Then I walk out to the car and slide into the passenger seat. Quill turns on the ignition and then drives out onto the state road.
“Where’d you get this food anyway?” I ask, my voice strained as I try to talk normally.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me for being a bitch yesterday when Quill was so apologetic, and saying sorry and trying to connect today when he fell back into his old cruel ways.
I guess the only explanation is that he’s really done a number on my self-esteem. One more reason to get the hell away from him. Nothing has ever felt more impossible, though.
Quill nods at the Starbucks sitting right out on the road, about five minutes from the motel by car.
“So Logan told you to keep such a close eye on me that you wouldn’t give me privacy to pee, but you’re leaving me alone to go to a Starbucks,” I can’t help but taunt him. Then the next minute I’m biting my lower lip. “Sorry.”
I turn away from him, hating myself for the second sorry I’ve just said to him today.
He pauses for a beat before saying, “There aren’t cameras in the woods.”
Right. Of course he set up cameras in the motel room while I was asleep. Typical.
I keep my eyes glued to my window for a while, and when I turn back, I nearly jump as my eyes meet Quill’s. He looks like he’s been staring at the back of my head for a while, as though trying to read my thoughts through my skull.
“Shouldn’t you be, uhm, looking at the road while you’re driving?” I question him.
He ignores my question. “Why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Apologize when I’m being an asshole to you?”
“Oh.” I shrug. “I don’t know.”
I turn back to the window, hating how awkward and lonely I feel right now. I’d give anything for him to take my hand again, but I don’t have it in me today to provoke him. This morning’s scene has made me remember just how cruel he can be.
It feels like it’s taking forever for us to get to our first stop. I assume we won’t stop before lunch, and Quill will probably take the opportunity to get gas then. It’s not much later than seven now, so that means a very long stretch of time ahead of us.
Quill doesn’t speak a word, his face shut down, looking like he’s lost in his thoughts. Meanwhile, I don’t have the heart to speak, and even if I did, this morning has made me nervous. Ireally don’t want him to carry through on his threat. Not that I don’t like sucking him off, but it was the way he said it that hurt.
Even when we were together, and he requested a blowjob by teasing me about how I talked too much, it wasn’t the same. It turned us both on, back then. Maybe being reminded of how talkative I was did mess with my head a bit, but I knew his intention wasn’t to hurt me. His words didn’t have that harsh, cruel edge meant solely to demean me.
I settle back into my seat, keeping my mouth busy by taking sips of chai latte and occasionally nibbling on the bagel, even though I’m not hungry. But at least it’s something to do.
Then I doze off, and I awaken just as Quill pulls up to the lunch spot.
Thank fucking God. Though I don’t see what being in a restaurant as opposed to a car will change. Still, at least the setting is different.
I’m about to open the car door when Quill says abruptly, “Can you do me a favor, Piper?”
“Huh?”
I don’t think I’ve ever heard him say that word before—favor.
“Uh, sure. What?”
He swallows as if speaking is demanding a special effort of him. Which it probably is. “I think you were right. I’m in a lot of pain. I must have been burned pretty badly. Can you see if there’s a first-aid kit in the suitcase?”
My eyes widen. I can’t believe he’s asking me to help him. To take care of him. And telling me I’mright, too. Has he got a fever or something, to be acting so weird?
Still, I jump up to do as he says, heading for the trunk and rummaging in the suitcase. I find a small bag with a number of things I wouldn’t expect to find in a first-aid kit, including sewing material. But there’s also a little tub of vaseline.
“Found it!” I say, waving it at him.