Page 30 of Possession

I’m used to the electric razor and the absence of a mirror—hell, I don’t even remember what I look like anymore—so I make quick work of my face and neck. I run a hand over my head to check the length of my hair, but I buzzed it last week, so I decide to leave it. I’m worried about running out of time.

As I swap out the razor for the bar of soap, I check on O’Neil. His expression is neutral, but he’s watching me. The remote for the shock collar is still in his hand.

I walk Lucas over to the showerheads. I would like for us to shower together, but again, time.

I turn on one showerhead for him and another for me. I hand him the soap. I do my best to stand under the hot, blissful spray while still blocking any view of Lucas. I don’t like that during the fight earlier, O’Neil and all the other guards saw him.

Lucas washes quickly, scrubbing his hair and body. His arousal is gone, maybe because he feels my tension, and, yeah, I’m tense as fuck.

Last week at shower time, I wasn’t. I was stubborn about hurrying. The guard overseeing me gave me a warning zap. When that didn’t work, he radioed one of the others to shut off the water line because he didn’t want to come into the shower bay and deal with me. That made me so fucking mad that I pissed on the shower floor tiles so he’d have to clean it up afterwards.

Now, I can’t take risks like that. I have something to lose.

Worry slithers through me. I spent years stripping myself of vulnerabilities, but the instant I claimed Lucas as mine, that’s exactly what I gave myself. A vulnerability. A weakness to be exploited.

Lucas hands me the soap. I strip the sodden bandages off my wounds and start scrubbing away the traces of blood that I missed in my earlier cold-water washup in the bathroom.

When I’m done, I turn off the water. Lucas follows suit and shadows me to the half wall. I set down the soap and hand him the towel. He hesitates with it, like he doesn’t want to use it before me. My growl for him to stop questioning me comes out harsher than I intend, and it makes Lucas jump, which irritates me.

Lucas dries off quickly then hands the damp towel to me. I make brisk use of it. My hurry now is less about time and more about wanting back in my cell. I don’t usually want that, but right now I do. With Lucas to worry about, I don’t like being out here where I don’t control things.

And I want this fucking collar off.

I toss the towel on the floor and grab my pants. Lucas scrambles into his jeans.

His panic annoys me, so I glare at him, which of course only makes it worse. He gets visibly jittery, and his eyes start darting around. I grunt in frustration and look away from him. I’m not used to having to control my anger.

O’Neil stands back to let us out. Lucas doesn’t need instructions this time. He backtracks to the door and down the stairs. He walks along the hallway and heads straight to the cell. We get inside without incident.

Everything went fine because I behaved. I didn’t push. I couldn’t, not with Lucas to worry about.

As the gate clangs shut behind me, I turn to face it, putting my back to Lucas as I reach up to unbuckle the collar. I hang it on the crossbeam. O’Neil picks it up. He leaves without a word, disappearing into the guardroom.

Lucas is hovering behind me. I grab his arm and haul him to the bed, where I vaguely note that the medical equipment is gone. At least I had the foresight to hide a few things inside the mattress. I shove Lucas down and go stalking off to the punching bag.

Last time I was at the bag, Lucas came to get me. This time, he doesn’t. He’s right to stay back. I’m really angry with him.

He did nothing wrong. It’s not his fault. But that doesn’t matter. Fair doesn’t exist in a place like this. All I can do is redirect my anger at the bag.

I worked so goddamn hard to not be vulnerable. I stripped so much from myself. And it worked. I wentyearswithout feeling fear.

And now …

When I catch sight of Lucas from the corner of my eye, I see that he’s watching me from his place on the bed. His knees aredrawn up, his arms hooking around them. I growl at him. I don’t want to be looked at.

Tears spill down his cheeks. “I don’t know what I did wrong,” he says.

I grunt and hit the bag again. He came into my life, that’s what he did wrong. He made me want him. He made me value him. He made me weaken myself with human feelings, like the one I had with that collar around my neck, a feeling I haven’t experienced in years.

Lucas did that to me, forced all of that back into my life, into myself. He ruined everything.

“I know you can talk,” he says. “Why won’t you just tell me?”

I snap. I feel it, the abrupt break in my focus and control. I spin toward him with a roar. He jumps, scrambling back across the mattress as I storm his way. His back hits the wall. I drop to my hands and knees on the bed and cage him there.

He has nowhere to go, nowhere that’s safe from me. His eyes are wide and terrified as he remembers what I am. A predator. A beast. An animal that can’t leave its cage without a collar that someone else controls.

Then—fuck,then—he reaches out a shaky hand and lays it on my cheek.

---