Kidnapped

Chapter Thirteen - Trust.

I wait a few moments after he leaves the motel room before wiping my mouth again and quietly padding over to the window. Peeking out from behind the stiff, dusty curtains, I spot him, leaning against the rough brick wall, half-hidden in the shadows of the night. His fingers are laced behind his head, elbows drawn in, his head tipped back as he gazes up at the stars. A strange, unexpected flutter stirs in my chest—something about catching him like this, when he doesn’t know I’m looking. In this moment, he seems…vulnerable, almost.

I can’t help but wonder what’s on his mind. Did I do something wrong? Or maybe…did I do something right? My emotions spin wildly, overwhelming and unfamiliar, leaving me with a restless ache I don’t even know how to name.

I take one last look, catching the faint furrow in his brow before slipping away from the window and quietly making my way to the bathroom, my mind drifting to that brief, softer side of him that I’d glimpsed.

At the sink, I rinse my mouth out—once, twice, three times, scrubbing away the lingering taste, as if I could wash away the strange mix of shame that’s settled over me. I quickly freshen up, splashing water over my face, letting the coolness try to clear the fog of jumbled emotions. For a moment, I pause, staring at my reflection, my fingers absently combing through my hair as I get lost in thought, feeling oddly dirty yet unable to fully place why. The memory of his voice, his touch—how I felt an edge of something I can't name, even as I let myself enjoy it—lingers, winding in a knot of guilt and desire.

I’m jolted back to reality when I sense a presence at the open doorway. My heart skips as I turn to see him standing there, watching me. I blush, caught off guard, feeling inexplicably exposed all over again.

“Hi…” I whisper, my voice barely a murmur as I glance up at him, the weight of everything we’ve just done settling between us like an invisible, unspoken presence.

He watches me, his gaze softer than usual, studying me with an intensity that makes me feel vulnerable all over again. Slowly, he reaches out, tugging at the hem of my shirt in a way that feels unexpectedly playful. “How are you?” he asks, his tone almost casual, and there’s something so absurdly normal about it that I can’t help the soft laugh that escapes me, trembling and unexpected.

He tilts his head, intrigued, the faintest smile touching his lips as he watches me, trying to decipher the laughter in my eyes.

“I’m, um…” I try to find the words, but another nervous giggle bubbles up before I can stop it. “I’m really…” I swallow, my cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and bewilderment. “I’m really good,” I manage, the laughter spilling over again, out of place and uncontrollable. My mind is racing, and I can hardly look him in the eye without feeling like my own emotions are about to betray me.

As he takes in my flustered state, a genuine smile breaks through his calm facade, his eyes lighting up with a warmth that makes my heart stumble.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, eyebrows lifting, amusement laced through his voice. “Really good, huh?”

Something inside me cracks—maybe from the lingering adrenaline, or the memory of that intense, overwhelming pleasure he’d just forced me to feel. A strange, broken laugh slips out, and suddenly, without warning, a tear escapes, slipping down my cheek as the absurdity and intensity of it all hit me at once.

He doesn’t miss a beat, his thumb brushing the tear away with a gentleness that feels strangely comforting, his gaze holding mine as he teases, “Uh oh. You’re crying again. Is this some kind of teenage girl thing?”

The mix of his warmth and his teasing tone only deepens the turmoil inside me, and I look away, trying to pull myself back together, feeling both seen and completely unraveled.