A mind of her own.

Why do I not feel threatened?

She was surprised to recognize that she did not feel threatened by him. Her mind was suddenly, and for the moment, at peace. She was safe. She knew that, if not much else.

He saw her changing expressions and thoughts, even without her saying anything, but he knew it could change very quickly as other thoughts surfaced. He hoped she would not panic, or begin to cry when she recalled more, or how close she had come to tragedy. He would want to hold her in his arms and comfort her if she cried, and she might object to that familiarity with her like this, and would fear for the worst.

Her eyes moved around the room. She seemed calmer than he had expected her to be after the way she had looked last night, and after discovering that she was naked in his presence. This young woman, this goddess, in front of him now was the levelheaded, calm, young woman he remembered. She may not be recalling everything clearly, but she soon would. He would have to tell her all of it when she was ready to listen. Or as much of it as he dared tell her.

She didn’t seem to know, or care, or it had not yet registered, that she was siting there cross-legged, revealing everything; her breasts standing out proudly. They were magnificent breasts that he ached to touch, and that he had not seen this way, unencumbered, before. He noticed that she had gently touched at herself in that hair, more than once, investigating, learning what she could of what had happened to her body, so she may be aware of more about what had been intended for her last night, than she was saying, or wanted to say. At least she would be reassured by what she was learning.

She may regard herself as protected by the smoky barrier of the mosquito net that was mostly between them, as though she were in a cocoon, or behind a dark veil, except for his hand being under it with her, and resting familiarly upon her knee. She would wake up, eventually, and begin to be concerned about what had happened to her.

“Where am I? What happened to me?” Simple questions, simply asked. He could deal with those kinds of questions.

She continued to analyze what her body was telling her brain. There were no pains, no bruising (except for a pain on her arm where that soldier had grabbed her to steer her through that door, and another on her forehead), no personal soreness; there, between her legs, that she could feel.

That other man that she vaguely recalled being with her for a few minutes; an interminable length of time in his threatening company—threatening, for all he had tried to be pleasant, though his eyes told the truth about his intentions—had not done anything to her that she could detect. He had not had time.

Deke intruded into her confused recollections as he answered her questions and reminded her where she was.

“You are in my home, Susan. Far from the madding crowd.”

She liked to hear him say her name like that, and liked the kind way he looked at her. Madding crowd. She smiled. He was referring to the school, and that book by Hardy.

“We are deep in the bayou, Susan. My bayou.”

His bayou. His Susan, too, though he hadn't said it that way. Then she recalled that she actually knew very little of his private life, but almost everything about his life at school.

She remembered Deke had undressed her now. So she had not arrived like this, thank goodness. He had not interfered with her in any way that mattered, and she wouldn’t have objected if he had. They had come close to it on one occasion, and that moment still haunted her with possibilities.

A better intimacy was long overdue between them, the way they seemed to torment each other in the long, slow waltz of growing closer together. But he was not the kind of a man who would ignore her feelings, and override them with his own passions, though it had almost happened once. But she had caused most of that to happen. Had intended it. He was always in control of his emotions around her except for that one time. But of course he had to be, in the school.

He might take minor liberties with her, as she vaguely remembered him doing as he had undressed and bathed her, and after that too, but that was understandable, considering how she always excited him. He would not deliberately set out to harm her. Not as that other man had intended to.

She would not dare tell Deke all that she was thinking. Not yet.

Whatever Deke had done as he helped her, could be easily excused. She knew that he was attracted to her and could not help himself when he was close to her. She had a similar problem when it came to him. He set her blood racing and her thoughts doing handsprings as they were beginning to do, even now.

“You brought me here last night?”

“Yes.”

“Did you undress me too?” She knew he had.

He took a deep breath. That was a direct enough question. So she knew what he had done, though it was obvious, with her being naked. But she was not panicking about that. Not yet.

He nodded. “Yes. I had to.” She knew that too.

She thought for a while and looked around the room, surprised that her mind could so easily go off track like that, after what he had admitted to doing for her.

She saw its layout; chest of drawers, pictures on the walls—nice pictures, scenic landscapes, prints—some photographs, mostly black and white, some oil or acrylic paintings, original, of what looked like the Everglades. There was the chair where he was seated, watching her, and close enough to reach out and touch her as he was doing; another chair, the bed, and a side table with a flower vase and flowers. Fresh flowers.

That was a nice touch. A man did not usually have fresh flowers in his house, but Deke was not like other men. She came back to the smokey mosquito net protecting her, shielding her, and then looked at him looking at her, on the other side of it. She knew that he was observing her reactions to what she was learning, seeing all that she did, and he might be able to see what she was thinking. He was clever that way. He observed people, and said little.

He had entranced her, one lunchtime, when she had asked him to analyze some noisy girls at another table, and to tell her what they were discussing. They both observed their gestures and body language; the way they laughed and leaned into the table, whispering, so as not to be overheard as their glances had flickered around the room, pausing for a second or two on another girl. As they did so, their expressions changed, and they began discussing her in detail as they occasionally looked back to her again and they had become conspiratorial.

Their eyes fluttered around the large room, from time to time, to see who was watching them. They had not noticed him observing them, their eyes, rapidly glissading over him. He was only a man, and was not important in this present conversation. Besides, he was too shy and aloof to interest them, just like the woman, Susan, he was sitting with.

He had played along, astounding Susan by his analysis of them, incisively revealing things that even she did not see. It all sounded plausible. It was as though he had known all about them, but they had been obvious.

She would ask about her clothes later, when she learned more about her present circumstance.

Why was he sitting there, and not beside her as she needed him to be, and would have preferred. This was not how they had left each other after they had eaten lunch just hours earlier. He had taken her hand very briefly then, as he had taken her tray from her, and looked into her eyes. She had the feeling that if they had been alone, he would have told her about his feelings for her, (she knew about them), with it coming to the end of the school year, and maybe have asked her how she felt about him. Maybe even have leaned in and kissed her as he touched her breasts under the shielding of the tray. That question alone would have opened up so many possibilities. What were her plans and did they involve him? They did.

He might have leaned in to kiss her gently on the cheek again and touched her a little more firmly after that positive answer. She would have liked that, though it would have set the dining hall buzzing, after a moment of shocked silence.

She had felt breathless at what she had seen in his eyes and felt in that brief touch. Too brief. But there were too many other girls around for any show of affection other than his fleeting touch on her hand.

What she next said surprised him.

“Am I your prisoner, here, Deke?” She said that thought, and those words before she had thought about them. If she were, she would have been his willing prisoner. ‘I will not mind if I am.’ But she did not say that.

Where the hell had those thoughts come from? What must he think of her for asking that?

Indeed she would not have minded if she was. It might be exciting to be held naked here, as his slave, as his prisoner of love, and chained to the bed with a daisy chain, or a silken thread, for his constant and intimate use. She had often dreamed of that. One of her friends always read those kinds of books and often shared her thoughts of love, and steaming hot romances, with piping hot, whacking-thighed heroes, violent passions, villains intent on snatching away and despoiling the maiden of his choice, and then intense love-making after they had slowly undressed each other. It always ended happily ever after in those stories. Unlike most of real life.

That question came at him out of the blue. His prisoner? What had made her ask that? He had been thinking it himself the way she had been sitting there, a dusky beauty (the material of the mosquito net), like Salome, tormentingly hidden behind such a flimsy veil, yet nothing about her hidden at all. Was he that obvious with his thoughts starkly revealed on his face; in his eyes?

What a strange question for her to ask! He sat forward and laughed in surprise.

“No, of course not.” Not unless she wanted to be.

That was definite enough. She almost felt disappointed.

“What brought that on? You are my honored, and welcome guest, for as long as you need to be here.” That was reassuring. She should not have wondered, not for an instant, but she had. It had been an exciting thought.

She was still naked, of course; perhaps that was what had sparked that question from her. She would ask about that soon.

Despite that, she did not attempt to change her position, cover herself, or hide herself away, though there was a towel within reach on the bed with her. It was too late for any of that. She needed answers first.

Perhaps this was still only a dream, but it felt more real than any dream she could recall, though Deke had figured in many of those too.

“I remember that you helped me.” She paused. “I remember that other man, before that, and those two girls from the school. They took me there, when I did not want to go. I think they did something to me when we stopped for a coffee and a snack.” She was repeating herself.

“I was not myself after that.” The flush on her face, deepened at thought of them, and what they had done with her after that, and had intended for her. It was almost as though they had planned this ahead of time. She still didn’t understand any of it.

It would be better for her if it were a dream. She was angry with them, and with herself, and it showed.