Page 5 of Toxic
What the hell is hedoinghere?
“Work detail,” he answers, and I realize I must have spokenaloud.
Furious to find myself feeling cornered and even embarrassed, I turn away from him. Corralling my emotions and impulses is like trying to keep waves from wetting the sand. No matter how many barricades I put up, some of it always manages to spill over the edges. Having him around isn’t going to help. I’ve only met him once, and I feel like he can see past those barricades and right through me. Even worse, he makes me want to tear them down and show him all my soft and vulnerableparts.
“Since when?” I ask when I can look at him without wanting to run in the opposite direction. Working in medical is a coveted position by inmates. His presence can only mean Vic has changed his tactics. I knew his mood was too good to be true. He was using this prisoner to remind me who has the power in our relationship, and if I put a single toe out of line, I’ll bepunished.
He lifts a shoulder and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Couple ofdaysago.”
My teeth clack together in an automatic response to the heated words determined to spew forth. I guess Vic’s beatings are good for something. If nothing else, they’ve taught me to control my sarcastic mouth. “They could use you in medical for the long-termpatients.”
Before I’ve even finished the sentence, he’s shaking his head. “They told me to come in here.” Then he smiles a little. The bastard’s enjoying watching mesquirm.
“Fine. The mornings will be slow, but you can start by organizing the supplies in the cabinet.” Anything to keep him out of my personal space. I doubt he even understands the meaning of personalspace.
His smile widens just a fraction, and I’m thankful for the guards who rotate between medical and theinfirmary.
Without another word, I look back down at the paperwork and jot down some more notes. My brain is full of white cotton, though, and I barely remember what I’ve written. I keep seeing flashes of the twisted fantasies I’ve been having of Vic. Only now they have the added horror of the prisoner’s heated gaze on the fruits of my self-destruction.
Get it together,Tessa.
The tip of my pen digs into the piece of paper, and I curse under my breath when it rips right through and scrapes against the surface of the desk. I’m such a mess. I mentally sigh. Oh, who am I kidding, I’ve always been a mess. My life has been a train wreck from the start. Abusive father. Absent mother. I was born strung out on drugs and abandoned. I didn’t see my parents until two months later when the doctors believed I was stable enough to withstand going home. Child Protective Services kept a wary eye out, sure, but I was one of the lucky ones who slipped through the cracks. I guess I’d been good at being invisible even asababy.
It wasn’t surprising that Vic saw the victim I was borntobe.
“Are you all right?” comes the prisoner’s voice an indeterminable amount of timelater.
I don’t know how long I sit and stare at the ripped sheet of paper any more than I'm aware why his question fills me with such sadness. Then again, I don’t know why I do many of the things I dothesedays.
“I'm fine,” I say, pleased to note my response is toneless and apathetic. I find myself slipping into the same numb state I revert to when Vic decides to force himself between my thighs. Like I’m viewing my life from the outside in, from a place where nothing and no one can truly hurt me. “When you finish with the cabinet, the beds could use a fresh change of sheets.” I indicate the shelving with neatly folded squares of sicklygreen.
I force myself to go back to the paperwork I’ve been filling out, certain he will do as instructed if I continue to ignore him. The tediousness of the task distracts me in my newly numb state, and a few minutes pass before I think to look up to check and make sure he hasn’t decided to buck myorders.
He hasn’t moved an inch to take care of the beds. If anything, he’s closer than he wasmomentsago.
With a sigh, I get to my feet and head to the door that leads to medical to find another nurse to deal with him, but I think better of it. I won’t run from this confrontation, and if we’re going to work together, he’s going to learn to put up with a woman giving himorders.
With great difficulty, I return to the room where he waits, hip propped against the desk where I’d been working. “What do you need?” I ask, pointedly looking between the shelf, the beds, and him. I want to get this over as soon as possible, and I don’t care if heknowsit.
He thrusts a sheet of paper at me. “We never finished theotherday.”
A snort of derision escapes me. I slap a hand over my mouth, startled by my reaction. My widened gaze flits up to him, but I find a smile instead of a frown. It’s just a quirk of the lips, but what is most arresting are his eyes. I was too distracted when we first met to notice them, but they’re a shade of green I’ve never seen before. So bright they look almost chemicallyaltered.
When I can drag my gaze away, I realize he isn’t smiling anymore. And I’m staring. My mouth firms into a line as I take the paper from him before turning my back on him and moving toward my desk. Our short history has already taught me I’d be better served to keep my distance at alltimes.
With a businesslike tone, I go through the questions, hoping to conclude the interview quickly. I don’t make the mistake of looking up again, and after a quarter hour, I’ve finished withoutincident.
I hand him back the paperwork. “Will that be all?” I ask with a sharp glance at the shelves for him to get backtowork.
But he just scoots closer on the stiff wooden seat and braces his elbows on the edge of the desk. He shifts and directs his stare to my wrists as though reminding me of what caused the tension and all-too-delicate awareness in the first place. He’s a snake waiting to strike, waiting to ask questions I don’t want to answer. So, I pull my own hands back and lay them across my thighs where he can’tinspectthem.
Stay professional, Tessa, I remind myself as I imagine blood-stained tiles and searing pain, of mechanical sex and labored grunts. If I’m going to have to put up with him, it would be a mistake to let him cross any morelines.
Those eyes come back to mine, and he cocks his head to the side, and I realize what a futile attempt it would be. Apparently, this man makes it his mission to cross all thelines.
“I have work to do if that’s okaywithyou.”
His eyes narrow, and I dig my nails into my palms at the fierce look on his face. “Your man enjoy putting those on you?” he says with a nod at my face and the bruises I must not have coveredcompletely.