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Luka’s hand pushed the ramen cup toward her.
She blinked at it, losing the flash of memory. “Oh, do you want more? I can—” Only the ramen cup wasn’t empty.
“Alina.” The way Luka said her name was like the first breath of fresh air she used to take when she left the cabin and entered the woods, anticipated and carrying something that she’d almost forgotten. “Eat,” he finished, pushing the ramen closer.
“No, that’s for you. You need to eat as much as you can to regain your strength. I’m sorry, ramen is all I have to offer. I haven’t been…” Her stomach rumbled in an embarrassingly loud way. All the acid from before had faded with her rambling. “Hungry,” she finished lamely. The lie sat between them, and she turned away from the table to make herself some ramen.
He watched her movements as she popped it in the microwave. Moving to the entryway between the kitchen and the dining room, she nodded at his own cup. “You eat that. When you look so weak, it’s kind of…” His eyes had focused on her again, so intent in how they stared. Hadn’t he been unable to look at her before? “Scary,” she finished in a soft voice, but what she told him made no sense. She preferred him quick and strong? It was like she had some sort of savior complex, like she wanted him to be able to protect her.
It was a pointless wish. No one would ever truly protect her. Her father hadn’t. Her mother hadn’t. The woman who was supposed to care for her after they were gone actively abused her, and the man that she could still picture stabbing over and over again was an even worse example.
Luka hadn’t been there to rescue her but to destroy the house and everything in it. Maybe including her. Only he hadn’t.
The microwave beeped, interrupting her thoughts. She preferred babbling over thinking. Sure, she said too much, but she didn’t have to think about all the words she said.
Alina sank into the seat next to him, the cup of liquid lava tapping on the table when she set it down. She began the process of stirring and blowing.
Luka had taken his own cup back and spooned up more of the curly noodles that had now cooled. Soon he was lifting the cup instead and tilting it back. He used the napkins that she had brought before to wipe his lips clean, then sat with his hands folded in front of him and watched her as if mesmerized by her repeated stirs and blows.
“You should lie down. It’s too soon to be up this long. I’ll need to check the sutures to make sure they’re okay, but you should really rest.” Her eyes darted up to his, but he didn’t react. Just as he barely reacted to anything she said. Luka was a man who didn’t spew his emotions. After only interacting with a woman who had, especially anger and frustration, his calm presence was soothing.
“Why did you save me?” she asked. The words were out. They’d been hovering as if needing to be said for so long.
Luka’s gaze lifted from the ramen cup to meet hers.
“I mean, I didn’t want to die. I’m grateful. It hadn’t been long, but I was so weak that when he told me to stay…” She swallowed, veering away from the pain of her obedience. “I wouldn’t have left without your hand. I would have burned, and everything would be over, and I guess I just don’t understand why you bothered.” Her eyes darted around the safe house. “You handed me that knife, watched me at my worst, and brought me here. There’s no way you thought I would stay this long, that I would try to help you heal. And you watched me enough before to bring me pencils. I mean, they were broken and are down to nubs now, but instead of making things worse, you did that.” Her throat felt thick, as if she had to push the next words out; they sounded like a lost child, even to her. “I don’t understand why you did those things for me.”
His brows drew together as those light, peridot eyes continued to stare.
Silence filled the space between them. It wasn’t that he was searching for words. His lips didn’t part as if he would speak, and his brow didn’t smooth this time.
A small, broken laugh cleared the blockage in her throat. It was soft and very brief, a hiccup of sound that made his brow crease more, though his gaze darted away.
“I guess some things don’t have an answer,” she said, lifting a spoonful of broth to her lips. It was still too hot, but her stomach didn’t rebel. The opposite. She was suddenly ravenous.
“I’ve eaten ramen a lot over the years. The woman caring for me brought over a ton of it, and…” Her words filled the little house again, talking about nothing and everything that had been her life, as sheltered and boring as it had been, in between bites.
She finished the ramen and urged him to return to the bedroom while she cleaned up. Trying to lead him back herself would be too much touching.
With her stomach full, and darkening twilight taking place outside the window, her exhaustion pulled at her. A couple of hours hadn’t been nearly enough sleep. She was careful, like always, as she checked his wound. The bandage wasn’t bloody. He hadn’t done more damage to it by standing. She was relieved, since trying to sew skin together had drained her.
She found the soft blanket that now brought her a feeling of security and began to curl up on the long ottoman at the foot of the bed.
Luka struggled to push up on his hands, shaking his head at her.
“No, lie flat,” she urged him, dropping the blanket as she stumbled off the ottoman and moved closer, her hands hovering over his wound.
Luka patted the bed beside him, back to not looking at her.
Alina bit her lip against the temptation. The mattress had been much softer than the ottoman when she’d curled up next to him before. She’d already known that from when she’d slept there. “I’m fine on the ottoman,” she told him, bending to pick up the blanket. The maneuver made her feel almost dizzy. She was tired, and seeing him almost acting well made the last of the worry and its related adrenaline seep away.
As she straightened, his fingers closed over her wrist, not in a clamp, but in a soft, barely-there caress.
“Rest, Alina,” he said, and it was as if him saying her name drained more energy from her. Or maybe it was the way his face had turned toward her. His hand trembled against her, whatever type of pain he felt from touch affecting him even while he held her so loosely.
The melting was back, drawing her down onto the empty side of the bed so that his arm didn’t have to extend so far. She lay on her side, facing him, but he had turned his head and stared up at the ceiling, his jaw clenched.
Her slitted eyes took in the spot where his grip remained on her arm. “I’ll sleep,” she promised, the words coming out slurred as tiredness dragged at her. “You don’t have to touch me.”
