Willing Captive(31)
How can a man who has been through what he has, still be able to laugh? Maybe Nox isn’t as damaged as I think he is. I’m an ass. I shouldn’t have labelled him. Ask him about it.
Walking over to the bed, I throw myself back onto it, next to his still shaking body. Placing my arms behind my head, I sigh long and loud, “I’m so bored.”
Nox nods but doesn’t say a thing.
We lay next to each other as night falls, neither of is willing to move, quite comfortable in our finally broken silence. Feeling more confident, I ask, “What happened?”
Obviously knowing this was coming, he breathes in deeply and replies on an exhale, “Got caught by the bad guy.”
This explanation is not satisfactory. I’m nosey! I need more than that. “When?”
“Few years back.”
I’m confused. Turning my body to look at him, I say quietly, “But I thought you were the best.”
Turning his head to the side, his icy blues search my face before answering just as softly, “It’s why I’m the best. I’ll never let that happen again.”
Okay. I like that. That’s a totally acceptable answer.
I nod to no one in particular and fade into the depths of my mind.
Nox stands suddenly, “Damn. I forgot.” Then he walks over to his pile of dirty clothes and searches his cargo pants’ pockets. Pulling something small out, he walks over to me, flops back onto the bed and hands me the small silver device.
When I take a closer look, I gasp, “No way! You had this the whole time?”
Placing his hands back behind his head, he sighs, “Forgot. It’s Boo’s. Left it in my office.”
Switching on the MP3 player, I place both of the earphones in and search the playlists that Boo has. It’s a great selection. Old music, new music, punk, rock n roll, pop, dance, metal, RnB. I reach a particular song and burst into laughter. Nox turns his head and narrows his eyes at me.
Taking out an earphone, I shove it in his ear. “I think I found the song for you.”
Pressing play, Highway to Hell by AC/DC plays and he smirks, nodding along to the beat of the song. When it ends, I select the random option and Clocks by Coldplay comes on.
Nox grunts, “Change it.”
I frown. “I like this song. It’s a nice song.”
He scoffs, “Uh, yeah. No. Are you listening to the same song I am? Light going out, not being able to be saved, cursing missed opportunities?”
Hmmm. I guess I never listened closely to the lyrics before. It is kinda depressing.
Looking over at my crestfallen expression, he says, “See, I made my point. I’d rather attempt to slit my throat with a rusty spoon than listen to this. Change it.”
So I do. The next song that comes on is Royals by Lorde. And I really like this song. Nox doesn’t say a thing, but I see his foot tapping along so I guess he likes it, too. But the subject of the song makes me uncomfortable. Turning the sound down to a dim whisper, I speak up to the ceiling. “We weren’t always rich, you know?”
Nox turns to his side, supporting his head on his hand, acknowledging me and giving me permission to continue.
I don’t dare look at him but continue my story. “We were just like everyone else. Things were different back then. Dad wasn’t so- so- obnoxiously overprotective. I had friends and I had a life. Then dad started working harder and bringing in more money, flipping companies like they were used cars he was selling. Then one day-” I snap my fingers. “It all changed. We bought that ugly monstrosity we call a home. Security was upped and Dad stopped letting me hang out with my friends. They got sick of asking me to parties ‘cause they knew the answer would be no. So they let me go. And I don’t blame ‘em. It’s hard dealing with my dad sometimes.”
Nox makes a small noise. A grunt. Turning to him, I see his brows furrowed, lips pursed. He doesn’t look happy. Suddenly feeling the need to defend my father, I quickly add, “I mean it wasn’t all bad. Just lonely sometimes. So I fell into books. And I love reading. For a few hours, I can escape this world and fall into character. It’s a beautiful thing. I just don’t get what happened, is all.”
Nox’s sudden intake of breath makes me focus on his face, which is suddenly poker-faced. I blink a moment before I gasp and whisper, “You know something.”
He replies a little too firmly, “Lily, I know a lot of things.”
He forgot to add ‘doesn’t mean I’m gonna tell you shit’ but it was implied.
The song flips over to Massive Attack’s Teardrop and we both listen in quiet while watching each other. My eyes watch his face intently, his search mine softly. My eyes beg, ‘please, tell me something’. His argue, ‘you’re not ready.’