Page 117

His body slowly disappears from my back as he steps away. I notice that the shower curtain doesn’t open again, signaling his departure, and sigh in aggravation.

“I thought monitored showering ended with prison,” I snap over my shoulder.

I know my anger is irrational. I know taking it out on him is wrong. I can’t stop it. Everyone feels like an enemy right now.

He doesn’t reply, and I huff. If the asshole wants a show, fine.

I yank off the shirt and bra to toss them on the floor outside the shower. My soaked shoes and socks come next, followed by my pants, before I look over my shoulder, “Is that enough? Do I have contraband?”

Ben whines forlornly behind me and surges forward, knocking into me hard enough that I’m out of the spray of water entirely. My hands snap up to brace before I can hit the wall as he presses against me, burying his face in my shoulder and holding me around my waist tight enough to hurt.

“I’m being selfish. I know that, but I can’t stop. I’m afraid, and I’mneverafraid. If I let you out of my sight, you’re going to leave me.”

Fuck.

Damnit.

It sucks when two people with emotional damage collide. What one person needs as comfort isn’t always what the other party needs, and it isn’t easy to set emotion aside. To be what someone else needs when you’re trying to keep your own shit together.

I need to be alone to process. He needs to be held and comforted. How the fuck did we end up together?

“Compromise,” I grit my teeth as I force the word out.

He takes a deep, shaky breath. Nods.

“I shower alone. You go brush your teeth or something. Keep yourself busy. When I’m done in here, we can… cuddle or whatever. We can both be selfish, but I need a minute, okay?”

“No leaving,” he says in a growling tone that’s more demand than a question.

“Not unless you’re behind me.” As the words pass my lips, I’m hit by how different I feel about them. I have never trusted anyone as much as I trust Ben. Even the Old Man I kept at a distance. I didn’t want to give him an opportunity to hurt me.

Meanwhile, I let Ben run roughshod over every line in the sand with barely a shrug. I have never flat-out stated that someone was mine, my person, until now. My feelings for Ben are in a whole new realm of discomfort and anxiety, and I’m not running away? Even my dumb ass can see that it means something. Something worth fighting for. Something worth compromising for.

“I mean it,” I say with more conviction. “Wherever I go, you go. And vice versa. End of story.”

He inhales sharply, arms tightening briefly before he lets me go. His hands smooth over my stomach and sides in a caress, and he nips my ear sharply as he withdraws. “Deal.”

His deep tone makes my knees tremble with a different type of weakness. He takes his time stepping back and exiting, lingering over touching me for as long as possible. I don’t move as he pauses outside the shower stall. When he finally opens the door and leaves, I let out a shaky breath.

Ben is interested in having sex, duly noted. Mental note highlighted with sparkly star stickers. Seriously okay with that. It’s the emotional shit I need to grapple with on top of the trauma and psychos, and it’s time. I need therapy with someone other than Ben as a dog.

I’m burying my head in the sand.Again.

Okay, think Beatrice. Think without the anxiety and bullshit. The Old Man taught you this. Just breathe and focus on tangible things.

The feel of the water, the smell of Ben’s shampoo, the fact that I still have my underwear on. Little mundane stuff like how soaked is the floor after I threw out my clothes? Are my worn-out tennis shoes finally biting the dust?

Alright, I’m back in the present.

Now, the hard part. The strategic part.

Heis alive. Suck it up, deal with it, and make a plan. I’m not as concerned with the little fish like the nurses as I am withhim.

I don’t even know his name. He never had a name tag, not that I could have read it if he had. No one ever called him by name. The other scientists gave him a wide berth. He seemed important, untouchable. Maybe a boss with a hands-on approach to the workplace.

Two, was what I saw happen that night whatreallyhappened? I know it’s common for people to have false memories instead of real ones in cases of trauma. Your service gaggle, and the internet in general. The mind can shield you from horrors in any way it sees fit.

Did I make up that he was there and died? Or is he an Other hiding in plain sight like so many people? This only matters because he needs to be taken care of.