It surprises me when he laughs. He walks to the table and uses a cloth from his meal to clean himself. His gaze remains steady on mine the entire time. He hasn't said a word for a few minutes and I'm suddenly beyond nervous. He picks up the remaining chair and I close my eyes expecting it to land on my head. I hear the legs of the chair settle against the floor and dare to peek. I watch him sit down on the mattress.
"Come here and sit in the chair."
It's a command. Everything in me rebels at the dictate but what choice do I truly have? I drag my feet closer. He tips his head to the chair when I take too long. I sit.
His voice is soft, entirely too soft, and it makes his words more ominous. "You should not have struck me."
"I'm sorry?" I squeak. I really expected instant retaliation and
