Held by Edeet Ravel

his neck.
    Everything about him suggested that he was unapproachable. He was too serious, too restrained. He seemed untouchable. Some people are like that—they give you the message that they don’t want you to come close, they don’t want you to touch them. He’d set up a barrier around himself, and it wasn’t negotiable.
    But he’d broken all the rules by abducting me. He’d broken the law and he’d changed the rules of ordinary life. That meant I could change the rules too. It meant there weren’t any rules—not here, not now.
    And so I casually laid my arms on his shoulders and crossed them. It was bliss, feeling his shoulder muscles under my arms, feeling his body close to mine. My cheek brushed his hair, and my own hair fell on his neck.
    I knew he’d move away. He carefully lifted my arms and without turning said, very firmly, “No.” I was a little afraid of that tone of voice. It was the first time he’d sounded slightly less casual, slightly less composed.
    I sat down opposite him. It was wonderful having music—“The Scientist” was on now. The song seemed to be about us. Yes, tell me all your secrets , I wanted to say.
    He put the bottle of wine away, as if afraid of what I might do if I drank. I fought back my fear—he hadn’t meant to hurt my feelings. He was just making a point. “Can’t I hug you?” I asked.
    “No,” he said, back to his usual self. He began slicing a loaf of olive bread.
    “Why? Why can’t I hug you?”
    “You know why.”
    “No, I don’t.”
    “Let’s eat, we can talk about it later. Would you like some bread?”
    “‘Would you like some bread?’” I echoed, imitating his serious, formal voice. “Yes, that would be lovely, thank you,” I answered in a fake British accent.
    “I’m glad you’re in a better mood.”
    “Any more messages from my mom? Tell me everything about her. And my grandparents, and Angie. Why can’t you bring me a newspaper? Or print something off the Net?”
    “Everyone is fine, the message is exactly the same as last time. There’s nothing in the papers that you don’t know.”
    “I’d still like to see it. I’m going crazy, being so cut off.”
    “I’ll see what I can do,” he said, but I could tell he wasn’t planning to do anything. He didn’t want me to see magazines or newspapers, and he didn’t want to say why.
    “I was really down yesterday and the day before,” I told him. “And this morning.”
    “Yes, I noticed. It’s from being alone and because of what happened to you.”
    “Oh, really?” I said sarcastically. “Who would have thought.”
    “I’m sorry I couldn’t come. I won’t always be able to come, I’ll have to miss some days.”
    I said, a little frantically, “You promised to let me out. Even if just for five minutes. I promise I won’t run away. You can tie a rope around my waist.”
    He tilted his head. “In fact, I was going to suggest sitting outside for a few minutes. You’re looking pale. But I don’t think we’ll have to resort to the methods of Silas Marner.”
    “I know that story! We did it in school … You’re smart. You know a lot. Did you go to school in England?”
    “No.”
    “But you have a British accent. On top of your other accent.”
    He didn’t answer.
    “Can we go out now?”
    “Why don’t we eat first?”
    “All right,” I agreed. “Something to look forward to.” I lifted the loaf of olive bread to my face and inhaled. It had a wonderful homemade smell. “I’ll gain weight here,” I said. “What does it say about me in the paper?”
    “Nothing new.”
    “That’s so weird,” I said. “I guess I’m famous now.”
    “I’d say so.”
    “Well, at least I haven’t been forgotten.”
    “Far from it.”
    “Thanks for the bath stuff, by the way.”
    “I’ll bring you a tennis set next time.”
    “Great. What are people saying about me?”
    “There are a lot of guesses about what’s happening to you, whether you’re alive, what sort