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“It’ll get all knotted up after five days on this bed, and I can’t leave the brush.” Desolation settles heavily in the silence that follows, but Pace is quick to shatter it. “You know, Lex never lets me? Drives me fucking nuts.”

My lips twitch, the smile small and foreign. “That’s a shame. He’d be really cute in pigtails.” Pace’s soft bout of laughter is a balm to the hidden pang in my chest. My smile plummets as quickly as it comes. “The last person to braid my hair was my mama. She used to love playing with it.”

There’s a stretch of silence where I lean back, letting him work. He’s so good at this, distracting—entertaining—me. Before he showed up, I was getting itchy and anxious, trying to acclimate to the idea of being down here for five days.

I’ve spent all day on the edge of a panic attack, and I don’t know if he can sense it, but he just started talking, filling the void. It’s surprising because he’s usually so quiet, watching while I wait for the next shoe to drop.

Even now, he doesn’t let the quiet last long. Eventually, he asks, “What’s your mother like?Reallylike?”

I rest my hand on my belly, my smile growing. “A real hardass, but you already know that. Protective, too. More patient than a lot of people give her credit for.” But I know he’s really asking for other reasons. Choosing my words carefully, I offer, “She wears all these metal bangles around her wrist, so basically, you can hear her coming from a mile away. Kind of like an alley cat with a bell around its neck, to warn the birds.” The pressure against my scalp abruptly stills, and I sigh into the silence. It’s going to be a long night. “She’ll be fine, Pace.”

* * *

The next morning,it’s porridge and a bowl of fruit. “Is this part of the punishment?” I wonder, watching the gloop fall from the spoon.

“Lex isn’t on his game.”

“I can see that,” I say, inspecting the chocolate bar that was sent down with it.

Beside me, Pace looks exhausted. His bloodshot eyes never grant me a reprieve, but the thoughts behind them seem miles away. “He’s going through withdrawal.”

I try my best to get a spoonful of the porridge down. “Is it bad?” I remember how Remy looked after he kicked it, all sallow and sickly, but I can’t even begin to superimpose such an image over Lex’s shrewd eyes and perfect posture.

Pace shrugs. “Wick says last time was worse.”

Feeling a little more secure in my meal deliveries, I rip open the chocolate bar and take a bite. “Is it badup there?”

In a soft, tired voice, he answers, “Isn’t it always?”

* * *

I knowit must be dire when Pace comes down in the evening with dinner, also bearing Lex’s examination kit. “He’s in the thick of it now,” he says, trying to work out the blood pressure cuff. “Puking and cold chills and—” Frustrated, he rips the velcro away once more, snapping, “The fuck is this thing?”

“Here.” I show him how Lex does it, and together we manage to record my vitals. There’s no fetal Doppler this time, and when Pace takes off my shirt to change my bandages, I can see the responsibility weighing on him. “Have you gotten any sleep?” I ask, wondering if the bags under my eyes look as bad as the ones under his.

My sleep comes in fits, filled with dark dreams that linger with the lack of sunlight. I have nothing to do but rest, although I feel lethargic and gross. It’s as if I’m wasting away like all those dead flowers in the solarium.

He counters, “Have you?”

Well, that answers that, and when I flick my gaze up at the camera in the corner, I wonder if there’s anyone on the other side, watching as Pace gently applies ointment to each wound.

“They aren’t hot,” he mutters, relief clear in his tone. “No signs of infection.”

This, it seems, he has ample experience with.

* * *

“What are you doing?”Pace pauses at the door, Thad retreating down the hall behind him. There’s the ever-present tray in his hands, but also a gym bag.

I think it’s Friday morning.

“Just sprucing up a bit,” I answer, flipping the thin mattress on the cot. There’s not really much to spruce, nor is there anything to sprucewith, but despite the sting in my back, I just…

Fuck, I need tomove.

The skin feels too tight, like if I stay in one place too long, it’s going to heal like a straitjacket. “What’s in the bag?”

He dumps it on the floor, lowering the tray to the newly-turned mattress. “Change of clothes. And Danner’s made you—”