The Psychopath's Prisoner

Chapter 47

They arrived home and Cheyenne kicked her shoes off, picked one up and threw it, watching it bounce across the room. She plopped down on the couch. Resting her feet on the coffee table and head on the back of the couch, she closed her eyes. Her mind raced with thoughts of Eric. Though she was tired, she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep. How could she? Eric almost hit them. Yet, despite everything he has done, the police had difficulty keeping up with him. He's sly and cunning to be able to slip away like that.

"Arrogant jerk," she muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing."

He shrugged. "You want to talk about it?"

"Not really. I'd just rather forget about it."

"You should talk about it. It would make you feel better. You should get it off your chest. This is a burden I am willing to bear with you."

"Why?"

"Because you're angry."

"How do you know?" Cheyenne snapped.

"Because you picked your shoe up, threw it across the room, and muttered 'arrogant jerk'."

Irritation consumed her. "If I felt like talking about it," Cheyenne yelled. "I would. I don't. So, leave it alone."

Michael held his hands up defensively. "Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Where did that come from? I was just trying to be here for you. At least, that's what I was trying for. When are you going to stop pretending that everything is just great? Like nothing ever happened? Stop being so tough that you keep holding your emotions in. Cry, scream, and punch something. Just do something."

"I did! I threw my shoe!" Cheyenne pointed to the object on the other side of the room.

She could see him from the corner of her eye. His arms were folded across his chest and the look on his face revealed his anger. If he could've, his eyes would've started a fire. He was staring at her with his eyes darker than usual. She felt bad, but she was stubborn. No one really ever saw her cry or express very much emotion and she preferred to keep it that way.

"I will deal with my feelings in my own way," Cheyenne said. "The last thing I need is someone telling me how to feel. So, if you don't mind," she jumped up from the couch, "I am going to bed." She pushed past him and stomped off to their bedroom.

Cheyenne knew she wasn't angry with him. She was angry with herself. Guiltily, she knew he was right, but she didn't know how to express herself. Deep down she was terrified, angry, hurt, and wanted to be able to scream and cry and punch someone. That "someone" being Eric. Tyler came a close second. But she couldn't. She didn't want to lose Michael. The only thing she could do was sit down and have a discussion with him.

She walked to the bedroom, exhausted. Entering the bedroom, she immediately went into the bathroom and took her jewelry and makeup off. She walked out of the bathroom to her dresser for a nightgown. She turned and a chill embraced her body. She looked above their bed. Her jaw dropped. Michael's swords were missing! Eric had broken into their house!

"Don't panic, Chey," she whispered. Briefly closing her eyes and holding her hands over her stomach, she took a deep breath. She opened her eyes, turned to leave the bedroom and bumped into Michael. She was scared.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you." Michael wrapped his arms around her

"You didn't." He gave her a funny look. "Michael," she whispered, "look above the bed."