Page 20 of Evolved

I let my face come down to rest against his rain-slick shoulder, my eyes to drift.

“Ottilie? Ottilie!” He dumps me forcibly onto a sofa of some kind. “Ottilie, stay awake!”

Awake.

Awake sounds terrible.

It’s so peaceful in the dark, and his voice, even agitated, makes me think of safety, a door opening to a place that’s warm.

“Tilly!” Gran says, her voice shrill and high-pitched, and that, more than anything, has the first trickles of alarm rippling through me.

I wrench my eyes open heavily.

“Good. Keep those eyes open. You’re doing great.” Knox unzips my coat, the sound loud, mixing with the frantic rush of his breathing. He yanks it out from under me, and it hits the ground somewhere nearby with a heavy, sloppy-wet plop. “Open!”

My eyes must have slipped closed again, and they seem stuck that way.

His hand palms my face, shoving my hair, wet like seaweed. Then rougher, jostling me.

It’s not a slap.

It’s a smack.

Smack smack smackto my cheek with one hand while the other wrenches my heavy arms from the sleeves of my sweatshirt, sticking to me like a second wet skin. Not hard, the smacking,but enough that, combined with his insistent, annoying shouting of my name, it gets my eyes opening.

“Here.M’here.”

“Staythe fuck here.” He’s not gentle as he gropes along my body, and he finds my sweatshirt soaked through. “Get me a blanket, Viola. Something. Anything. Rip down the goddamned drapes. I don’t care.”

No cookies and lazy smiles from Knox, not right now.

He yanks the sweatshirt over my head. Reaches for my frozen pants. “Now!”

The heavy, sluggish things that keep hitting against me dully, I realize, are my own numbed limbs, but my brain is stuck wondering if anyone’s ever yelled at Gran before—aboutme.

Knox peels down my sodden pants, gets stuck at my sneakers and my socks, so he leaves them temporarily half-pulled while he deals with the laces.

There’s a loud ripping sound near the window, and then heavy fabric is tossed over him like a tent, entrapping our two bodies beneath a layer.

He rips away my soaking underpants.

His hand slides under my back, unhooks my bra.

And then I’m entirely naked, and the air inside our makeshift tent feels boiling hot on my skin, and sleep feels like a solid goal.

“Don’t you close your eyes,” he snarls. “Keep those eyes open. Fucking open, Ottilie.”

“Use your body heat, Knox. Clothes off for you too,” Gran says. “Don’t look at me like that. For Pete’s sake, people thought my generation were prudes.”

There’s a rustling sound as he pulls off his shirt, his hips jerk, and a moment later, blistering hot skin slides along mine.

I hiss.

“A little good old-fashioned body heat,” Gran continues her diatribe. She says words likethermostatandfireand finally, “I’ll go figure out some tea. She’s going to be fine. We just need to get her warm.”

Gran is babbling.

Knox is snarling.

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