I lock eyes with him, as if that might make him stop. He slowly sips his coffee, but never breaks his stare. His eyelids narrow just slightly—subtle, but I catch it. In the soft morning light filtering through the windows, his tattoos seem to shift. I’m certain each one tells a story, and I almost want to know what they say… For the first time, I realize I don’t see him as a monster.
The calm of the kitchen and this silent exchange between us give me the courage to try:
“Can I call my Aunt?”
His reply is sharp, shattering my hope:
“For now, no.”
He shows no emotion, but I hadn’t expected any. Despite the deep disappointment haunting me, I’m not surprised. I don’t expect him to do anything for me now, but I want at least one guarantee—that he’ll keep the promise he made when I told him
