Chapter 2

I sink down onto the cot, resting my head in my hands. The irony of it all makes me laugh. Ran away from a golden cage--well, silver at any rate--and now I ended up in a cage again. My parents were quite well off so I lacked nothing growing up... except their love. Still it had taken me a long time to find the courage to leave the golden cage and run away. I wouldn't go back for all the money and comfort in the world. Not even now. This can't be worse. Right?

There are no clocks and I don't have a watch, but my gut tells me that several hours have passed, and my captor hasn't come back yet. I suppress the ridiculous thought that I've been left here to starve. You only think that because you're hungry, I tell myself firmly. Why would he want me dead if he's grateful for me warning him? And he did save my life, didn't he? Yet why would he keep me here if not for sex? I study the bars. Tried the door as soon as he'd left, but no dice. And with my stiletto knife gone--he must have taken it--I don't even have anything to try and mess with the lock. The only other door leads to a tiny, old--and surprisingly clean--lavatory. Does he want to keep me here as his pet? But he doesn't really look like a psycho. Yeah I know, not everyone who is a psycho looks like one... I sigh in frustration. Fuck, if he'd talk I could at least get some information out of him!

The sudden noise of the door opening scares me out of my thoughts, and in he comes on silent feet, a paper bag in his arms.

"Damn, you gave me a scare!"

He gives me a brief lopsided smile, then carries the bag over to the counter and starts taking out various groceries. I don't have the energy to start grilling him, so I just watch as he moves about silently and, I notice, rather gracefully. Within a short time the scent of cooking fills the room, and my stomach starts growling. I realize I haven't eaten since before the beginning of my shift. No wonder I'm feeling so weak.

Finally he carries over a small tray with a plate and another glass of water, holding it in his left hand while unlocking the cell door with his right, and locking it again after he enters. He doesn't seem out to harm me and I don't feel strong enough to try anything, so I decide to go along for now.

Silently he sets the tray down next to me on the cot. The omelet looks and smells delicious. "Thank you... I was really getting hungry." He starts to turn away, so I quickly add, "Will you at least tell me what I should call you? I can't just say, 'Hey you!' every time I want your attention, now can I?"

He seems to think about it, so I hold out my hand and tell him my own name, smiling.

He looks at my hand as if wary of the touch or that I might try something, then slowly lifts his. And before I know it, I find my hand in a tight grip and twisted outward, the smooth skin on the back of my forearm revealed.

I gasp, more from surprise than pain. "What...?" Instinctively I try to pull away and fight him, twisting my arm, but his grip is firm--too firm for me to break. I can feel panic start to rise--memories of when they had grabbed me to mete out punishment flashing through my mind--but then I find those incredible eyes searching my face, and the claws of his other hand are delicately tracing lines down my skin as if he's thinking, wondering... sending shivers through me... What the hell...? Then without warning the pressure increases and the claw on his index finger scores into my skin. I want to scream but then I realize that he has such control--blood is rising but it doesn't fall--and I find myself staring in fascination as with a look of utter concentration on his face, he carves letter after letter into my arm, mouth parted, teeth catching on his bottom lip... and I allow it to happen, I don't fight, because Jesus Christ, part of me wants this... One by one, he carves the letters into my skin:

He lightly traces his claws back over all of them as he turns my arm so I can read the name, and I have to fiercely suppress a moan that threatens to rise in my throat.

Gently he puts my hand into my lap; I want to hit him and scream, What are you doing to me?!, I want to curl up in a ball and cry; I want to laugh hysterically... but instead of all this, I sit there frozen, staring at the name he carved into my skin, trying to grasp what just happened here.

Eventually he leaves, silent.

*************

Dinner over, Kevin washes the dishes and cooking utensils. I'm still too confused to talk, so I just watch, which he doesn't seem to mind.

He is quite tiny, a little smaller than me wearing my heels, and his age is hard to guess, but probably he's older than he looks. I don't think I've ever seen a guy with skin that smooth and pale, and it is even more accentuated by his dark hair. His eyes are of an intense blue, and they are the most fascinating and at the same time unsettling feature... for at times they are incredibly expressive, and the next moment the look inside them can be so utterly dispassionate that it seems his body is an empty shell. And then of course, there are his claws...

My eyes return to the scars in my arms, spelling out his name:

Such an ordinary name for such an extraordinary man.

I get distracted from my thoughts when the light goes out. I look up just in time to see Kevin withdraw to the other room, closing the door without even acknowledging my presence.

"Well, good night to you too," I mutter, shaking my head. After a last look around the now dark apartment I give in to the inevitable and lie down on the cot, curling up on my side and thinking about my strange captor and his disturbing ways. I can feel myself starting to drift off to sleep. My thoughts drift off too, roaming freely as they often do just before I fall asleep.

Suddenly my eyes fly open.

Oh fucking hell, what are you thinking, woman?

I can dimly see his name on my skin even in the darkness, and somehow the memory of how he put it there has spiraled into fantasies... fantasies of what Kevin could do to me with these claws of his; fantasies that make a pleasant tingle spread between my thighs. I groan. Fuck, they turn me on! I throw myself onto my back, wide awake now, and stare up at the ceiling.

And that is the shocking part, really. I enjoy my job well enough, but since before becoming one of the girls of Old Town three years ago I have never wanted a man like this! I pray to whatever God is willing to listen that this is just a moment of insanity, that in the morning I'll wake up and ask myself what the hell was wrong with me.

It takes me a long time to fall asleep.

*************