Page 20 of Grave Matter

“But it’s not really their property,” Lauren points out. “I’ve looked up their patent application for the fungus. It was denied. You can’t patent something that you didn’t create. Unless they find a way to cultivate and crossbreed it with something else and then get that patented, but it sounds like they have trouble propagating.”

“Doesn’t mean we’re allowed to take them,” I point out. “Pretty sure it’s in the NDA we signed. Not a single organism can go back with us.”

“Hmmm,” Munawar says.

I glance at him over my shoulder and see the contemplative look on his face. “Don’t even think about smuggling them up your butt.”

“I would never,” he says, but from his smile, I know that’s exactly what he was thinking.

By the time we get back to the lodge and dinner rolls around, I’m absolutely beat. I’m a fairly healthy person, not a thin one by any means, my size fluctuating between ten and twelve, but I’ve always been active with hiking, sometimes jogging if I’m training for a fun run, and my muscles are usually pretty strong and defined. So it’s strange that I feel like I could sleep forever as soon as the evening hits. It’s like my muscles have atrophied.

After dinner, I join the others in the common room, where mugs of hot chocolate with marshmallows and plates of crumbly butter cookies are handed out. I force myself to nibble on a cookie, but the sugar does nothing to perk me up.

“I think I’m going to go to bed,” I tell Lauren in the armchair beside me. Munawar, Justin, and Noor are on the couch, deep in a conversation about some TV series I’ve never heard of. But when they see me looking at them, they abruptly stop talking.

“Already? It’s eight p.m.,” Lauren says, glancing at her plastic watch.

I yawn to prove a point. “I know, but I’ve just been so exhausted all day. Ever since I got here, really.”

“It’s the fresh air,” she says. “But I’ve been watching you pick at your food. You’re like a bird. You’re not eating enough.”

I give her a tired smile. “It’s not a bad change, believe me. Usually, I wolf down everything in sight and in five seconds flat.” I pat my stomach. “My IBS is grateful.”

“Alright,” she says warily. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

I say my goodbyes to the group and head toward the stairs. I feel a prickle at the back of my neck and turn around to see Lauren whispering with the others. Once they see me looking at them, they break apart.

I feel my cheeks go hot, and I quickly go up the stairs. It’s probably nothing. I’m sure they weren’t talking about me, and if they were, it probably wasn’t anything bad. I’m sure they asked why I was going to bed so early, and Lauren explained.

But still, after years of feeling like an outsider, of having a hard time picking up on social cues, I always doubt myself when it comes to making friends. A few bad apples when I was young, and I’m suspicious of everyone.

I push it out of my mind and get ready for bed. No need for melatonin this night; I’m practically falling asleep on my feet. No need to do my TMJ face yoga either. It’s like my jaw muscles have reduced, my face slimmer. I’m probably a lot less bloated, thanks to the reduction in food. You’d think I would be elated at the weight loss, but I’m not. It’s actually kind of concerning since I never wanted to lose weight in the first place.

After I wash my face and put on my pajamas, I get into bed and turn off my lamp. The room is barely dark, twilight thick in the sky and moonlight spilling in through the window.

I get out of bed to close the curtains. It’s been raining ever since our foraging excursion, but the skies are clearing now. The moon is visible, just beyond the cedar tops, almost full, withfast-moving clouds passing over it like gauze. I stare at it for a moment, feeling a strange sense of wonder, of feeling plugged in and drawn to it, when movement below catches my eye.

I glance down to see someone underneath my window. He’s shaped like Kincaid, but with the moon behind him, I can’t see his face.

Yet I know he’s looking at me.

His cigarette glows once, and then he turns and disappears into the trees, the puddles rippling in his wake.

“Just out on your nightly walk,” I say softly.

CHAPTER 8

I’m nervous.

It’s my first counseling session with Kincaid, and I have no idea what to expect. I’m standing outside the north dorm, under the slight overhang of the roof, trying to stay out of the drizzle, but I can’t quite make myself open the door and walk inside the building.

It doesn’t help that I saw him again outside my window last night, but I should be grateful it didn’t result in another sex dream. In fact, I slept pretty well and didn’t wake up until my alarm went off. I still feel tired though. All the coffee at breakfast didn’t help; neither did the toast and peanut butter I pecked at like a bird, much to Lauren’s amusement.

I take in a deep breath and step inside the building. It’s warm in here, smelling of woodsmoke. There’s a long hallway with a handful of doors, and at the end, it looks like it opens up to a small common room, similar to the one in the main lodge.

I slowly walk down the hall until I find a door that says Dr. Wes Kincaid.

You don’t have to tell him anything, I remind myself.Showing up is mandatory. Showing yourself isn’t.

---