But mostly, I think about Ziva. And I ponder how different my life would have been if she had lived.
“Here.”
I blink at the glass of water Uri is offering me. “I don’t want water.”
“Drink it anyway.”
My hand inches forward like it wants to obey him, but I force it back down to my side at the last minute. “You don’t get to just walk in here whenever you please and act like everything’s normal. You don’t get to act as though I’m the crazy one and you’re the Good Samaritan.”
“I’ve never claimed to be a good anything. Nor will I.”
“This place…” I say, gesturing around me. “It’s inhuman to keep someone down here. I know you’re a freak, but most people need light and air and sun and trees and grass… and other people.” He sighs, but I’m not done yet. “How the hell do you expect me to trust that you’re keeping me here for my own safety when it feels so much like a prison? When I can’t contact my friends and family? When you haven’t given me a choice?”
He doesn’t say anything. Is that a strategy or something? Is he angry? Is he just handling me by ignoring me?
“And your big, fancy flat screen TV? It barely has any channels. The streaming sites are all password-protected! The books and toys are meant for children. The video games are beyond me and there’s not even a radio or a speaker—something, anything that will make music! Did the person living here before me go insane? Is that it? Is that why you had to go looking for another victim?”
I’m out of breath when I finish my rant. One look at Uri and I feel unhinged. He’s just so calm standing there in his white t-shirt, his windswept dark hair, his fingernails rapping on the marble countertop.
I hate that despite my anger, my attraction for him still exists. It’s throbbing right below the surface like a warning bell.
But it’ll fade. I’m sure of that. He’ll defend himself, feed me a bunch of lame excuses, I’ll fight back, he’ll fight back, and that’ll be the nail in the coffin.
He opens his mouth to feed me some more condescending bullshit. Stuff like:
“I’m sorry.”
Wait. Hold on. I freeze. I’m pretty sure I heard him wrong, right? I must have. There’s no way that this man is capable of apologizing quite so easily.
“I’m sorry,” he says again. Uri meets my gaze. “I should have made sure you were more comfortable. I should have brought you your things sooner. I got caught up in work and that delayed me. It was my mistake.”
On the one hand, it feels good to hear him say he’s sorry. On the other hand, it’s not really helping kill my attraction for him.
“I didn’t intend to stay away for this long. I also didn’t think you’d struggle so hard with being alone. But I suppose now, it makes sense.”
My insides bristle. “What makes sense?”
“There’s something about losing a sibling that makes you feel uniquely isolated. I can’t imagine what it must have been like to lose your twin.”
Goosebumps erupt all over my arms. I probably should be outraged but somehow, I can’t find it in myself to muster up anymore anger. Maybe it’s the fact that he says those words with so much… understanding? It makes me wonder—is he talking about the parents he lost or is there someone else?
“The two of you were close?”
I swallow. “Very.”
Dammit. One word and still my voice shakes. A sob escapes my lips, but I shut right down. Not the time for that.
Uri just nods. “It must have been difficult to navigate the world once she was no longer in it.”
The lump in my throat is only growing bigger. If he keeps this up, I’m going to be bawling all over the fresh fruit. “I don’t…” I have to stop. I can’t even speak right now. I just shake my head.
“It’s okay,” he says gently. “You don’t want to talk about her. I understand.”
And the thing is, it really feels like he does understand. I end up sitting back down. I end up taking the glass of water he offered me earlier. I end up watching him cook.
When he’s done, he spoons two generous servings of pasta into a bowl and pushes it towards me. “Would you like some company for dinner?” My eyes flit to his as he asks the question. “If you’d rather be alone, I can leave.”
I probably should tell him to go. I shouldn’t want to break bread with my captor. But the idea of being alone again is terrifying.