Inflict: A Novel

Chapter Eight

The ache in Connor's shoulders as he rolled over in bed, was the first sign of his stress. A week since he'd found Evelyn, and things weren't any better. Although, to be fair, they weren't exactly worse, either. She was eating without vomiting, though, he wished she would eat more, and she wasn't constantly attempting to be quiet in every single thing she did.

For the first couple of days, Evelyn had barely moved, even with prompting from Connor. At one point, it took her ten minutes of squirming before Connor asked her if she had to use the bathroom. To which, she then expected him to go with her.

That was a big hell no on his part.

She managed just fine on her own.

Sleeping, however, was a whole other matter. He had spare bedrooms, fully furnished, in the brownstone, but Evelyn went to his bedroom, and sat her pretty arse down in the corner like that was where she was meant to go. Each time, despite wanting to keep her close, Connor directed her to one of the bedrooms—one with warm beige walls and brown bedding on a large king-sized bed.

Each morning, he found her in the same exact spot. Awake before him, and waiting outside his room. It bothered him, but a part of him found a strange enjoyment in how she waited for him, expected him, and then followed along behind him until he told her to go find something to do.

Usually, she just wandered the halls, staring at the art on the walls. Other times, she took her sketchbook—something she hadn't offered for him to look inside—and disappeared into his workshop upstairs, not coming back out until he called her for lunch or supper.

But today was Tuesday, and whether he wanted to or not, he needed to make the nearly two-hour trip to New Jersey for a meet with his father. Sean had made a point to call not once, but twice, just to check in on his son.

Connor was suspicious for a whole range of reasons, and he had every damn right to be. Now, he just needed to confirm some things before he decided what exactly he was going to do about it all.

Still, he worried about Evelyn.

He'd left her alone a few times since he'd taken her. Quick trips to the store, once when he'd gone to the bank to withdraw money, and for a slightly longer period when he had to go into The Ink Shoppe for a client he had booked a good month or more ago. Each time, he came back to find Evelyn had barely moved from the spot where he had left her.

Connor wondered, if he left the doors opened, and told her she could go, would she even leave?

He didn't know the answer to that.

He also wasn't willing to find out.

Not yet, anyway.

Connor pulled open his bedroom door, fully expecting to find Evelyn standing there like she had every morning, and damn near fell over his own two feet. She was there, but instead of standing, she was lying on the floor against his door, with a pillow under her head, curled into a ball.

Sometimes, he noticed her bed was barely disturbed in her room, with no sheets or blankets out of place, as though she hadn't slept in it at all. Finding her like she was, dead to the world at his bedroom door, only made him believe that she wasn't sleeping at all—or barely.

He didn't know what to do.

Connor cursed under his breath as he squatted down, getting a closer look at Evelyn's lax features. "What are you doing out here, love?"

She didn't react to his voice, and her breaths came out in steady, even pulses. Connor knew that somehow, the only way he would be able to get Evelyn out of whatever routine she thought she needed to live by, he was going to have to force her to take care of herself on some level.