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I’m abruptly aware of the taste of Mitri’s flesh in my teeth and look down at my paws. I’m saturated in his blood. This is not something Bees needs to see right now.

How in the Void doesheknow that? I look back and watch him as I approach. His eyes aren’t on me, staring at the wall as if he’s seeing something else. Once I’m past the door’s threshold, it slams shut behind me.

Beatrice

It takes convincing to get Mike to stay in the room. I’m not in the mood to hold his hand right now, and as long as Ben is out of sight, his presence won’t affect him, I hope.

I resort to the sit-and-stay you would use with a dog, hand motions included. He pouts and stays in place like a good boy.

I’d laugh, but I can’t find the energy right now. I’m a foot away from the closed door, staring at the doorknob while procrastinating.

I need a toothbrush and a shower to wash away the feeling of violation and filth. Which means I can’t hide in this room forever. There’s no soap or towels in there, and I’ve gotten spoiled rotten by the scent of Ben’s shampoo and body wash. To get to his room, I have to face the gauntlet of the dining room, and I’m not sure if I’m ready for it.

“I could always go get you some stuff,” Mike offers helpfully. This guy is ready to commit, but he has no thought process about it. He and I could be twins.

“My stuff is in Ben’s room.”

The full body shudder that follows that announcement, along with the heavy dry swallow sound he makes answers that. Poor guy, I feel bad that Ben affects him like this. I feel sad that Ben has seen it all his life.

Ineedthat shower.

I bite the bullet and open the door. I don’t look up to see if there’s any damage or anyone left by the table. If I look, that means I’ll have to deal with it, and I just can’t at the moment. I’m overloaded and on a form of autopilot. Close to the passenger seat but not quite in it yet. I don’t know if that’s better than the see-saw or not.

I calmly walk, head down, to Ben’s room and slip inside.

I can hear the shower running, but I don’t stop to think. I walk into the bathroom, instantly surrounded by steam, and go to the sink and my toothbrush. I brush over and over. Rinsing the bristles off to swish with mouthwash and beginning the cycle all over again.

The shower cuts off, and I don’t look up from the sink as the curtain opens. I hear the towel being pulled from the rack and the slap of wet feet coming up behind me.

Ben’s hand comes up by my face. I recognize it from the black fingernails. I meant to ask him if he paints them or if it’s all-natural. He grasps my wrist and pulls the brush away from my teeth gently.

“That’s enough of that,” his voice is guttural and hesitant.

I’ve caused that hesitation with my behavior. He isn’t sure if I’m two seconds from cracking like a delicate piece of crystal and doesn’t know how to handle it. It makes me feel weak and cowardly for running, even if I did have to throw up.

“I’m fine,” I snap at him, tossing the toothbrush into the sink.

His hand doesn’t leave my wrist as I grip the counter’s edge. I rinse my mouth out, and when I spit, it feels like what little energy I had ejects with it.

I sag a little, and Ben steps closer to me, pressing his chest against my back and caging me with his arms on either side of mine.

“I don’t want to be weak,” I whisper and shut my eyes tightly.

“You aren’tweak,” Ben growls, lowering his head to my shoulder. He doesn’t wrap his mouth around it, just nuzzles there. His wet hair is dripping down my neck in a trickle that quickly chills due to the air conditioning. I swear he sets the thing to 50 degrees at all times.

“Ugh, don’t sniff me,” I cringe. He could probably smell how foul I am from the hallway, and he’s pressing his face into me.

“Okay,” he says, turning off the water in the sink before putting his arms around me to pick me up.

I make a surprised squeak as he manhandles me into the shower and turns the water on so I get a spray in the face of cold water. He always adjusts the shower head for his height, and if I’m not paying attention, I’m woken abruptly.

I’m not ashamed to say some whining ensues. The water shifts to hit my chest and begins to warm. His water heater is my hero.

“Shampoo,” he announces right before washing my shorn locks gently.

Great, not only am I an adopted pet, but now I’m getting a bath without notice. I mean, I did want a shower. However, I wanted to be alone and minus every layer of clothing. I also wanted to stay here for as long as possible to vent. Again,alone. I guess that isn’t going to be allowed.

My irritation peaks as he tilts my head forward and adjusts the shower head again to rinse my hair. I can’t comment as soap runs down my face and into my mouth. I slap his hands away and grumble, “I’ve got this.”