After the Storm

24. Lights Out

I could almost hear the gears in his brain whirring as he explored his options.

Eventually, he said something I didn't expect. "Hold my hand."

I pinched myself. Had I heard him right? Did he just ask me to make physical contact with him? "Are you serious?"

A large hand shot out and grabbed mine. I jumped, just as my heart skipped a beat.

"Yes."

With a gentler-than-expected tug, he began guiding me. The forward movement caused me to tighten my grip in fear of tripping.

My mouth went dry.

He was holding my hand! Voluntarily! I couldn't believe it.

What can you not believe? It's logical isn't it?

He could have asked me to hold the ends of his tailcoat instead of touching him directly, skin to skin. In spite of that, he had held my hand first. The keyword was: 'first'. What was I to make out of that?

That he treasures his now eleven year old tailcoat too much to let you lay a finger on it?

I snorted softly. Unlikely!

"Why are you holding my hand?" The feminist in me blurted.

"To ensure that you don't lose your way."

"Bu-but why my hand? Why not make me hold your tailcoat instead?"

Stop asking such stupid questions!

He went silent for so long that I almost thought that he wasn't going to reply.

"Is holding your hand wrong?"

"No. It's just that..."

"Does it make you uncomfortable? If you want to, you can hold my tailcoat instead."

I felt my cheeks heat up. Luckily it was too dark for him to see anything. "No! It's fine, really. I like holding your hand."

I mentally slapped myself. "I mean I don't mind. I don't like it or anything--I mean I'm fine with it." My face was on the verge of burning up from embarrassment.

"Indeed?" It almost seemed like there was a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Yes!"

"So you would rather hold my hand than my tail coat?"

"Ye-no. I don't know!" I wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Deep down, I enjoyed holding his hand. Deep down, far away from my feminist mindset, placing my smaller hand in his larger, warm ones made me feel safe. Entirely unfeminst I know! But the comfort hand holding brought was not something I could shake off easily.

"It's not good to be indecisive, Mr Linton."

"Oh shut up!"

"I am your employer, Mr Linton. You have no right to command me."

"Oh shut up, sir!"

Displeasure radiated off the silent figure leading me, along with another emotion I couldn't pinpoint.

"Wait." I stopped suddenly, forcing him to do the same. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"I swear I heard footsteps."

His grip tightened. "Are you sure--"

Out of the blue, or I would rather say: out of the darkness, an arm hooked around my throat. It was so sudden that I had little to no time to react.