I was lying on the couch in the living room the morning after my little conversation with Scar Face when Scar Face refilled my glass.
I hadn't asked for it, I hadn't even looked at him. But the second I had emptied it, he had moved so fast to refill it you would have thought that I had screamed at him.
But I wasn't complaining. The point of the exercise wasn't that I wanted water, the point was that the man in charge of the survivors was waiting on me... hand and foot.
He set the glass pitcher down on the coffee table in front of me and stepped back without saying anything. His posture was different now that he understood his place and I couldn't help but smile in approval as I took a sip.
His shoulders were hunched slightly forward as he shifted his weight to the balls of his feet. It was like he couldn't decide if he was going to move because I needed something else, or if he was already planning his exit strategy.
