Ruthless Creatures by J.T. Geissinger

K A G E
F
rom the time we leave Damon’s, Natalie
doesn’t speak to me.
We spend the night in a hotel suite. I order room service
and draw her a bath. I watch her eat in silence that’s
suffocating. I listen to the sounds of her bathing from behind
the locked bathroom door and want to kick it open and force
her to talk to me.
I don’t.
This suffering is my penance. However long her silence
lasts, I’ll wait.
She sleeps in the king sized bed. I lie awake on the sofa,
my heart aching, and listen to her breathe.
The next morning, we fly to New York. She doesn’t ask
where we’re going. I think she’s in a state of deep shock at
seeing Damon.
I should’ve shot that prick when I had the chance.
When we arrive at La Guardia, she’s sleeping. I unbuckle
her seat belt and smooth a hand over her hair. “Baby. Wake up.
We’re here.”
Eyes closed, she mumbles, “Where?”
“Home.”
Her lids flutter, then lift. She gazes up at me for a moment,
then looks out the window.