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The plate also has a pickle spear that makes my mouth water with just the sight of it, and a bag of chips that makes my stomach grumble.
"I promise breakfast will be better, but you probably won't be able to stomach anything I attempt to cook."
He steps away, once again sitting on the end of the bed.
I look from him back down to the food, my stomach reminding me for a second time with a low grumble that we were in the middle of getting breakfast ready when I got Nathan's phone call. It's now been well over twenty-four hours since I've eaten.
I reach out for the chips, the ache in my empty stomach deciding it's worth the risk that he's not being genuine in his offer of the food. If I've learned anything in life, it's that everything is an exchange and nothing is free. Nathan reminded me very often that he gave me everything I had, and he exercised that power by taking many of those things away on his own whim. When he discovered that I could just as easily stare out the window as I could read a book, he went after the necessities in life like food and water. On more than one occasion, he'd have the water turned off to my room so I couldn't shower, then he'd hurt me for being dirty.
I swallow down those memories as I open the bag of chips, my eyes locked on Newton. The woman who was helping Beth earlier had called him that, but I don't know if it's his last name or a nickname. It doesn't matter. I'm never going to ask him to clarify.
He seems to understand why I went for the chips, but I can't seem to open my mouth to explain. Although I was with many abused women at the shelter, I heard their stories, some so quick to talk about the things they suffered, but nothing they said ever matched what I've been through.
I know it isn't about comparing trauma. I don't win a prize for being hurt the most or the longest. I can't even count how many times I wanted to open my mouth when someone complained about getting smacked around a couple of times. I've had to work through understanding that none of us deserved what we got, and comparing levels of trauma wouldn't get us anywhere.
Instead of speaking, he nods his head before getting up from the bed and leaving the room once again.
By the time he returns, only a minute or so later, I've managed to scarf down the entire bag of chips. I lick the salt left behind on my lips when his shadow looms over me once again.
He doesn't say words as he drops a pile of packaged food on the floor before picking up the plate.
Instead of taking the plate back to the kitchen, he resumes his spot on the end of the bed with the plate in his lap. He isn't exactly staring at me when he lifts the sandwich to his lips, but I can tell that he wants to prove to me that he wasn't trying to poison me.
I wish I could explain why I didn't eat the food, but it seems like there's no need. I haven't whispered a word about how Nathan would put things in my food to either drug me so I'd pass out or he'd give me things that would make me violently ill. So I don't know how he knows that's why I picked the food that was less likely to have been contaminated by anything.
I shove down that tingle inside of me that urges me to trust this man because a few minutes of kindness can easily turn into a list of expectations in exchange. I know this from experience.
I look from him down to the food he's provided, my eyes locking on a protein bar. The chips were delicious, one of my favorite kinds, but I know they don't provide much as far as nutrition is concerned.
After grabbing the protein bar, I unwrap it as quickly as I can and start eating it. I know there's a very good chance that eating it so quickly is going to upset my stomach, but I know I have to get it inside of me before he flips the switch on his kindness and takes it from me.
He draws my attention when he stands. The plate he offered me is now empty, but he doesn't speak before leaving the room for a third time.
I know he can easily pull me out of this closet. The man isn't an idiot, but I still pull the rest of the packaged food toward me and try and shove it all behind my back before he returns.
Instead of demanding I get out of his closet, he reenters the room, laying down a pile of blankets and a pillow within my reach.
He turns, disappearing out of my line of sight before coming back and laying a flashlight on the bedding he’s offered.
"I can sleep with the light on if you want me to," he says. Instead of responding, I simply pull the blankets and other items inside the closet and tug the door closed.
The light under the door is extinguished, and it only makes me more nervous. The man moves around the room silently, and with the light off, I can't track his shadow through the room like I always did when I was younger.
I wait, giving him what I consider enough time to get into bed and fall asleep before I shift to my knees, use the flashlight, and spread out the blankets. He brought more than I'd ever need if I were on an actual bed, and I know it's so I can have a little more padding under my body.
I'd never complain because, honestly, I’ve been in much worse conditions.
I freeze after what feels like an eternity later, my ears picking up on the first sound I’ve heard since the light turned off.
Whimpers make their way through the closed closet door. At first, I feel like he's taunting me, but after a while, I begin to understand that he's having a nightmare.
Nathan would consider that a weakness. Nothing should bother a man enough that he loses sleep or is restless when his head hits his pillow. I can recall more than once when Xan was punished for his dreams, despite them being completely out of his control. His dad wanted him stronger, and that he cried in his sleep or woke up calling out for help made him a wimp. Nathan would never internalize any of it. The things he did to us were to make us stronger. They shouldn't have the ability to weaken us further.
It isn't until the light from the window on the far side of his room casts its light under the door that the whimpering stops. I find less comfort in the silence than I did knowing that maybe there isn't as much difference between Newton and me after all.
Chapter 9
Newton
