Stolen Love

6*

"Can we talk about Sunday?" Chris asks on Friday during dinner. His voice is stiff and and he is looking at me sternly, picking me apart with his eyes. Sunday was the day I tried escaping but failed terribly.

I knew that this question was going to come sooner or later. I just wish it was later since I've really been dreading it. "Yeah. My leg still hurts sometimes," I say trying to drive him away from the question that's been bothering me. I stiffen when his eyes narrow on me. My heartbeat slows to a crawl while I try to keep my shaking hand steady.

"That's not what I'm talking about," he says tiredly. "Your leg will be fine."

"I know." I say to both of his statements. I look down at my feeble looking hands. I don't want to look in his eyes.

It's quiet for a few moments. All I can hear is the soft patter of the rain drops against the window. This might be one of the last rainfalls of the year before it starts snowing all the time. My stomach drops because snow will only cause more problems for me. Not only am I missing my family, but snow will make it harder to get back to them. Snow means it will be Thanksgiving soon followed by Christmas. Those were always my favorite holidays.

Chris looks like he is debating with himself. Probably trying to think of a good way to ask it. He finally sighs, "About the kiss-"

"Can we not talk about this?" I ask hopeful. My limbs have gone frigid; what little appetite I had has been lost as my stomach recoils in disgust at the memory. I thought he wanted to talk about how I nearly escaped, but this is so much worse. Yes, I may have broken my leg, but at least that will heal. I fear that that kiss may have scarred my mind.

I'm just surprised he hasn't tried again yet.

He shoots me down, "I want to." He pauses in thought, "We need to." He reaches across the table and cups my shaking hands in his. He has no idea the effect he has on me. "So as I was saying, what did it mean to you?"

I've been thinking about this all week. The kiss has been haunting my dreams both when I'm asleep and when I'm awake. I can still feel his lips on mine, and I causes me to hang my head in shame when I do. It didn't mean anything, I keep reminding myself, but then I remember that I was the one who initiated it. I was the one who was weak and lost a part of myself with such a seemingly innocent act.

There are really only two answers to his question. The right one, which is actually a lie; and the truthful one, which he really won't like.

My Mom always taught me to tell the truth, but sometimes I have to lie. I would love to follow what she taught me since she isn't here right now, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and my list of lies and regrets continued to grow longer. If I say why I actually did it, he won't be happy, but if I tell him what he wants to hear, I don't know where it will lead, but at least Chris wouldn't be angry.

It's simple math, unhappy captor plus me equals life twice as miserable. But when I do answer, it hurts. it feels as if I'm selling my soul to the devil, and I can't help but feel that I will be stuck here forever. Chris is the devil, and this place is my own personal hell. I force my voice to he even, to be believable, and self-loathingly say, "I don't know. I- my mind was jumbled with emotions and it sort of just happened. I just thought that the moment was right." My stomach churns. I think I'm going to be sick when a smile spreads across his face. His thumb starts to rub circles on my hand causing tingles to run up my arm.

"Really?" He asks hopeful. Like I said before: he only believes what he wants to. Any person in their right mind would know that was a lie, but that just shows how far from sane he is. Then his face darkens slightly, "I thought you did that just to knock me out."