Page 10 of Toxic
I catch him looking at me often, trying to figure me out. He hasn’t even been covert about it. Each time he finishes a task and strolls over for another assignment, I can feel his gaze like a heavy weight, except it has the opposite effect, buoying my spirits from whatever dreadful misery awaits me at home. No amount of heated looks or flirtatious gestures will pull me from the pit of despair threatening todevourme.
Despite my resolution to keep away from him, it’s become the highlight of my days, working with him. It energizes me the way a bolt of lightning does. A shot of light in the darkness. Electrifying in a dangerous way that I know that if I get too close I’m going to get myself burned.The fact is, he’s the only person in my miserable life who’s ever asked about the bruises on my armsorface.
I don’t have any family—that I talk to anyway. Vic doesn’t allow me to have any friends, and the people at work are too wrapped up in themselves to pay attention. I’ve been completelyisolated.
Probably exactly how Vicwantsme.
After two years under his totalitarian rule, the concern from someone else—even someone like King—is like a welcome ray of sunshine in the middle of a barren winter. I’m a flower turning in his direction for one more drop of light, blooming at each sliver of attention he allows me.It’s pathetic, and I hate myself for every quiver in my stomach and each trip of my heart when I catch his presence from the corner ofmyeye.
But today, after what Vic subjected me to, I don’t want his attention. I want to go back to hiding like I used to. Invisibility helped mask me with numbness and King makes me feel too much. He gives me hope and sometimes hope makes a despondent situation seem evenmoreso.
Ernie leers at me as I hand over my badge. “Someone’s runningverylate.”
When I don’t answer, his smile falters, and he stutters, bobbling my ID as he hands it back. Without saying a word, I gun the engine and fly through the gate, unable to repeat our daily interactions one more time without fallingapart.
“You doing okay?” Annie asks. I look around, expecting someone else to be around me, but there’snoone.
I clear my throat and smile hesitantly. “Fine. I’m fine. Just running a littlebehind.”
“Heck of a day for a late start,” Annie says with asmile.
Alarm spears through me, but its progress is sluggish. “Why? Whathappened?”
“You know how it is. Someone decided to start a riot in the cafeteria during breakfast. There’s already one waiting for you to get patched up in the infirmary. Good luck!” Annie calls out as I hurry tothedoor.
“I’m sorry I’m late—”My apology dies in mythroat.
Just like the first time I saw him, King is sitting on the bed covered in blood. Only this time, he’s shirtless, and there are rust-brown smears along his chest. Dark purple shadows line his jaw and ribs. Even though I haven’t examined him, I can tell by the way he’s breathing that he’s in pain.Thoughts of my recent traumas fade behind myconcern.
I don’t want to feel anything—in my life, it’s always easier to maintain a strict sense of apathy about everything—but when he looks up, his face as broken and bruised as my insides feel, and the thread of kinship strengthens. We are two sides of the same fucked-up coin, whether I like itornot.
“Good morning, Tessa,” he says as he spots me in the doorway.The use of my name almost distracts me from his injuries.Almost.
“What the hell did you do to yourself?” I ask as I move closer to the bed he’ssittingon.
He chuckles, and it ends in a hiss. I was right. He is in pain. “Would you believe me if I said it wasn’t myfault?”
I cross to him. “Not achance.”
He spits out blood, but I’m too concerned for his ribs to recoil as it splatters on the tile floor. My eyes narrow on the spot of blood, and I flash back to that night a few weeks ago. It had taken me a long time to get the blood out of the grout in my kitchen. Someone is going to have a bitch of a job once I get himpatchedup.
“Well, I’d be lying anyway.” This time when he laughs, it’s humorless. “The real question here is what happenedtoyou?”
A little sigh escapes me, like pressure building just beneath the surface of all the secrets and lies. “Let’s worry about youfirst.”
He submits to my poking and prodding, but I can feel him do an evaluation of his own. It’s pointless to try to school my expression. I already know he can somehow understand everything I’m thinking. “Looks like you took one heck of abeating.”
“You should see theotherguy.”
My gloved hands tilt his head to examine a gash along his temple. “I’m sure he’ll be hereeventually.”
His hands cover mine, and I go still. “Are you going to dodge the question forever? I thought we moved pastallthat.”
I try to pull my hands away, but he keeps them cradling his face. His eyes close momentarily, and he strokes his skin with my hands. The way we’re positioned, I’m nearly between his spread legs. If anyone were to look in all they’d see is me examining a patient, but he and I both know it’s somuchmore.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I saysoftly.
“I think you need to.” A tear crests my cheek, and one of his hands leaves mine to wipe it away. “Tell me.” When I don’t answer, he says, “Why don’t Iguess,then?”