Kidnapped

Chapter 19 - Midnight Confessions

The dim light of a newly lit candle filters through the darkness, its warm glow casting restless shadows that flicker across the peeling walls. I stir, groggy, and it takes a moment to remember where I am, to recognize the absence of warmth beside me that has let the chill settle in.

I blink, my eyes adjusting to the soft glow, and see my captors brother standing at the far end of the room, back turned, slipping into clean boxers. I take it as an opportunity to feel around in the dark until I find my panties, slipping them on quietly. The small click of his lighter fills the quiet, sparking a new flame that catches and trembles, sending a faint glow up to his face as he sets it on top of an old dresser.

For a moment, I just watch him, barely breathing, until he turns, catching sight of me sitting up. He raises an eyebrow, clearly surprised to see me awake. A smile creeping across his lips as he crosses the room, his gaze intent as he takes me in, like he’s studying some quiet, unexpected moment.

“Did I wake you?” he murmurs, his voice low as he settles back onto the mattress, his presence somehow both calming and unsettling, like a warmth I can’t quite trust.

I shake my head, pulling the blanket around me, trying to summon an answer. “No…I was just cold.” The words come out softer than I intended, and his smile deepens, catching onto the hint of vulnerability I couldn’t hide.

“Mind if I join you, then?” His voice is gentle, almost careful.

I hesitate but nod, lifting the edge of the blanket as if it’s permission. He slides in beside me, shifting onto his side, his gaze steady and patient, as though he’s waiting for me to say something more. His face is close, too close, and in the dim candlelight, he looks softer somehow.

My mind races with questions, but the one that keeps pressing hardest is the one I barely dare to ask. And still, I can’t keep myself from staring at him, the words clinging to my throat, caught between fear and something I can’t name. Embarrassment, maybe?
Finally, I press my lips together, bracing myself to speak, but he notices before I can say anything.

“What is it?” he asks, a trace of curiosity and amusement mingling in his gaze.

A shiver runs through me, and I force myself to meet his eyes. “Why did you…why were you so nice to me?” The words come out fragile, breaking halfway, yet I can’t take them back, and I don’t look away.

He blinks, a flicker of surprise crossing his face, his smile fading into something quieter. “Nice?” he echoes softly, almost like he’s testing the word out. He rubs the back of his neck, seeming both amused and slightly embarrassed. “I don’t know,” he says finally, letting out a small, hesitant laugh. “I’ve been lying here for hours wondering the same thing.”

The warmth in his laugh lingers between us, and I feel myself softening despite everything, a strange relief settling over me, loosening the tension in my shoulders. But still, something inside me aches, and the question slips out before I can hold it back, barely more than a whisper.

“Why did he…” My voice falters, fear sharpening the words. I take a shaky breath, feeling the weight of betrayal press down on me. “He told me he was going to keep me safe, that he wouldn’t let anything happen to me. And then he handed me over like it was nothing.” My voice cracks, my chin trembling for just a moment. “Why would he do that?” The question hangs in the air, my words carrying a pain I can’t hide.

His gaze holds steady, watching me with an unreadable expression, though there’s something beneath it—a heaviness, a sadness that seems to tug at him. He looks down, a faint frown crossing his face, and for a long moment, he’s quiet.

“My brother…” he begins, choosing his words carefully. “He’s… always been like this. Manipulative, driven to prove himself, like he’s got something to prove to everyone but especially to me.” He pauses, jaw tightening as he considers. “He wants control, needs it. And people… well, he uses them. It’s his way of feeling powerful.” His voice is low, almost bitter, and there’s a flicker of something in his eyes that makes my heart skip—a hint of regret, perhaps, or guilt.