Untangle Me

Chapter 6

Giada

We're eating in silence. Complete, utter, tense silence, allowing me to overthink everything. Why am I here? I still don't know. Why am I here, as in at dinner with Vince when he sure has something more important to do?

But he looks perfectly at ease. He's sitting straight but not tense, moves calculated but not stiff. I don't get it.

I've tried yelling. Maybe it's time for me to give this another approach? After all, it's been a bit over a day since I was taken captive- I think- and I'm already exhausted. Not physically. Nope, this whole thing is taking a toll on my already battered mental state not to speak emotionally.

"Excuse me, Mr. Vince but will you ever tell me why I'm here?" I ask, trying hard to keep my voice even. Trying hard not to think that this is the man responsible not only for the death of my father but also for my amnesia.

I force my face into a passive mask even as I dig my nails into the palms of my hands below the table. I hate him. It's almost painful how much disgust I harbor towards this monster. And yet, at the same time part of me seems to look past that.

Part of me is cheering as he finally raises his eyes to meet mine after an hour of ignoring me. Part of me is waiting impatiently for the sound of his voice. That part is loving the twisted feeling in my gut each time I get a reaction from him. It wants his anger, his craziness as long as it's because of me.

It wants to matter to him. To push him like he pushes me.

I hate that part. I hate having two polar opposites trapped in the same body and mind. It's tiring.

"You're here because I requested your presence," Vince simply says though the glint in his eyes tells me he knows it's not what answer I wanted.

"And why did you do that? Sir?" It takes everything I've got not to clench my teeth. To stay civil when it's all I want to do to just rip him in two. Physically or verbally.

"Sir, mh? Well, Sofia, surely you wouldn't demand explanations from me in my own house?" I bite down on my tongue until I taste copper. Then I exhale shakily and attempt a smile.

"Where exactly is said house?" I ask slowly. I want any sort of answer.

"All around you, silly," Vince taunts me. So help me god but if he were close enough, I don't think I'd have the self-restraint not to stab him with my fork.

"Are we still in New York?" I ask.

"Sì."

I nod slowly, take a steadying breath, and ask the question I've been losing my mind over. "Are you going to kill me?"

He tilts his head as if he didn't understand. Only for a second though, then he's done studying me and goes back to being a robot. "I'll do whatever I think appropriate with you," he finally says. When I simply look back at my plate and nod to myself, he adds, "That is not why you're here though."

That gets my attention. "Why am I here?" I ask, my voice a raspy whisper. I'm losing myself again, losing myself to that other part. I can feel it happening. My skin is heating with awareness, my cheeks no-doubt flushing red.

He's looking at me as if he knew exactly where my messed-up mind was going.

Truth is, I think my body's just touch starved. That's why I'm reacting this strongly. I haven't had any close relationships in eight months. That means no hugs from a friend- I don't seem to have any of those, yay me- no other embrace from a lover or partner. No one-night stands.

If I've ever had sex, I don't remember. My memory can't seem to work up the answer to that question no matter how hard I was wondering. That aspect of my life, along with any possible partners, is completely obscured.