The next time Anatole brought me a meal I decided to initiate more interaction, though the resolution was a difficult one. He was just putting the meal tray down, when I cleared my throat. He looked up suddenly, and gazed at me intently. I flushed but stood my ground, so to speak.
“May I ask, Anatole,” I began, “why it is you lock me in?”
We looked at each other for long seconds. Then he lowered his gaze.
“It is just for now,” he said to the floor.
“Really?”
“Yes,” he said quietly. “Perhaps—perhaps it is wrong.” He paused. “But I was, am concerned for your safety.” Here, he suddenly looked up, and I was hit again with that piercing dark stare, underneath a frown. “You are a very silly young person.” He took a deep breath. “You were almost killed. You know that?”
I stared at him.
“I
