by T. K. Toppin
“Problem?” He quirked a brow, but kept the smirk on his face. She looked comical.
“Could you just un-stick this fucking thing?” Josie growled, not looking at him, her voice tight and hoarse as she spoke through gritted teeth.
“Sorry, I wish I could but…” He let out a dramatic sigh. “I’m afraid John is the only one with the codes to do that.”
“Well, then, get him.”
He grimaced. “Well, you see, that’s the problem. He’s off-site at the moment. That’s why he sent me here to keep you company. And stave off any curious on-lookers, and to stop you from screaming so much. That tends to freak people out.”
“He’s what?” Josie’s jaw dropped. “Where the fuck is he? When’s he coming back? Do you expect me to sit here all fucking day stuck to a…bench?”
Simon clicked his tongue. “You really must watch your language. Young children play in these gardens.” He cast his gaze about, expecting to see some frolicking nearby.
“Do I look like I fucking care? Get me out of this!” She shook her manacled arm, grunting with effort. Banging her right hand on the bench, Josie took a deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut in a manner suggesting she needed great patience through divine intervention. It made her tremble. She looked ready to detonate like a concussion grenade.
“I don’t believe this.” She controlled her voice and spoke with precision, baring teeth. “Stuck to a goddamned park bench. Tethered like a fucking dog! When I see that smug asshole’s face, I’m gonna smash it to pieces. Mash his eyeballs into the back of his fucking skull until his head explodes! Do you hear me?”
“What were you doing to set this off?” Simon asked.
She deliberately ignored him, closing her eyes instead.
Simon gave her shoulder a rough nudge.
“What!”
“I said… What were you doing to set this off? Did you not hear the warning tone?”
“No, I did not. I was busy at the time.”
He raised a brow.
“I went to get a ball that a boy lost the other day, okay? Happy now? Satisfied? Disappointed I wasn’t trying to escape?” She thumped the bench, and looked away. Her face, well, Simon thought: if looks could kill…
“So, did you find it? The ball. Where is it?”
She turned her head slowly, faced him with icy green daggers for eyes and then bellowed. “Do I look like I fucking know? I had it, but I dropped it somewhere!”
This exchange of words lasted another half an hour. It grew exhausting, and Simon sat on the bench. Which infuriated Josie even more, insisting he get up off his oversized backside and be as uncomfortable as she was. To make a point, he kept sitting. Not long after, John strode into view, a dour expression on his face. His eyes darted over the scene, taking in everything. He stood squarely before Josie, who glared up at him in fury.
“It’s about fucking time!”
“Yes, John.” Simon gave his friend a meaningful look. “What she said.”
John ignored them both and dropped to his knees. He swiped a small, metal card over the bracelet; it pinged once and turned green, releasing Josie’s hand as if it were repelled. She gasped in relief, pulled away and cradled her wrist close to her chest.
“Josie…” John reached out to touch her arm. Concern etched his face as he took in the sight of blood drying on her elbow and the stains and rips on her pants that exposed scraped raw skin and lines of blood still oozing. His eyes darted over her face, his concern morphing to shock.
She jerked back and glared at John. “Don’t touch me!” she hissed. In a sudden move, so fast no one had time to react, she struck her right hand full across John’s face in a loud, stinging slap. The sound made Simon flinch. Hoisting herself stiffly from the ground, Josie all but shook the earth as she stormed away.
John sucked at the corner of his mouth, where it obviously stung, and rolled his mouth as if he tasted blood. He rose slower than normal, gently dabbing his mouth with his hand. “Ow.”
Simon chuckled. “You asked for that.”
John grunted. “Not you as well. Was she trying to escape? Did she say anything?”
“You would think that.” Simon clicked his tongue in reprimand.
John returned a scowl, rubbing his face. “It stings like nettles. A little sympathy?”
“Yes, it would. But, no. She claims she was retrieving a ball some boy lost.” Simon patted John’s shoulder good-naturedly and made to leave. It had been an interesting day. “Oh, and something about being tethered like a dog. I’ll leave you to fill in the blanks. She was quite colorful in her description, and of what she was going to do to your face when she saw you next. You should believe her.” He inclined his head in the direction of a small yellow ball resting under the bench.
John stooped to pick it up and let it roll on his open palm. Simon noted a curious expression on his friend’s face, like someone who saw a ball for the first time. Or a startling truth.
* * *
In the late evening, John entered Josie’s room. The kitchen light was on, as well as the light next to the bed. Propped against pillows with her pants rolled up, she sat in bed, her expression a mixture of emotions. None of them good. Balled up bits of toilet paper were scattered about her, covered with small blots of blood. One ball was even stuck to the wall, like she’d thrown it there in a fit of rage. The inside of her right knee appeared to be scraped worse than her left. They weren’t serious wounds, just your run-of-the-mill road-rash. When she saw him, she folded arms over chest and glowered at her toes, muttering something about people who didn’t like to knock on doors.
Without invitation, he sat on the edge of the bed, his right side toward her. Weariness snapped at him, so he let his arms rest on his knees. He didn’t want any more confrontations. He’d spent an entire morning in Spain speaking with its minister and other government officials. During quiet moments, he’d spied on Josie through his personal unit. What the ministers had been talking about, he forgot. Something about water rights and more renewable resource facilities. Whatever they discussed, his aide, Loeb, had given a discreet nod, so John signed off with his approval to a very pleased audience. It wasn’t like him to be so vacant during meetings, but he didn’t care. What happened to Josie bothered him. Greatly.
When the surveillance pinged and glued her to the bench, John had almost bellowed out in the middle of the meeting. He’d hustled out and boarded his private shuttle as fast as he could. He remembered being afflicted by conflicting emotions, mostly disappointment, since he’d thought she was trying to escape. But only a fool would think to breach over that guard-wall. The drop below was sheer and dangerous.
His right side felt irradiated, like she’d scorched him with her glower. He heard her sniff; it sounded laden with scorn. Turning, John looked over his shoulder and noticed how her steely expression had softened. Her eyes traveled his face, and if he wasn’t mistaken, concern slanted her brows upward. Knowing himself, his face probably showed the toll of exhaustion by being deathly pale, like an apparition. He hadn’t eaten again, and the beginnings of a massive headache pulsed dead center in his brain, ready to erupt.
“I was away,” he said. “I tried to get back as quickly as I could.”
“Because you thought I was trying to escape, right? Sorry to disappoint you.” Her scathing barb landed with precision.
John turned his body to face her. “I did…think that. Briefly.” He glanced down at her knees beside him. The scrapes would leave nice big scabs. Quickly, he pushed aside an absurd image of her picking at them. Was she a scab-picker? Stop that. He knotted his brow. “You should put something on them so they don’t scab so much. I can take you to the clinic. My sister will attend to you.”
“It doesn’t matter, and don’t bother. I’ve been scraped before and, trust me,” she paused, voice dropped to a whisper, “I’ve had worse.”
Her comment punched him hard. Josie lowered her eyes and turned away with a sullen pout.
&
nbsp; “Please, give me your hand.” He glanced at her left hand. She didn’t budge. He offered his, palm up, inviting her to relinquish hers. She tucked them farther up her armpits, distrust pushing her chin out. “I’ll not hurt you.” He kept his voice soft, reinforcing this by looking her straight in the eyes.
Slowly, Josie unfolded her arm and extended the left to him; it shook. He took it, steadying it, and stroked the back of her hand with a thumb. With his other hand, he swiped the metallic card over the bracelet. It made a pressurized click, then snapped open. He removed it and let go of her hand.
Josie gasped in relief. A single tear tumbled out one eye, followed by another. She clutched her hand and brought it protectively to her chest, hugging it. Staring up at him, her expression was a mix of gratitude and confusion.
“Thank…” she clamped shut her trembling mouth.
Something fluttered in John’s chest. He wanted to touch her—kiss her. Instead, since he couldn’t stop it in time, he let his finger trace the side of her forehead, along her cheek, and down her chin. Her eyes rounded like saucers as she sat, frozen. Those green pools of light flickered and danced as they moved from his eyes, lingered on his mouth, and traveled back up to his eyes. John retracted his finger and turned away, embarrassment flooding him. He felt foolish. Swallowing hard, he took a discreet breath, but his head spun.
“I, ah…” Oh, boy. John cleared his throat. “I’ve caused you enough…discomfort. It’s the least I can do to…to make you more comfortable here.” His tongue felt like lead, the words jammed in his mouth, and his thoughts derailed. Josie continued watching him, so closely that he wanted to squirm. “I…trust you. That is to say, I know you will not try to leave without first letting us know. I’m sorry I ever doubted you. But you understand the position I was in.” He finished with a grimace. John knew he needed to admit to himself that he trusted her, but found it very hard. It didn’t help he’d just blurted it to Josie before he could even come to terms with it. Her steady stare unnerved him so much that his face heated.
“You trust me? You barely know anything about me.” Josie studied his face, even narrowing her eyes like a scientist inspecting a small, curious germ growth.
“I know enough.” His breath stalled in his chest. He felt faint. “You’re still an intriguing mystery, but that aside, I think I know you better now—than before. I’m sorry I misjudged you.”
She leaned forward, a graceful movement like a swan about to take flight. Her hand, warm and electrifying, tipped his face toward her. With her thumb, she lightly brushed the spot near his mouth that still stung like sandpaper had rubbed it raw. She stared him straight in the eyes and appeared equally out of breath. When she spoke, it sounded hoarse. “Then…I’m sorry, too. For slapping you. I was very pissed off.”
John took her hand and kissed the inside of her palm very softly. It smelled of grass and blood; his mind flitted back to that day with his aunts. Squeezing his eyes shut, he burrowed into her palm, pressing it to his face. He pulled away with effort, and took out the small yellow ball from his pocket and placed in her palm. With his hand over hers, he closed it over the ball and held on for a while longer. Glancing across at her, a curl of a smile tugged his lips. Nodding once, John stood, and left the room in silence.
Something had passed between them. Whatever it was, it was a good thing. He felt much better, like a weight had lifted from his shoulders.
Chapter 23
I couldn’t explain what I felt. Something inside of me snapped and I heard it crash to the floor, shattering. A part of me let go of something I’d held onto tightly. But what it was, I didn’t know. It left me breathless and confused, and my face prickled with nervous agitation.
What had possessed me to touch his face? The World President of the United Europe and Americas—of all people! A thousand times over, I kept asking myself this same question. What an idiotic thing to do.
And what possessed him to touch me? I thought he was going to kiss me. And I wanted him to.
Ridiculous!
My face flushed at the memory. I put a hand to where he’d touched my face, remembering the smoothness of his finger, the heat coming from it. I had liked it. It had sent delicious tickles through my belly. And then, how he’d kissed my palm, so tender at first, and then…so passionately. Desperate. As if my palm was an anchor to prevent him from slipping.
Stop it! This is insane! I shouldn’t allow myself to feel this way. He was still my captor. I glanced at my bracelet-free hand. Or was he?
What about Lorcan?
“Well, where the fuck is Lorcan, now?” I grumbled under my breath.
I pushed thoughts of Lorcan down. Way, way down. It hurt too much to think of him. Regardless of whether he’d tried to get to me or was hindered, it didn’t matter now. He’d betrayed me.
I spent the better part of the day in my room, embarrassed to walk about outside with fresh scrapes on my elbow and the fabric of my pants sticking to the gooey ooze from my knees. The white cloth did nothing to disguise the yellowy stains of weepy cuts. And since, like an idiot, I’d refused medical treatment, I’d simply have to suffer through without even a bandage or a healing plaster. What I wouldn’t do for a pair of black pants. Instead, I rolled up the hems and lounged about indoors, sulking. I played with the yellow ball for a while, tossing it against the wall and catching it. The end of August approached, three weeks since I’d come to the Citadel, but I was still very wary of the looks people gave me. Though they didn’t appear to know exactly who I was, nor did they show any outward signs of suspicion or hostility, I knew my situation and it made me uncomfortable. Walking around with my pants rolled up, sporting some nice cuts and gashes, would surely draw questions and unwanted stares.
I sat with legs outstretched on the floor opposite the kitchen, bouncing the ball on the side of the counter and catching it, processing.
I should do something. Reciprocate. How? I was still a prisoner—no, guest. Whatever. I didn’t need to reciprocate to anything.
I was the one who had been wronged.
My eyes gravitated to my un-manacled hand, still sporting healing bruises and scratches from my self-inflicted attempts to remove it. Surely this meant I was no longer considered a prisoner. So what was I? A guest? Did this mean I could leave at any time?
And go where? Back to Lorcan?
Yeah, right! Did I really want to go back after what I’d been through? After he’d abandoned me. It’s like he didn’t even try to rescue me. All his promises to keep me safe meant nothing to him. Not one single word from Lorcan. And John didn’t strike me as the type to bar Lorcan from communicating with me. At least, John didn’t appear to be like that. And could I even trust Lorcan now?
I’d been analyzing every little detail about Lorcan and sorting them into “pros” and “cons.” So far, the “cons” were winning.
Though I thought of Lorcan, my mind kept darting back to John like a tractor beam. He’d tickled my curiosity. And if I looked at the whole picture, he’d gradually been tickling it from the very beginning. Why was that? Of all the people in this new world, why him? And did he hope to lull me into a sense of false security, then pounce while I was defenseless? Somehow, I didn’t think he’d do something so duplicitous. Come to think of it, I’d grown to know John a lot better than I had Lorcan. Lorcan was secretive and closed, evasive, while John, though secretive, expressed more, or simply stated it plainly that he couldn’t say. Honest. Open. With John, I saw flashes of brightness, glimpses of life, whereas with Lorcan, all I saw were shadows.
To be honest, I enjoyed John’s company immensely. He was strange and foreign, wild, while at the same time very familiar to me, like a friend who comes to you when you least expect to find them. And he was always around, always just there. In a sense, trustworthy.
Was it because I was a mystery to him? That I held a secret he wanted to know? Maybe. But again, John didn’t strike me as someone who would purposely feign a friendship to get answers. I fou
nd his character genuine; I think he’d more likely prefer to beat me to a pulp to get those answers than trick me. That sort of honesty was refreshing.
John had said he trusted me—not to run, that is. I believed him. His confession overwhelmed me. I remembered the turmoil on his face and reckoned I knew him enough to know he spoke truthfully. He wasn’t the great big monster everyone made him out to be. And also, he didn’t strike me as someone who gave away his trust to just any random person. From my conversations with him, he was a man who put loyalty and honor before all else. To do otherwise would be an insult. And if he gave me his trust, surely that meant he no longer thought me guilty of anything.
And goddamn it! I wanted to see him again. I really wanted to see him again.
What was wrong with me? I hoped it wasn’t that syndrome kidnapped victims suffered from. I wasn’t that psychologically damaged, was I? Regardless, I still had to see him and make things right.
Jumping to my feet, I rolled down my pants legs and, pocketing the ball, headed out the door, all but racing to see John.
I knew what I had to do.
Detouring briefly, I found the little boy with his mother and returned the ball. He barreled me down with a massive hug, too happy for words. He clutched at his yellow ball with a beaming face while his mother and I exchanged a few words. Then I walked away with brisk steps; feeling like the day was finally going to pick up. A grin cracked across my face.
I found John in his office. Aida led me straight through and John greeted me, a half-smile on his face. He tried to stand to greet me, but his personal unit fumbled in one hand, while the other tossed a sheet of clear transcript film onto his desk. He looked like he’d been caught doing something naughty.
I smiled back, faltering in my steps as nerves sucker-punched me. Drawing in a breath, I strode forward, going around the desk to stand before him. I looked him full in the face. He regarded me with curiosity in his eyes—nerves?—enough not to break my gaze. The honesty in his expression touched me. This was right. It felt right.