Chapter Sixteen
Isabella
It’s hot today. So hot I’m sweating.
I’m grateful Tristan didn’t come back and cuff me to the window again. The freedom of movement enables me to shower and clean myself in the En suite bathroom.
When I finished, I chose a loose-fitting t-shirt and a pair of yoga pants from the stash of clothes he brought me. I wondered if they belonged to Candace. We’re about the same size so it would make sense. I also couldn’t imagine Tristan prepping clothes for me to take on this kidnapping spree.
I’m out on the terrace because it’s cooler than being inside the room.
Today his brother brought in breakfast which wasn’t as elaborate as days gone by. It was just a buttered roll and a glass of water. Both of which I ate and wanted more.
I feel sick from the days of not having anything to eat. Last night I started sipping water, but it wasn’t enough to sate the weakness in my body.
The meager breakfast today suggested I’ve pissed everyone off.
I don’t want to ask them for anything so I’m waiting for the next person to come in with food.
I’m sitting by the balcony now just watching the sea. I’m the girl who loves the water. I love swimming and doing anything water related. Watching the sea like this though makes me feel more trapped. The sea out here doesn’t have that calm flow I’m used to. The waves are always crashing against the rocks like a storm is brewing.
Eric used to tell me that’s a sign the current is stronger in those sections and the parts you stay away from in a storm.
It’s nice to watch the sea come alive and I can tell this island must have its own wonders, but I’m a prisoner here. Trapped with a man who confuses me. I fear him and I want him. I hate him and I want to know more about him.
It’s complicated and I’m complicated. I can’t explain the want because it doesn’t make sense.
I guess perhaps it might be simply explained with the fact he’s the first man since Eric to make me feel that wild desire of need which can only be fulfilled by that person.
What I do know is I’m helpless, and now I’m weak.
I’ve been sitting here in the heat with sweat running down the side of my face and I’m either too weak to move, or my mind has given up.
I turn my head when I hear footsteps. They’re faint and sound like they’re near but far away. The person they belong to is a few paces away from me so it must be me in my weakness unable to grasp what’s happening around me. It’s Candace and she stands before me with a plate of cookies and a glass of chocolate milk.
There’s something about seeing the cookies that soothes me. My mother used to bring me cookies when she knew I was upset. Or when she suspected I was worried about something.
Most often I was worried about my father. That was when he was still a father to me, and I used to worry when I didn’t see him for a while. I understood from an early age he wouldn’t always be home, but back then things were different. We were almost like a real family. Almost, but never.
“I know I’m probably the last person you want to see but I brought this up,” she says. “Don’t worry they’re not poisoned.”
“I don’t think anyone will poison me if they need information from me,” I answer. I am still infuriated by her, but if she works with Tristan then she’s just doing as she’s told. I know what that’s like.
It’s like Sacha wanting to help me but he can’t. It’s like everyone who’s wanted to help me but knows it means death if they do. So, I decide to cut her some slack.
“I just wondered if you might think the food was poisoned. You haven’t eaten properly in days.”
“I can’t eat when I’m … scared,” I confess.
“Me too. The sugar helps though,” she answers surprising me. “There’s a lot of monsters to be scared of. Sometimes it’s the little things like this that help. Small and unimportant but sometimes effective.”
I nod my agreement. “Yeah,” I agree, then I contemplate whether Tristan might have sent her to befriend me. “Did he send you up here to talk to me? My answer is still going to be the same no matter who comes. I don’t know where my father is.”
“Nobody sent me. I just came up on my own accord.” She holds my gaze and I search her eyes. The eyes are indeed windows to the soul and right now hers seem genuine enough for me to believe her.
“Thank you. I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you the other day. It was rude.”
“You were right though,” she says stepping closer. “I won’t say you were wrong. You were right, but things don’t always look like how they seem. People aren’t always who they are, or what they appear to be.”