A prison called safety
1481 Words
Inside, the house was covered in dust. Every surface looked like it hadn't been touched in months.
If he thought I was going to clean this place, he had another thing coming.
“You'll be staying in here,” he said, opening one of the bedroom doors.
I looked around.
Dust.
Cobwebs.
More dust.
I let out a dramatic sigh.
“So... I actually have to clean?”
He simply raised an eyebrow.
Great.
I spent the next hour wiping furniture, sweeping the floor, and complaining to myself the entire time. If I was going to be trapped here until I escaped, I might as well clean the place.
As I worked, my thoughts drifted back to my family.
How was Mom?
Had my brother reported me missing?
Were they searching for me?
The thought made my chest ache.
I needed something to distract myself.
Food.
I wandered into the kitchen and opened the cupboards.
Empty.
Every single one.
I opened the fridge instead.
A bowl of tiny creatures stared back at me.
Shrimp.
Still in their shells.
Their tiny black eyes looked strangely alive.
“Oh... absolutely not.”
I'd never eaten seafood before.
Honestly, they looked terrifying.
But hunger has a way of lowering your standards.
I suddenly remembered watching a YouTube video years ago about cooking shrimp.
I hadn't been paying much attention then.
Hopefully, my memory had.
I filled a bowl with water and dumped the shrimp inside.
Their tiny legs floated to the surface.
They looked like they were either sleeping...
...or drowning.
I waited nearly thirty minutes while my stomach complained louder by the minute.
Finally, I heated some oil in a frying pan.
The gentle sizzle gave me hope.
Maybe I actually knew what I was doing.
I added the garlic.
Then the onions.
Within seconds...
Something smelled wrong.
The sharp scent of burnt garlic filled the kitchen.
“Oh, come on,” I groaned.
“What is wrong with me today?”
Trying not to panic, I scooped the shrimp out of the water and tossed them into the pan.
They curled into little pink commas.
Their tiny black eyes still seemed to be staring straight at me.
I froze.
“They're still breathing.”
In complete panic, I grabbed a cup of water and poured it straight into the hot pan.
BOOM!
A violent hiss erupted through the kitchen.
Steam burst everywhere.
Hot oil splattered across the counter.
The smell of burnt garlic, seafood, and smoke filled the entire room.
I jumped backwards with a yelp.
The kitchen looked like a battlefield.
My stomach growled again.
Seriously?
“What are you doing?”
I nearly jumped out of my skin.
Gavin stood in the doorway, his expression caught somewhere between anger and disbelief.
My heart pounded so hard I thought he could hear it.
“I...” I opened my mouth, but no words came out.
“You could have waited for me,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Right on cue, my stomach let out a loud, traitorous growl.
His eyes shifted to my face before dropping to the disaster I'd created.
“I see.”
He walked into the kitchen, his expression unreadable. Without another word, he pulled his shirt over his head, leaving only a fitted black vest that hugged his broad shoulders and muscular arms.
For a second, my brain stopped working.
Why did he have to do that so casually?
I forgot all about the oily splatters on my clothes and the mess surrounding me.
“I'll take care of this,” he said, lifting the ruined pan off the stove.
“I'm sorry,” I mumbled. “I'll clean everything.”
“Go and change.”
His tone left no room for argument.
I quietly nodded before dragging my feet toward the bathroom.
---
“Shannon.”
His voice echoed through the house.
“Food's ready.”
I was still in the bathroom, trying to scrub the smell of burnt oil off my hands.
I ignored him.
Food could wait.
My dignity couldn't.
After finishing my bath, I wrapped myself in the soft bathrobe and opened the bathroom door.
I froze.
Gavin was sitting comfortably on my bed as if he owned the room.
I leaned against the door, clutching my bathrobe a little tighter.
Thank goodness I'd decided to wear it.
“I said come and eat,” he said, completely unfazed.
“A little privacy?” I asked through clenched teeth.
“You lost your privacy privileges the moment you turned my kitchen into a biohazard zone.”
I opened my mouth to argue...
...then closed it again.
Unfortunately, he had a point.
“I won't reheat your food if it gets cold,” he added, picking up his plate.
My pride lasted exactly three seconds.
Hunger won.
Again.
I followed him into the dining room.
The shrimp no longer looked like tiny sea monsters.
They'd been tossed with glossy pasta, garlic, herbs, and parsley, filling the room with an aroma that made my mouth water.
I twirled some pasta around my fork, picked up a shrimp, and cautiously took a bite.
My eyes widened.
It was buttery, garlicky, and unbelievably tender.
A small hum of satisfaction escaped before I could stop it.
Wonderful.
Now he definitely knew I liked it.
“Impressed?” he asked with a smug smile.
I pretended not to hear him and focused on my plate instead.
“It's one of my mother's favourite dishes,” he said quietly.
I looked up.
Why was he telling me that?
“Oh...” was all I managed.
He simply shrugged before continuing to eat.
“You must really love your mom,” I said after a moment.
He nodded once.
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable.
For the first time since meeting him, it almost felt... peaceful.
Only the soft clinking of forks against plates filled the room.
When we'd finished eating, Gavin gathered the empty dishes.
“Next time you're hungry,” he said without looking at me, “just tell me. I may be heartless and a lot of other things, but I won't let you starve.”
His words sounded strangely sincere.
Almost like a promise.
I nodded.
The same man who had taken away my freedom was the one reminding me to eat, making sure I was safe, and treating me like I was more than just a prisoner.
That thought bothered me more than I wanted to admit.
Because I still didn't trust him.
I couldn't.
But somewhere between the arguments, the strange conversations, and the small moments of kindness...
I had started seeing a person behind the danger.
And that scared me.
“And one more thing,” he added, carrying the plates to the sink. “Be careful. I might not be so patient the next time you turn my kitchen into a disaster zone.”
I couldn't help rolling my eyes.
“My room is next door,” he continued. “But I won't be here tonight.”
My stomach tightened unexpectedly. The silent house suddenly seemed much larger than before.
Gavin glanced briefly toward the security screen near the hallway.
It was quick.
Almost too quick for me to notice.
But I did.
His relaxed expression disappeared for a second, replaced by something colder.
Something alert.
Like he was expecting trouble.
“What?” I asked.
His eyes immediately returned to mine.
“Nothing.”
I narrowed my eyes.
I didn't believe him.
There was always something with Gavin.
Secrets.
Warnings.
“What?” I blurted out before I could stop myself. “You're leaving me here... alone?”
He slowly turned to look at me.
One eyebrow lifted.
Those piercing eyes locked onto mine.
For someone I'd spent the whole day arguing with...
...the thought of being alone suddenly felt far more frightening.
And I hated that.
Because the person who had trapped me was becoming the person I felt safest around.
That was the most dangerous thing of all.
“If you cherish your life,” he said, his face hardening, “don't open the door for anyone.”
The playful mood vanished.
The warmth that had settled over dinner disappeared as though it had never existed.
His voice carried a warning so serious that it sent a chill crawling down my spine.
“Why?” I asked quietly.
He held my gaze for a long moment.
“Just remember what I said.”
No explanation.
No reassurance.
Just another secret.
He turned and walked toward the front door.
The lock clicked behind him.
Silence swallowed the house.
I stood there, staring at the closed door.
Only a few hours ago, I'd been desperate to escape this place.
Now, for the first time...
I wasn't afraid of the house.
I was afraid of whoever was outside it.
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