Page 13 of Possession

“I’m sorry!” I yelp, hands in surrender, already scrambling because he’s up on one elbow. His dark eyes are burning on me. It’s not the predatory look he gave me in the locker room, but it’s still dangerous.

I had intended to pull the blanket over him, but I don’t dare attempt that now. Eyes on him just in case he comes after me,I retreat to my usual spot. There, I hold myself still and panic inwardly about the fact that I have a growing hard-on that I have absolutely no explanation for.

FIVE

Beast

I watch where he’s sleeping in a sitting position. It’s seven paces from my mattress to the bathroom, and he’s at the five-and-a half mark. He’s out of my immediate space, but he’s still very close.

I don’t know what to think. I don’t know how I feel about him being in here.

He was prey when I first saw him, but it’s different now that hunting him isn’t part of the dynamic. He’s trapped in here with me. He’s … helping me. That makes him something other than prey, but I don’t know what.

I might kill him once I feel better. On the few occasions that someone has been put in my cell, that’s what I’ve done. But those people have always begged and screamed for the guards to let them out, and I’ve had to kill them to shut them up.

But this one. Lucas. He’s quiet. He has no expectations. He has no hope. He barely even seems upset about being here.

He intrigues me.

Plus I like looking at him. His hoodie hides his upper body, but the way his ratty jeans hug his ass and thighs tells me he’s well built. Like most people, he’s a lot smaller than me, but he’s not small. He’s average height, maybe 5’10”.

His face isn’t average though. It’s beautiful. Refined. He’s got prominent cheekbones and a sharply elegant jawline. His light brown hair is cut short with a bit of length on the top. It’s kind of uneven, like maybe he cuts it himself.

I want to keep looking at him, but I really have to pee.

I don’t want to drag the IV pole around again and the fluids are almost done, so I pull out the needle. Then I spend a really long time getting up.

I’m groggy and stiff as shit, but at least whatever Briggs drugged me with is fading from my system because I’m a lot steadier than the last time I got up.

Lucas wakes as I’m shuffling past him. He pops to his feet but doesn’t move from the wall. He hangs back at a somewhat safe distance, but he does follow me to the bathroom.

I grunt to tell him to stay outside. There’s no door, but the dividing wall offers some privacy. I don’t know why I care, but I do.

I brace one hand against the wall as I pee. My lower back hurts, so I bet there’s blood in it, but there isn’t enough light in here for me to see.

I wash my hands. I want to wash the rest of myself, but I don’t have the energy. Hopefully I’ll get to shower in the next few days. I don’t get to stay as clean I’d like, but they don’t make me stay filthy either. I’m more valuable when I’m healthy.

I guess that’s why Lucas is here.

I find him leaning against the wall outside the bathroom. I grip the empty doorframe and stare at him. He should withdraw, but he doesn’t. He holds my gaze. The thing is, he’s not challenging me. It’s more like he can’t look away. And though he’s clearly nervous, he stays where he is instead of getting to a safer distance.

We’re still like that when the door from the guardroom opens and O’Neil comes in with a tray of food. I can see he also has a pair of sweatpants under his arm. It’s not unusual for him to bring me something extra. He’s the reason I have a toothbrush. A spare one too, actually, kept safe inside the mattress where I managed to pick open a seam. I’ve been hoarding it for months.I think about it every day and how nice it will be to use it for the first time.

Basically, O’Neil is the only one of my handlers I don’t hate, so I’m not sure why I go stalking toward the bars. He eyes me warily as he crouches to open the passthrough window and slide the tray inside. He locks it again and stands up.

As he stuffs the sweatpants through the bars, letting them hang over the crossbeam, his eyes flick past me to Lucas.

I growl. O’Neil’s eyes jump back to me with something like surprise.

I’m surprised too. I’m not sure why I don’t want him looking at Lucas, but I definitely don’t like it. He should leave.

He realizes that as well and turns to go without a word.

When the guardroom door closes behind him, I grab the sweatpants. I don’t mind being naked, but I don’t like being cold. I have been for what feels like months, so I’m thinking it’s late winter or early spring.

I wonder suddenly if Lucas is cold. He’s got jeans and a sweatshirt, but that’s not much. I’m sure he’s not used to the low temperature like I am.

I’m so damn stiff and sore and unsteady that when I try to put the sweatpants on, I fall against the bars, jarring several wounds. I just need a second to breathe and think about how to do this, but I don’t get that second. Lucas is right there, in my fucking space, taking the sweatpants from me.

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