45
HE KNOWS
“I ordered us pizza,”he declares as he closes the glass door. “Did you want to pick a movie before it arrives?”
“Um… sure,” I whisper.
I slide onto the sofa cautiously while Conner sits beside me, grabs the remote, and turns on the TV.
“There’s already electricity?” I ask.
“I hooked it up earlier in the week,” he answers. “I didn’t want us to get here, view the apartment, and leave. I wanted to spend some time with you.”
He goes onto Disney+ and scrolls through Marvel movies. I then admit I’ve never watched them, and his jaw drops. “Well, we’re going to rectify that right now,” he declares. He clicksCaptain America: The First Avenger.“If you get confused, note it down, and I will explain aspects of the movie to you.”
I nod firmly.
The buzzer beside the door rings fifteen minutes later, and Conner stands, pushes the buzzer, and lets the delivery guy come up with our pizzas. There is a brief exchange, and the door closes. I follow Conner to the kitchen. We don’t have any plates. Instead, Conner rips the top off the pizza box and hands it tome. I grab a few slices and sit back on the sofa. My body leans more into Conner when he sits beside me. I shift when I grow uncomfortably close. And then, to make it worse, Conner raises his arm and places it on the back of the chair, over my shoulders.
I blush while we eat in silence.
The movie is engrossing. However, I think Conner understands some aspects and contexts better because he has seen them. Oddly enough, I found the main character attractive. A hint of him reminds me of Conner, forcing me to glance at him now and again.
Nearing the end of the movie, Conner takes the empty pizza box away from me. I place the cup of Fanta on the milk chocolate coffee table and lean back to get more comfortable. I ate a lot – more than I should have. If I had eaten breakfast this morning, I would have probably contained myself more.
The credits blur. My head tilts to the side, and my body moves involuntarily. I want to stay awake. I want to go for a walk, perhaps. However, the overwhelming pain from last night kept me awake. Now, every fibre of my body tells me it’s safe enough to sleep here.
And so, I do.
I wakeup and stare at the ceiling. The fan is still, but I know it will move if I twist the notch on the wall beside the light. If I want it to, the fan will spin.
I must have fallen asleep, and Conner carried me to the bedroom.
I sit up and drag my hand down my face when a cartoon animal print comes into focus. I remove my hand from my face, and my stomach drops, plummeting to the pit of my stomach.Whatever saliva is in my mouth dries up instantly, and my breathing becomes shallow.
There is a cartoon tiger around my index finger. Around my wounded finger. It’s not the one I used this morning, and it’s not the one I wrapped around my finger, concealing my peeled nail. This is new, which only means.
I look at the open door. The sound on the TV has become more prominent now than it was a moment ago. Conner would have seen the wound, and those gears would turn, twisting until everything perfectly falls into place.
Isn’t it exhausting hiding this from him? Hiding the truth?
I shake my head, not listening to her words. Not wanting to listen to her because I know she’s wrong. Knowing he knows, afraid of what he might do, will be more exhausting. At least this way, I can control it. I can control everything so that no one else gets hurt.
Maybe one day I’ll tell him when this is nothing but a bad dream. But until then, I should leave this room and confront what he’s curious about.
He is on the couch. I watch the back of his head as I leave the bedroom and move toward the lounge. He is watching a cartoon, not one I have heard of nor one that someone has mentioned.
As cautious as a mouse in the presence of a cat, I sit down. I make sure I don’t make eye contact. I keep my eyes forward and await my fate. Conner’s arm moves, and I flinch before realising he is placing it behind my head. “How was your sleep?” he asks.
“Good,” I murmur as I touch my hand. “Thank you for the Band-Aid.”
“The other one was greasy and halfway off,” he says, a hint of a smile on his face. “So, I thought to be a good Noble Knight and put a new one on.”
I bite my lip, preparing for the questions, just like the first night when he questioned why I had a six-pack of beer.There is something he is thinking, and now that I started the conversation, there’s a limited amount of time before he asks.
“So…” he begins. I close my eyes, knowing what awaits me. I need to think of a lie to sustain him for a time. His arm wraps around me, surprising me as I lean into him. Conner kisses my forehead. “You aren’t going to like what I’m going to say.”
I bite my lip, tasting the iron flesh dance on the tip of my tongue.