Page 24 of The Hangman's Rope
“Take a deep breath,” he said. “Sit still. I’m going to cook us up something to eat for dinner. You don’t have to make any decisions today. Maybe not even tomorrow or the day after, okay? Just take your time, just breathe, and soak in the quiet. When you’re ready, you can take on the next problem. The next big thing. There’s no rush and we can figure it all out if we just relax and take our time.”
I stared at him, stony faced and with no little wonder.
“I don’t understand,” I repeated and he shrugged.
“What don’t you understand?” he asked with a shrug, pushing off the counter and standing up straight.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” I asked. “Why are you giving me this space, and the time, and – and – and?—”
“Protecting you?” he asked.
I blinked.
“Yeah.”
He pursed his lips, rolled them, looking thoughtful.
“Truthfully,” he said, eyebrows going up. “I don’t even know.”
He swallowed hard.
“Maybe I’ve been through some shit, too. But I’m a guy, and they just kind of expect you to keep right on rolling with the punches when you’re a man. I didn’t really get the time to process through the awful shit that I’ve seen and been through and it fucked me up. It fucked me up but good. Maybe I don’t want to see that happen to you. You seem like a good girl, with a good head on your shoulders. I don’t want to see one awfulmoment ruin you for your entire life. If that means giving you the space and the time to heal on your own schedule, in your own way, it seems like such a small thing, you know? There really shouldn’t be any rushing this for you.”
I stared at him for a long time, the silence stretching between us.
“I don’t know what to say,” I said finally.
He shook his head.
“Don’t say anything,” he said. “Just enjoy the quiet with me.”
I nodded slowly, both understanding and not understanding what he was saying. Like I wondered what horrible thing had happened that he hadn’t been allowed to heal from. Whatever it was, it was serious in order for him to treat me like this. I mean, so well.
I sat in a weighted silence as he went back to moving around the kitchen, turning his back to me to get a pan heating on the stove.
He had some scars on his body – along his ribs, around to his back. I didn’t know what caused that welt of ridged scar tissue, but whatever it was, it looked like it’d been painful.
He cooked in silence except to ask me if I knew if I liked this or that that he was putting on the chicken breast in the pan.
I would either nod or shake my head, and it was nice. Nothing about the interaction was uncomfortable at all.
His hair dried naturally into these soft waves, almost curls, and his hair looked as good down as it had up, and I caught myself wondering to myself if this is what Belle fromBeauty & the Beasthad… that whatever syndrome. Where you started sympathizing or empathizing with your captor or whatever.
Except Hangman was too gentle to be a beast, and it hadn’t even been a full twenty-four hours yet, had it?
I didn’t know.
By the time I’d finished thinking about it, we’d moved to the little dining table to eat what he’d cooked.
Hangman sat back in his chair with a sigh, chewing thoughtfully, and looking me over.
“Can I trust you?” he asked me.
I blinked at him and nodded mutely, wondering what this was about.
“Finish your dinner, Sweetpea. I’ve got to go down and make sure the gates are shut and locked. Promise me you’ll be up here when I get back.”
I smiled faintly then and asked a little sadly, “Where would I go?”
