I decide to try another line of questioning.
“Where’s your house?”
“I live in an apartment,” Riley says. “It’s about three miles from here.”
“What do you do when you go home?”
“I have dinner, do laundry, and sleep.”
“That’s it?”
“Sometimes I watch a movie.” She shrugs. She continues to stare at the tablet, avoiding my gaze.
“Do you have pictures of your father at your apartment?”
She tenses and narrows her eyes at the screen. Mashing her lips together, she ignores my question entirely. She’s told me a little about her father and how he died. I know she was close to him and that his death is part of the reason she is here today.
If I could kill the man who killed her father—that would make everything I’ve been through worthwhile.
“Do you have siblings?”
“Sten, will you stop with the questions already?”
I sit up on the edge of the bed, frustrated. The last thing I want is for her to be angry with me. I feel myself tense all over, and I know the only relief I will find is in touching her. If she’s angry, she isn’t going to let me do that.
She comes over and sits on the rolling chair to take my temperature. As she places the thermometer on my finger, I wrap my hand around her wrist. She stills for a moment, and I think she’s going to pull away or tell me not to touch her, but she says nothing. She continues her work as I run my hand up her arm.
I can’t stand it anymore.
“Please don’t be angry with me,” I whisper.
“Oh, Sten.” Riley stands, takes three steps away, and stops suddenly. She rubs her eyes with her fingers and then looks back at me. “I’m not angry with you. I’m angry with myself. Last night…well, it shouldn’t have happened.”
My organs feel like they’re dropping into my lower gut. She hadn’t wanted it. It was the most incredible sensation I ever recall experiencing, and she wishes it hadn’t happened.
She felt it too. I know she did.
“I wanted it.” I push off the bed and walk to her, taking her hands in mine. “I need you, Riley. You’re all I think about.”
“I know you need it,” she says. “With the upgrade of your chemical treatments, I knew the side effects would be…well, impossible for you to control if you didn’t have a sexual outlet. That’s why I brought in the prostitutes.”
“I don’t want them.”
“I know you don’t.” She sighs. “You make that abundantly clear.”
“I do?”
“I can tell by the look on your face every time I bring one into the room. It is obvious you don’t want them, but we need some outlet for you. I’m not sure there’s another choice.”
“You are my choice.”
“I can’t do that again.”
Could I really have misread her that much? It doesn’t seem possible. I’m so in tune with her every movement. I don’t think I can be so off-base.
“You always stopped me before. You didn’t want it to happen.”
She closes her eyes for a moment and then looks down at our joined hands. She rubs my palm with her thumb and lets out a long breath.