing change of scenery if I'm gonna be honest with you. But… nah, I'm asking too much of you again, you're just a little girl. And because you're just a little girl, very ill-equipped to deal with any of this, I'll cut you some slack – I am rather fond of you after all. I guess we've had quite our share of history together:" his eyes warmed up to me, as did his smile. Then the instructions ensued, kindly conveyed while I hyperventilated: "You do as I tell you: Comply, no funny tricks, no playing the hero, that fight-till-death sort of thing… and I promise I'll be gentle."

His words… the scenarios he implied… they did not match the placid, friendly look on his face! No promised gentleness warranted that benevolent smile he displayed, not when the alternative was…

"If you make a scene, fight me…" he resumed, his voice picking up slightly with the seriousness of a threat "…Well, you'll only be making me angry. I'm not gonna be very pleasant then."

I blinked at last. My dry mouth stammered:

"If… If I comply? Then you'll… you'll…" nausea again: the heaviness of that coward word in my stomach, the surrealness of it all "…You'll let me..."

"Let you go?" Chris smiled modestly, looked at his feet to enjoy the amusement of it with some discreetness "No, Abby…" he sighed "I'm afraid that's not what I mean."

"W-what… what do you mean?" I whimpered, my eyes moistening again.

"I mean that if you start giving me a hard time…" his eyes looked away as he mused, picturing it "…I might have to take some extra steps to keep you in check."

"Extra steps?" I repeated, not because I wanted details – God knew I didn't, no! I repeated it out of some strange form of shock, like a reality check.

"Unnecessary pain… that's all you need to know."

It was too much to know. Too much already. The air grew denser, insufferable. My feet dragged back, fear-impelled. Another step back – faster, more decided, incontrollable.

"Nuh-uh, it's locked… remember?" Chris silenced, reading my intention before I myself was aware of it.

Lagging, I looked behind my shoulder to the door, then back ahead, at the telephone stand, where a bundle of keys waited.

"What? These?" Chris smiled in disbelief "Do you think you can make it?!"

Silence. A thirsty swallow of my dry throat – thirsty for that bit of hope.

"You do think it, don't you?" A sigh "Look, Abby, this is precisely what I'm trying to warn you against:"

And Chris proceeded to relay his generous recommendations, probably feeling awfully charitable for it:

"Do you wanna be talked down like a kid, or will you start thinking rationally? Because these childhood attempts will get you nowhere. They will only tire you out, and eventually rob me of my patience."

I stared dumbly.

"It's not a matter of trying now… not anymore…" he spoke carefully, as if respectful of the fact that he delivered bad news – even if he were to intentionally create them "There's nothing you can try that I'm not prepared for – and I don't mean it to inflame your ego. I'm just trying to put it as it is and spare you some unpleasant discoveries… it's over: I have you now… you can't leave." He carefully informed. "There's nothing you can do realistically speaking." A thoughtful synthetization "Just don't fight it. Don't fight me."

My mind wandered, frozen, aloof, like an empty metal box where a solid thought reverberated, slowly bouncing from one corner to the other… that single thought was disconnection. Denial of reality.

And yet, absurd as it looked, Chris stood there, hand half in the air in a sort of pacifying gesture, his smile coming undone as he carefully studied me, carefully tried to anticipate my next move. I myself didn't know what it would be, until I read it in his eyes: the certainty that I would fight.