Page 59 of Irreversible

“No.”

“Twenty Questions or something. You like questions.”

“Not as much as I like sleep.”

“Never Have I Ever?”

Isaac grumbles something incoherent, his chain rattling louder as he shifts in place. He’s annoyed. I don’t care.

“Sure,” he replies, tone flatter than a deflated balloon. “Never have I ever wanted to go back to sleep more than I do right now.”

My lips pucker as I twist a strand of hair around my index finger, then roll onto my back. “Fine,” I say, dipping my toes underneath the blanket and casting my gaze skyward. “Goodnight.”

The ceiling looks like it comes alive with moving shadows. Black and scarlet shapes. I squint, missing the mahogany ceiling fan above my bed. I used to follow the blades around in distorted circles until a dreamworld dragged me away, Jasper’s arm sliding around my midsection and tucking me into the crook of his arm.

I miss that. I miss so many things.

As the minutes pass by, the boredom rises, making me feel fidgety. Itchy. I sit back up, gathering my mound of hair in both hands and pulling it over one shoulder to make a braid. I secure it with a glittery lilac hair tie given to me by Roger. But the task only takes two minutes, and I’m bored again.

I sigh.

Leaning over the mattress, I reach for a book, knowing I can just barely make out the words through the dim lighting.

Reading helps when my brain won’t shut off.

I’ve read these books countless times, yet there is always something new to discover. Sometimes I’ll imagine myself as the main character. A grand regency lady, a small-town spinster, or a sea wench on a storm-charged sail.

Anywhere but here.

But when the last page is flipped, I return to this torture chamber. This lonely, empty cell. And in that moment, I always feel undoubtedly worse.

I prop myself up, my back to the wall, and bring the pages of warped ink close to my face. The words blur and jumble as I skim through a chapter filled with erotic prose.

Soft caresses, molten heat, heady moans. Throbbing rods and moist centers.

My nose wrinkles.

Biting my lip, I plunk the book on my lap and glance up. “Do you miss sex?”

A long pause.

The longer it stretches, the more I second-guess myself.

But I’m not shy about it, and it’s not like I’ll ever have to make eye contact with this guy. Something tells me he’s not shy, either.

Finally, he responds, “Do you?”

A smile hints. If only he could manifest his top-notch deflecting abilities into finding us a way out of here. “Yes.”

“Go on.”

“I’m reading a sex scene.”

“How are you reading in the dark?”

“I have a LED light,” I tell him. “It’s a vitamin D lamp—not glass, though. Apparently, I live here now, and the sun doesn’t exist in my world.”

Isaac’s chain starts moving as he approaches the wall, newly intrigued by the shift in subject matter. Typical man. “Read it to me.”

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