Unfound

14

Quiet. He was so damn quiet. There was no hidden door, he could just control the sounds of his steps when he really wanted to. I bet he got off from startling me. His face inches from mine, I managed a smile. It was weak and obviously fake, but it was all I could muster. "Good morning, Seth. I hope I didn't wake you." I hated the way my voice sounded, his name vile in my throat. I wished I could spit on him if I knew I'd make it out alive. As for now, I kept my voice even and a smile constantly present.

He leaned back, examining me again, head tilting to the side, hair over his eyes. His smile faded, then grew as he took a once over. His eyes met mine, haunted. Broken. Hunting. "Have a little nightmare did we?" He put on a theatrical frown, "I hope it wasn't me who scared you." His smile emerged yet again, eager for my response.

I shook my head, "Nothing about you, just stuff from the outside world." I shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant.

He approached me again and ran his fingers through my hair, "It's a cruel world out there. You'll soon see that I saved you, if you don't already." He wasn't smiling, but seemed content. Hypnotized by his own fingers running through the strands of my hair. Only his finger tips emerging from the mass of brown, over and over like waves in the sea.

This intimacy from him was uncomfortable. For a second, I saw the humanity in his eyes, caring for someone. I knew it wasn't me he saw, he was imagining someone else, someone he truly cared for. It couldn't be for me. His face fell slightly before he snapped back to reality, whatever visions in his head fading, the harshness of his face coming back. I lightly grabbed his wrists and slowly moved them from my hair, trying to be gentle and make myself seem small. He looked upset, "I'm sorry, Seth. I don't mean to offend you, but my hair is oily from almost a week of it not being cleaned and it's embarrassing having your hands on it when it feels so disgusting." His face softened, he was buying it, "Would it be possible for me to have access to a shower? You've provided me with so much and I don't want to be a burden." I placed his hand at my side, close to my thigh, hoping that would distract him enough to agree.

He glanced at his hand and took in my body which was so close to his touch. He rubbed his thumb over the edge of my thigh, sending an awful tingling sensation down my leg. I forced a smile and spent all my energy willing my leg to stay still and not kick him as hard as I possibly could. He met my gaze and smiled, his eyes hungry. "Of course, butterfly. Luckily, you woke up early enough where you can treat yourself to a long, hot shower before I have to leave for work."

He stood up, reaching out his hand for me to take. I took too long, considering if I should take it or slap it away, wondering if it would be worth it. He grabbed me by the wrist and yanked me up, slamming me back into the wall, "Seth," I gasped as the breath was pushed from my lungs yet again.

His smile turned wicked, "Refusing to take my hand, dear?" he hissed.

Fighting for breath I managed, "No, sorry. I was just surprised you agreed. I don't want to bother you and you've done so much for me already. I wouldn't want to mess up your morning routine." I stopped there, feeling my voice start to waver, not wanting to plead.

He took a step back as if considering my statement. His grin faded as he looked me over. I had won, he didn't have an excuse to hurt me and he didn't want to get his hands dirty if he could avoid it. This time, he was speechless. "Alright, I believe you," His voice was soft, almost a whisper, "Let's go upstairs and get you washed up." He held out his hand for me again, his eyebrow raised. This time I took it, ready and excited to be clean and see some of his house. Maybe this is how I escape.

Trying to push down the realization that I had already been here for six days, I ascend the stairs behind him, eager to see what was behind the green door. He pushed it open, pulling me up the last step as I lingered in the newfound familiarity of the basement, frightened of what I may find in his actual home.