Page 51 of Kylie

When the doorknob turned, I managed to lift my head. Evidently, it was somewhat worth the effort.

Martin appeared in the doorway. His eyes skimmed the space. I wanted to ask him if he was expecting me to have company, but I didn’t bother. I didn’t care what he expected.

“I brought you a gift,” he said.

He was hiding something behind his back. Or appearing to. I didn’t put much stock in it because, with my luck, this was a stupid hallucination and I would be disappointed when he floated away on the breeze.

Martin’s hand appeared. He was holding a bottle of green Gatorade. Or was it yellow? I couldn’t really tell.

“It’s cold,” he said, placing the bottle on the floor at his feet.

I cocked an eyebrow. Did he expect me to crawl over there? Well, he could go fuck himself.

He put his shiny shoe on the bottle and rolled it forward and back under his sole. I watched, my mouth watering.

“This is me extending an olive branch, Kylie.”

Yeah, well, go fuck yourself with the olive branch. And I hope it hurts.

While I didn’t let the words escape, I couldn’t contain the smile.

“You like that idea, huh? Me giving you something?”

Oh, that’s not it. I like the idea of you bursting into flames or melting into sludge.

“This is how it’s going to work. I’m going to let you have this bottle of ice-cold Gatorade. You’re going to enjoy it in peace. Then tomorrow, I’m going to come back here, and you’re going to do me a favor. Does that work for you?”

Was it me, or did he just say going to a ridiculous number of times?

“Does it, Kylie?”

I considered ignoring him, but the promise of that drink was too much. Gatorade had electrolytes, and at the moment, I figured all of mine were depleted. It wouldn’t save me, but maybe it would keep me alive long enough for someone else to.

And yes, even I knew that was a ridiculous dream. No one even knew I was alive.

But hope was a vicious bitch at times.

“Kylie. Answer me,” Martin insisted.

Rather than speak, I nodded. He didn’t need to know that I was agreeing to enjoy the drink, but not to doing him any favors. He would figure that out tomorrow.

“Good girl. And tomorrow, why don’t I bring you some antibiotic cream for that scratch on your leg?”

Antibiotic cream? Was he serious? That shit wasn’t going to help. What he called a scratch was actually a gaping wound, but did it really matter?

“Can I trust you, Kylie?”

I nodded. I lied. So what?

Martin shoved the bottle forward, letting it roll toward me. I stared at it, watching as it came within reach. Although I wanted to snatch it up and gulp it down, I forced myself to remain there. It wouldn’t benefit me for him to see how eager I was.

“I’ll be back in the morning, Kylie. We’ll talk more then.”

I met his gaze.

Sure we will, asshole.

He was out of the room less than three seconds before I snatched up that bottle and cradled it like a newborn baby.