Page 61 of Carry On

Four walls.

Two windows.

Screaming.

My breath caught in my throat.

Screaming.

So. Much. Fucking. Screaming.

The throbbing in my skull was ever-present as I managed to drag myself up off the floor. I ran my hands through my hair and grabbed a sweatshirt for comfort. Hopefully, I looked human enough not to set off any part of Lincoln’s immaculately tuned internal warning system. He always had this way of knowing when something was wrong.

He doesn’t care, the voice reassured me.

He was already up and busy cleaning up after breakfast, dressed for work in another one of those perfectly tailored suits of his. The smell of coffee hung heavy in the air, making my stomach roll. The rush of water, the music he had playing, the clacking of dishes. All of it pounded painfully against my skull, but I pushed back the pain and did my best to hide it.

“Morning,” I greeted as if I hadn’t spent all night in and out of it, as if I hadn’t spent the night on the floor in the middle of a debilitating episode while he slept peacefully in the next room. A part of me actually hated how simplistic his life was.

“Good morning,” he greeted a little too cheerfully. “Hungry?”

“No,” I replied. I sat at the table, feeling every bit of movement down to my core. Lincoln was frustratingly quiet as he watched me, just staring in that way that told me he was analyzing me. Studying me. I hated it and shifted uncomfortably in my chair.

Saying nothing, he opened a cabinet by the sink, rummaging around until he found something, and walked over to drop a bottle of ibuprofen on the table for me. Damn man. I didn’t like how perceptive he was. I didn’t like how he saw me.

You’re only fooling yourself,the voice said.He doesn’t see you. Not how you want him to.

I frowned. I didn’t want him to see me.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I snapped and snatched up the bottle. I dropped two pills in my hand and then added two more for good measure. Couldn’t hurt. Not really. Whatever to take the fucking pain away, right?

It won’t help,the voice said.

Yeah, I knew that was probably true too.

“All right, so,” Lincoln began with a sigh. He stopped what he was doing to face me as he shoved his hands in his pockets. “I need to broach a topic that I’ve been dreading to bring up because I have something I want to give you.”

“Whatever it is, it’s safe to assume the answer is no,” I grumped. Just his demeanor pissed me off, poking at my already irritable temper.

“That’s what I was afraid of,” he muttered. “Look, you can’t avoid it.”

“No.” I didn’t even know what it was, but I didn’t want it.

“Everyone has one,” he continued over me. My eyes narrowed. I knew exactly where this was going because we’d had this conversation.

“No fucking way,” I snapped. “I—”

“Nash—”

“Fuck off, Lincoln—”

“You need—”

“I don’t—”

“Rule number seven!” Lincoln exclaimed loudly. The three words shut me up.