Lamb To The Slaughter ✔️

9

I hear her heartbeat pick up. I take a step toward her, I hold her face in my hands, it feels like it's been so long since I've done so.

"Well they're dead now," I say.

She nods. She nods, but then she looks confused.

"How did you know that?" she asks me. "How did you know what I felt?"

I don't know, I think to myself. But I could. I felt exactly what she was feeling, I felt her fear, and knew I needed to help her. To protect her.

"No, he does not have emotions," Dr. Reyes had told the other doctor. "He can mimic other peoples emotions, emotions that he sees, but inside, he cannot feel them."

"I don't know," I whisper back.

As I hold her face, and she shuts her eyes, I feel the fear slowly start to evaporate. It's no longer there.

I don't tell her what I felt, she would think I'm crazy just like everybody else. But it was like I could feel what she felt, I knew she was in trouble.

"We have to leave, now," she says while opening her eyes again. "Before somebody sees you."

╰── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╯

Aria likes her routine. She likes to do the same thing every night. I wait in the kitchen for her to be done with her shower, which she has been in for a long time.

When she finally walks out, she wears the short silky robe she always puts on after her showers. Her hair is wet and brushed.

"Look," I say while pointing to the two plates. "Look Aria, I made dinner."

She looks surprised. She walks over to the two plates, and I'm waiting for her to respond, waiting for her to tell me I cooked something wrong.

"Wow, Atlantic," she says. "It looks amazing."

My eyebrows pull together.

"Seriously?" I ask.

"Yes, seriously," she nods. "You made all this while I was in the shower?"

"I followed everything you've taught me," I say.

She smiles. I like when she smiles, she doesn't do it often. It's bright, like a light. She says softly, "Thank you."

We eat at the dining table. It's another thing she likes to do. She likes to eat in the dining room while the TV is on in the living room. I don't know why she likes it, but she does, so I don't question it.

"What were you looking forward to most about getting out?" she asks me.

I know the answers, I can answer without hesitating.

"The sun," I tell her. "I just wanted to see the sun."

I had told her that, before she helped me get out. But I think she thought I was just saying that to get her to help me. But I wasn't.

She nods. We eat together. I'm a way faster eater than her, so when I'm done, I sit and wait for her to be done too.

Once she's done, she takes the plates to the sink, and begins washing them. I follow behind her, taking one of the plates from her and starting to wash it. She tells me, "It's okay, you made the food, you don't have to do that."

"But I'm helping you," I say as I look down at her. "That's what we do, right? Help each other."

She does a small nod. I have never helped anybody in my entire life, but here I was. Although it was for my own gain, I could be lying to her. Giving her fake information about me, but I'm not. I'm telling her the truth.