Missing Like You

TWENTY-SIX

So we called it quits. We decided to separate. It wasn't a mutual decision, it was my own. I simply forced Scott to agree with me, and he did. My only regret is not bringing Zeppelin with me. Maybe if she was there on Thursday night, she could have protected me. That's what she does best. I should have learned by now that men can't be trusted.

JD comes into my room and asks what I'd like for dinner this evening. At this point, I honestly don't even know what I want anymore. I recite off a list of arbitrary meals, not paying much attention. He tells me he'll make me spaghetti and meatballs. "Throw in some wine while you're at it," I yell as he closes the door behind him.

He returns a little while later, I want to say thirty minutes. I wish I had a clock in here. It's driving me absolutely mental not knowing the date or time. He's carrying a tray, as usual. My eyes meet with the plate, and to my surprise, sitting on the tray next to it is a glass of wine.

He sets the tray in front of me. I pick up the glass and bring it to my nose. "Sauvignon?" I ask.
"Pinot Noir."
I hesitate, then bring the glass to my lips and take a sip. I notice the glass isn't a glass at all – it's plastic.
"Is it to your standards?" he asks me.
"It's alright. Not bad." I set it down and pick up the fork, twirling into the spaghetti. "Why do you never eat with me?" I ask.
"Would you like me to?"
"Yes."
He stands then, and I watch as he disappears through the door. I take a bite and wait. He reappears a moment later, matching tray in hands.
He sits at the edge of the bed so we're facing each other, and mirrors my actions. Wine glass up, wine glass down. Fork in hand, fork in spaghetti.
"So romantic," I remark. He ignores me.
"How are you feeling?" he asks instead, making small talk.
"How do you think I'm feeling?" My mind goes back to yesterday morning after breakfast. When I asked him to stay. We were having a conversation. Albeit, a forced conversation, but still a conversation nonetheless. And when he started to leave, I knew that would be taken away from me. I needed human interaction, even if it was with him. So I asked him to stay, and we continued talking. We talked for a long time. And it's strange when you really think about it, that in the grand scheme of things, he is my captor and I am his prisoner, but I'm sort of enjoying his company.
I've also studied the effects of Stockholm syndrome long enough to know that this is a potential possible outcome of my prolonged captivity here. I don't feel attached to him at this moment, but I fear what might come. The point where I feel reliant on him. The point where I feel attached to him. I tell myself to never let it get to that.
"It was raining earlier," he says.
I look up and we meet eyes. "You're lying."
He laughs at this. "You're good. I was testing you."
"Today is the first day of summer," I tell him. "Summer solstice."
"It is indeed," he takes another bite of his spaghetti, wrapping it neatly around his fork. He swallows, then takes a sip of wine. "Do you like summer?"
"I love summer."
"Why's that?"
"Because the weather is immaculate and the birds seem happier when the sun is out."
"And what about winter?"
I finish chewing, then take another sip of wine. "Winter has its benefits too, don't get me wrong. A beautiful landscape covered in a blanket of snow. The air crisp and cool, snowflakes on your tongue. But it's not the same as summer. Summer is liberating."
"Liberating."
"Indeed."
"How is the food?" he asks. "Good?"
"Yes. The food you make is always good."
He smiles at this.
"Am I boosting your ego?" I ask. "Surely you don't need that."
"My ego is doing quite fine, thank you."
"I'd beg to differ."
"Why's that?"
"Because you're holding someone captive. Clearly if your ego was okay you wouldn't feel the need to do that."
He stops eating and stares at me. "My ego has nothing to do with this predicament we're in, Isabelle. I am not interested in you romantically. I was married once, believe it or not. That is not the reason for your presence here."
For some reason, I feel offended by his words. Perhaps I felt better before, knowing there was a slight possibility that he was interested in me. It would explain so much. There's also the fact that humans love to be wanted. I feel let down at his words.
"If you don't want me," I say slowly. "Then why am I here?"
"You really want to know?"
My heart leaps at his words. "Yes."
He stares at me, his blue eyes focusing on mine. He opens his mouth to speak and I can't take the anticipation any longer.
All of a sudden, his mouth turns into a smile and he's laughing. He's actually laughing. Then, as calm as can be, he gathers up our empty plates and stands.
"What the hell?"
"I told you," he says looking back to me. "In due time."

It's as he leaves that I realize I've already broken the rules of my own game. No questions. Questions are weakness.

I've lost this round and he's won.