Chapter 2
395 Words
The key card opened the door to the room that was unnervingly quiet.
The curtains were drawn tight, leaving the room dim even in daylight.
The bathroom light was still on.
I pushed the bathroom door open.
Blake was still there.
His legs were bent awkwardly in the tub. One of his wrists was fastened to the base of the shower fixture, and his bare upper body leaned back against the cold porcelain.
After forty-eight hours without food, his lips were dry and cracked, but his gaze was as cold and sharp as ever.
"Isla. Do you have a death wish?"
I set grocery bags on the sink.
Inside were bottled water, bread, jam, wet wipes, a razor, a pack of men's underwear, and a black T-shirt.
I picked up the T-shirt and held it up against him without getting too close. It was too small for him, exactly as I had expected. I quietly put it back down.
Blake kept watching me.
I twisted open a bottle of water, crouched beside the tub, and held it out to him.
He turned his face away and refused to drink.
I kept holding the bottle there.
After a while, water beaded at the rim and slid down the back of my hand.
He finally spoke again,
"What exactly do you want?"
I lowered my head and spread jam over the bread.
"I want you."
To my surprise, Blake laughed.
It was not a pleasant laugh. It sounded like anger forced through clenched teeth.
"I kept you for three years," he said. "Your tuition, your living expenses, your apartment, I took care of everything you needed. Once Ximena comes back, I'll still give you whatever you need."
Every word felt like a nail driven between my ribs.
My hand stayed steady, and I spread the jam evenly across the bread.
"I don't want those things."
"Isla." His voice dropped. "You only look a little like her."
He looked at me and said each word clearly.
"Since the beginning, you've only been a substitute."
Heat rushed into my eyes, and my nose burned, but the tears refused to fall.
I tore the bread into small pieces and held one to his mouth.
He suddenly bit my finger.
Pain shot through me.
I looked at him and said, "Even a substitute gets to decide when she's done being used."
- Writer
