very gentlemanly.
— Come on. I'll make you a nice cup of tea and we can talk.
He grabs my hand and I think of rejecting it. I have not held the hand of any one but Brandon’s for a long time and this strange, bigger, stronger hand leaves an unpleasant impression on me. My host does not notice my distress and makes me go inside by an old wooden red door that closes after I come in. I barely have time to detail his entrance decorated with a mirror that leads me to a state-of-the-art kitchen, perfectly equipped, with a huge piano and a large island lined with comfortable high stools.
— Sit down there. I'll prepare you some tea.
I take the opportunity to turn around and look at the house with curious eyes. Everything is modern, friendly looking, and yet I feel awkward. There are no photos, no trinkets, no traces of life. Everything is superb, but sanitized, like a show house without a soul. It is difficult to imagine that a single man lives in this place. Where is the mess? The dirty laundry lying around? Any sign of life, please!
— You take two sugars, don’t you?
I turn my attention back to my friend.
— Yes, thank you.
He places my cup in front of me and I take advantage of the warmth on my hands to refocus. It feels good to be taken care of. However, I have to think about what comes next.
— Are you ready to tell me what happened after you hung up?
It is true that when we spoke, I was in tears, confined in my car. My ex-car. Everything became ex after that phone call.
— I told you to call me if you needed to.
— I didn't want to disturb you.
Which is true. In part. I already felt I was a burden for my ex-fiancé. I did not want to become one for Leon, the friend who has supported me in recent months, against all odds.
— You’ll never bother me Mal. I have already told you.
He plays with my fingers on the table and a shiver lifts my spine. I get my hand back and I hug my shoulders to warm me, although I doubt that the cold is responsible for my goosebumps.
— I had an argument with Brandon.
The memory of the last words uttered by the ex-love of my life clogs my throat with a ball as big as a football.
— It's going to get better Mal. As always.
The ball gets bigger in my windpipe. I feel like I am suffocating,
— No. No, it's not going to get any better. He asked me to leave. He wants us to take a break.
I start laughing with a laugh that is both hysterical and somewhat frightening, even to my ears.
— Everyone knows what it means to take a break. He has broken up. He has left me. For good.
Leon purses his lips in front of me which now become invisible behind his full black beard.
— Brandon is an idiot. He will regret it.
My laughter gradually turns into tearful sobs and a torrent of tears invades my face before I realize it. It seems that the tear fountain has not dried up.
— He swept away more than two years of relationship as if nothing had happened. As if this time together did not matter. The only one to blame is me. I should have made more effort. I should have listened to his fears. He just wanted me to find a job and...
— Shh. Stop it Mal. Breathe. You're holding your breath.
The fact is I have taken no air during my tirade. Remorse takes my breath away. Leon caresses my back from bottom to top, instructing me to inhale and exhale on his rhythm. The heat of his palm crosses the fabric of my top and once again, I find that he is getting too close to me.
— I'm going to go.
— Don't be silly Mallory. You're not in a position to go anywhere. You don't even have a car. Do you have a place to go at least?
I slump a little more in my seat, shoulders hunched.
— I'm going to have to go back to my parents.
Despite my reluctance, I have no other options. Tears of shame bead in the corner of my eyes. Soon I will turn 27 and I will have to return to live with my parents as if I were a child. I am angry at myself for being unable to be responsible of myself.
— You could stay here for a while.
I jerk my head up and I look at Leon as if a third head or a horn had sprung out of his forehead.
— That's very nice of you Leon, but it's not a good idea.
He stands up his whole height, towering over me, and something like fear creeps into me.
— It wasn’t really a suggestion, Mal.
I get up and walk back to the door.
— You're starting to scare me, Leon. It's better if I go.
He walks towards me like a predator cornering his prey. That is exactly how I feel: a prey stuck against a door that refuses to open despite my desperate attempts to turn the handle.
— We're going to be fine the two of us, Mal.
His words have a hard time breaking through the fog of my panic. I shake my head, but I feel like it is wrapped in cotton. I have a hard time putting my thoughts together and when I open my mouth, I suddenly feel my tongue weighs a ton. Halfway to the door I collapse as Leon gets closer and closer. He does not seem worried about my sudden weakness and a suspicion takes hold on me.
— What have you done to me?
I can barely hear my voice. He puts his hand on my cheek and I am unable to even start the movement of revulsion I would like to make. My legs barely hold me. I feel myself slipping little by little to the ground. Before I fall to the ground, Leon passes an arm under my legs and on my back and presses me against his wide chest. My head is tilting back at a painful angle, but I am unable to hold it straight.
— I thought I had a little more time. Your room is not quite ready. I hope you will like it.
What is he talking about? How long has he been planning to kidnap me? And why? I thought he was my friend! My questions will go unanswered. I am unable to express them and I end up sinking into unconsciousness as Leon lays me down on a soft surface.
My eyelids flutter under the strong light. The sun assaults my retina with its light rays. I am disoriented, unable to remember where I am or what brought me to this unknown place. I try to rub my eyes to clear my vision, but my right wrist is stopped with a metallic noise. I insist, but this only causes me pain. A cold metal badly bites my skin. Then I resort to my left hand to rub my eyes, and I can see what is restraining me. Because that's what it is. A handcuff that is keeping me prisoner, tied to a bed. Panic wins me over. I look everywhere around. I am alone in an unknown room and my belongings are stored on open shelves, as if I had been living here for a long time. Anguish twists my guts.
—
