"Wait," I stop him.
He pauses. Lingers in place.
"Will you stay for a while?"
He thinks I'm tricking him again. I'm certain of it. It occurs to me that I might be. That I could and should be. But instead, my own mind is the one playing games. Tricking me into craving his company. His time and his attention.
He has not punished me since he took me that first time. He has not touched me again either. He has even given me clothes to wear. Like he doesn’t want to look at me anymore. Like he doesn’t want to see me.
I am lonely and afraid and confused, and I don’t know what comes next. Something is brewing inside of him, and I’m afraid I won’t like whatever it is. So I have to take these moments- these small kindnesses from him- while I can.
"Please?" I ask. "I am tired of eating alone. Will you have dinner with me?"
The very real vulnerability in my voice does not faze him. Because he does leave. And I sigh.
I pull the tray closer and pick at my dinner when the door opens again. Javi stalks back into the room, and this time he is carrying another tray. With his own dinner.
I bounce my knee and try to keep my cool when he takes a seat opposite me and starts eating his food.
He eats like a caveman. It is too fast for him to possibly enjoy it, and he is done within minutes. Meanwhile, my plate is still almost full.
I don't want him to leave though. So I use the opportunity to ask him some questions in hopes that he will answer them.
"You have an accent,” I observe. “Where are you from, Javi?"
"Chile."
"Chile?"
I don't know why this surprises me so much. But his accent is not watered down, and he has been here for so long.
"I like it," I tell him. "I like the way you talk."
It is not a lie.
He does not answer.
"Will you tell me about the roses?"
"Your father said they were your favorite."
I smile, if only a little. They were my favorite as a child. But I suppose now I'll never look at them the same way again.
Something so beautiful and yet... so dark.
I have always been drawn to dark things. Even now, my fingers trace over the petals that have fallen onto the table beside me.
The last time Javi spoke of my father, it was explosive. It would be foolish of me to bring it up again. But how could I not?
“Do you know what happened to him?” I ask. “To my father?”
My heart is subdued while I wait.
“I do not,” Javi answers. “I do not know, Bella.”
I believe him.
I don’t know why, but I believe that he is not lying about this. His voice betrays the certain torment he feels about my father. They were close once. Like father and son. But something happened to fracture that love. Something fractured it so badly that it has turned to hate in Javi’s heart.