Nya

When I awoke, I had no question of where I was, no question of what had happened. Instead, I went from, if not exactly a peaceful, but a deep sleep, to instant wakefulness with instant memories.

Irritatingly, those hours with Patrick were at the top of my mind, but not a minute later, I remembered being forced from my home, yet another frantic scurry with no shoes to get away from someone who was pursuing him.

Was I used to it?

Maybe, maybe not. At the very least, I no longer had that intense and unshakable fear. There was some leftover fear and nerves. I would be crazy if there weren’t, but even more than that fear, I felt something else.

Anger.

Last night I had been concerned for him, was, to my dismay, still concerned about him this morning. Even more than that, I was pissed beyond belief.

I got up, saw yet another pile of clothes waiting for me on the upholstered chair in the corner of his bedroom. I took them, showered, the luxury accommodations not making any impact on me at all.

As I had before, once I was dressed, I emerged. Waited. Less than a minute later, Patrick entered the room.

“You’re up,” he said.

“Yeah, people usually wake up in the morning,” I replied, leaving off the snarky, spiteful comment that they might not when in his company.

“Yeah, usually, but it’s the afternoon,” he said.

I frowned. “What?”

“It’s three thirty in the afternoon,” he said.

I frowned deeper, looked to the window. The sun was bright, so high in the sky that I could see it was afternoon. I’d slept for over twelve hours, something I never, ever did.

“You needed the rest,” he said.

Again Patrick seemed to be reading my thoughts, but I didn’t look at him. Instead I kept my eyes on the window, desperate to suppress the soaring rage that threatened to shatter me.

I waited a moment, then another, then finally looked at him.

“I need a phone,” I said.

“Why?” he responded.

“None of your business. I need a phone.”

He narrowed his eyes, his expression telling me nothing except that he was struggling for patience as I was. I didn’t care.

“Your friend is fine,” he said.

“I need a phone.”

I waited, determined I wouldn’t relent no matter how he glared at me, how strong the inclination to do so was. I was surprised, pleased with myself when I didn’t. It would have been easy to do so, but I held firm for long, excruciating seconds until he finally reached into his pocket.

He pulled out the small phone, and I took it from him, careful not to let my fingers touch his. Despite everything, some small part of me wanted to touch him, wanted me to throw myself into the shelter of his arms, be secure in the fact that he would protect me. But I didn’t, couldn’t. Focused on my rage instead.

“May I have some privacy?” I said.

“No,” came his response.

The burst of anger was short, intense, but I ignored it as well and instead focused on the phone. I quickly dialed Jade’s number, not expecting an answer because she was probably working or running errands. I’d planned to leave her a message to let her know I was okay, but to my surprise she answered on the first ring.

“Nya?” Her voice was tense.

“Jade,” I whispered.

Something about hearing her voice had my eyes watering, and tears began to well. I swallowed them, stayed quiet until I knew I could speak without giving anything away, though I wasn’t entirely sure that would work, not with Jade.

“Where are you?” she asked.

And again, knowing her as I did, I knew she knew the answer to that question. She was behaving this tentatively, not pushing the issue, because she was worried about me.

The tears welled again, but I again swallowed them back.

“Well, we never knew this before, but it seems like I am the life of the party. I’ve gotten a little…carried away again, but I’ll be home soon,” I said.

Jade was silent, said nothing, but I could hear the words she wanted to speak. Braced myself for them. Finally, after a few long moments, she sighed.

“Take care,” she said. “And call me.”

“I will. Talk to you soon,” I said.

“Love you, girl,” she whispered.

Then she hung up and I was momentarily stunned. That wasn’t like Jade, not at all. We were best friends, had been for years, but even with me the reserve that was so much a part of her, at least when it came to emotions, connections, had always been firmly intact. Something else a few encounters with Patrick Murphy had taken away.

I hung up the phone and turned to face Patrick, though I didn’t look at him. I extended the phone, and Patrick took it, letting his fingers linger against mine.

“Come downstairs. You have to eat something,” he said.

I waved a hand dismissively. “I’m not hungry.”

“Nya.” Something in his voice made me look. He wasn’t yelling, didn’t even sound angry, but something in that gravelly sound compelled my response.

I looked up, met his eyes. He held my gaze for a moment, and though I couldn’t read his, I could see that there was something behind it, some question, some struggle. Then, after a breath, he spoke.

“Come downstairs.”

Disobeying him was out of the question.

I hated myself for how true that was, but hating it didn’t make it any less true.

So, I swallowed my pride, did as I was told.

I walked downstairs into the kitchen, displeased when my stomach rumbled at the smell of food.

I followed Patrick, saw a few dishes on the kitchen island.

“Nothing too serious. Just some chicken, pasta salad, a little fruit.”

I took the plate he handed to me, noticing that everything looked like he had made it. Was again impressed, somewhat touched by that, though I didn’t want to be. I sat at the island, trying to focus on the anger that made me want to hurl the plate across the room, that made me want to scream at him until I was hoarse.

Instead of doing either, I sat the plate down, glared at Patrick.

He held his gaze on me steadily. He was focused, intense, and it was clear that he had been waiting for this moment, prepared for this battle. I wouldn’t let him down.

“Let’s get to it,” he said.

“This is like déjà vu, Patrick,” I said.

“What is like déjà vu, Nya?”

“Me, waking up here, wearing these clothes. Because someone tried to kill me,” I said, my voice dropping on those last words.

He stayed silent, watching me. I waited a moment, another, and then said, “You don’t have anything to say?”

“No,” he responded.

“Good, because I have a lot to say,” I said.

The anger had been intensifying, and in the face of his reaction, or rather his lack of reaction, it exploded.

“I hate this, Patrick,” I said, my voice a trembling whisper because I was so angry.

“This is unfortunate, but I’ll see it’s taken care of,” he said.

His calmness only served as fuel for my anger.

“Really? You’ll see that it’s taken care of?”

He nodded.

“Why?” I said.

He didn’t speak but I raised my hand, waved him away anyway. “Don’t give me any crap about taking care of what’s yours. I know that’s bullshit,” I said.

None of my words had reached him before, but those did.

“Are you saying I’m not a man of my word?” he whispered, his voice soft, almost seductive, or would have been without that anger threaded underneath.

“I’m saying that before I met you, I had never even seen a gun,” I responded.

“Something else that is unfortunate, but I’ll take care of it,” he said.

“Nice words, but I don’t believe you,” I replied. I was pushing him, but I was beyond the point of caring.

Wondered if I’d gone too far when the glint in his eyes turned dangerous. “Then what do you believe?” he asked.

I looked at him, saw the challenge in his words, in the casual way he held his body.

I probably should have held my tongue, but there was no way I could. I glared at him, wondering if I should say what I thought, knowing I had no choice. “You’re using me,” I said.

For the first time since I’d met him, Patrick looked confused.

“Using you?” he repeated.

His tone was still casual, his voice not giving much away, but I could feel his surprise at what I had said.

“Yes. All your talk of taking care of what’s yours, but you practically served me on a platter,” I said.

He frowned. “What is this stupidity, Nya?”

I narrowed my eyes at him, his surprise only intensifying my anger. I hadn’t given this much thought, but I could see the logic of it now, wondered how it had evaded me before.

“You really want to know who’s trying to…harm you, so you let them find me,” I said.

“You don’t believe that,” Patrick challenged.

“You don’t know me and you don’t know what I believe,” I replied.

“You’re wrong on both subjects. I do know you, know you well enough to know that you don’t think something so stupid. That you’re not a stupid woman, despite how you sometimes act,” he said.

“You’re insulting me? You’ve done this and you have the nerve to insult me?”

“I’m not insulting you, I’m just telling you the truth. I know this has been…difficult, but—”

I shook my head wildly, so hard my hair flew around my head. “No, don’t tell me that. I don’t want to hear it. I want to go home,” I said, some of the hysteria I’d felt seeping into my voice.

“No.”

Patrick’s response was instantaneous, completely unyielding, and only served to send my anger ever higher.

“What do you care? If you let me go home, they might…they might come after me again. Then you can find them. Be done with me.”

“Nya, I’m not using you as bait, and you’re not going home.”

He spoke those words with the same vehemence that he had spoken the others, and they gave me some sense of wildly misplaced comfort.

It shouldn’t matter that he denied using me as bait so intensely, shouldn’t matter at all. But hearing the words somehow made me feel better. No less angry, but better.

Still, I wouldn’t yield on this point. I needed to go home, needed to put space between us, try to figure out how this had happened, how I had gone so wildly off the rails and how to get back on.

Then there was the fact that I was probably in danger. Which meant my friends, my family, maybe everyone I knew was in danger as well.

I needed to handle that, and I believed Patrick, or at least I thought I did, but I wouldn’t put my fate, the fates of people I loved, in someone else’s hands.

“Patrick, I—”

He shook his head, the motion slow, methodical, and utterly robbing me of my ability to speak. When I was silent, he waited, to drive home his point? Possibly. To regain control of the temper I could see flaring behind his eyes? Definitely.

Then, after what felt like forever, he finally spoke. “This isn’t up for discussion.”

The finality of those words, the knowledge that there would be no swaying him made me all the more angry, but with that anger came acceptance, perhaps a little comfort, though I wouldn’t acknowledge that.

I also wouldn’t give in so easily.

“Why should I trust you?” I said, my voice coming out bitter.

“I gave you my word. I won’t let anything happen to you. And the best way for me to ensure that is to keep you close,” he said.

“It’s just that simple, huh?” I muttered.

“Yes,” he replied.

He was so calm, I wanted to scream, but I knew that wouldn’t get to him, knew that probably nothing would. “Patrick, I have a life. A job! I have things that I need to do,” I said, almost beseeching.

“Things that are more important than staying alive?” he asked.

His voice was soft, almost regretful, and it nearly undid me. But I couldn’t let his words or his logic dissuade me.

“The only reason I have to worry is because I met you,” I said.

I regretted the words as soon as I spoke them. But I told myself I didn’t care, that the little flare of hurt in his eyes didn’t matter. It wasn’t true, but I couldn’t interrogate that feeling now, wouldn’t.

Instead I looked at him, waiting for the response that I knew was coming.

“No, it wouldn’t have happened if you had never met me. But you did. Now you have to deal with it.”

“I have to deal with that?” I said incredulously.

“Yeah. You have to deal with it,” he repeated. “And the way you’re going to deal with it is by doing what I say, when I say it. You’re going to deal with it by staying here until I tell you it’s safe for you to go,” he said like it was the most obvious and simple thing in the world.

It might be that for him, but not for me.

“Until you say. That might be forever!”

From the expression on his face, I wouldn’t have been shocked if he had tossed me out on my ass right then. Instead, he seemed to struggle to rein in the anger that filled his eyes.

“Nya,” he finally said, “you’re acting like a fucking child. I know this is a difficult situation for you, one that I’m responsible for. But I can’t change it. All I can do is try to make it better. Now, are you going to help me do that, or are you going to keep acting like a spoiled brat?”

“A spoiled brat?” I repeated, looking at him incredulously.

“Yeah. That’s exactly what you’re acting like right now. Well let me tell you something, princess. You’re in a real dangerous, real fucked-up situation. This little prissy act might work in the rest of your life, but even if it works in other places with other people, it won’t work with me. So, like I said, you are going to do exactly what I tell you, when I tell you. No conversation. No negotiation.”

He grabbed the plate I’d all but forgotten about and slammed it down in front of me.

“Now eat.”