Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 69836 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69836 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
“Barely. And you know how hungry I can get.” He wiggles his eyebrows to make sure I get the double meaning.
I know I’m hot to a big part of the population, but it’s his desire for me that makes my heart beat faster. It’s him I want to serve and please. I’ve been conditioned to love and obey my former master, a fact I must begrudgingly accept about myself. Are my feelings for Eli only an extension of that training? A sense of loyalty to the man who killed my tormentor? Or are those emotions genuine? Does it matter when it’s not an obsession I wish to curb?
As soon as I see him go to the kitchen, I’m borderline offended, because I offered him the drink, and I’ll make it for him. Along with the foods I’ve learned he likes most.
“You need to rest,” I protest and follow him. “On the couch!”
He sighs, but doesn’t put up a fight. “But I feel guilty that you’re doing everything.”
“We’ve been over this. It’s my job to keep you safe and comfortable, so don’t complain that I’m not like your lazy exes,” I say and open the fridge, collecting everything I need to make sandwiches.
Eli glances over the back of the couch with a smile. “Okay, but you have to tell me if you feel I’m not doing enough. I guess I can hardly believe you’re this perfect. I keep waiting for something terrible to happen.”
There it is again, the uncertainty I need to weed out of his heart. I’m loyal as a dog, and he treats me with a kindness no one ever bothered to show me. How could I ever think badly of him?
“I like taking care of you. It keeps me busy,” I tell him and start heating the water for our drinks.
“Hmm… I might get it now. Is it the special forces training? You were taught to protect, and you can see I’m particularly useless, so you feel the need to save me?”
I shake my head and lather the bread with mayonnaise. “You’re ridiculous. This costs me nothing. I do it because I want to. Because I want you to be comfortable.”
It’s so strange how he can fully understand that when it’s him doing something for me, but finds it so hard to accept care. At least he seems to think about it before he turns on the TV.
I check news about the manhunt on my phone, but I don’t want him to obsess and be stressed about it, because then he comes up with stupid ideas. The last one being that we should set up traps around the cabin. We agreed he gets to check the news once a day, and he was fortunately fine with that. Even said that being here is a digital detox.
The screen awakes, and lo and behold, it’s another segment on the Festive Fugitive which is what they call Eli despite knowing his name and identity. Every day, some new facts from Eli’s life get pulled out into the open, and I don’t like it. The less is widely known about him, the better.
“Has the culture of the interwebs invaded our real lives too much?” the anchor asks, looking straight at the camera. “For a long time now, we have discussed how the anonymity of the internet causes people to ignore social boundaries and tell others things they never would have in real life. This case shows how far this can go. Even the name, ‘Festive Fugitive’ is disrespectful to the victim and his family. Search engine results display pages upon pages of memes and videos presenting the murder of Arthur Sullivan as a joke—”
“The first amendment guarantees people the right to free speech, but is this a worthy use of that speech?” one of the commentators on the screen asks before shaking his head.
I’m too busy with food preparation to keep watching, but a third voice joins the same discussion I’ve heard more times than I care to.
“The investigation into Elijah Ward’s motive did reveal that Mr. Sullivan wasn’t the person the public knew him as, though. Several bodies found on the grounds of his property? An underground room with torture devices? Who knows what else the police haven’t even disclosed? I’d bet my arm that Elijah was a victim of Sullivan’s. If anything, he saved those who Sullivan would have hurt in the future.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. The Festive Fugitive is hardly some angel of vengeance—”
“How would you know? The case has too many unanswered questions.”
“We still shouldn’t use silly terms like Festive Fugitive when we talk about murder.”
I turn to glance at Eli who doesn’t even blink, glued to the screen as if it’s hypnotizing him. I heard about the discovery a few hours ago, but I didn’t want to rattle him before our trip to the lake. I know all about that underground torture chamber and what else Sullivan hid.