Page 14 of Possession

What the hell is wrong with him?

He crouches in front of me and bunches up one of the legs, holding it for me to step into. I just stare at him. After a few seconds, he looks up. He holds my gaze softly, without challenge. He waits.

He’s scared of me but not scared enough. Doesn’t he know I could kill him? Even in my current condition, I could do it easily.

I lift my foot and let him slide the material over it. He gathers up the other pant leg and we repeat the process. Then he starts sliding the sweatpants up.

I’m so used to lashing out at people for touching me that it’s hard to suppress that instinct. But as I watch Lucas’s hands slide up my thighs, I don’t want him to stop.

I felt similarly conflicted when he cleaned my wounds earlier. I struggled with that. I’m only ever tended when I’m unconscious, so I’m not used to being touched like that. I didn’t like it. And yet, in a way, I did.

Now, watching Lucas touch me, feeling the glide of his fingers, I feel … I’m not sure. Something.

I don’t get physically aroused, but I feel, in some weird way, turned on. Is this a sexual response?

When he brushed my balls earlier, though it was clearly by accident, I hated it. I was already lying down, already vulnerable, so being touched there was not a good feeling. But I couldn’t stop thinking about it afterwards.

When Lucas gets near my cock with the waistband, he stalls. At this point, I could easily take over, but I keep still, hoping he’ll continue. I probably wouldn’t react well if he actually touched my cock, but in a way, I want him to.

He doesn’t. He shifts his grip on the waistband to pull it away from my body, clearing my cock without brushing it. Then the waistband snaps against my lower abdomen as he jumps back from me.

I’m watching him closely, so I see how his face is flushed as he looks away. I see how shaky he is as he goes to pick up the tray of food.

I almost growl at him to not touch it, but he preempts me with, “I’m just carrying it.”

He takes it over to the mattress and sets it down on the floor. Then he comes back for me.

Abruptly, it’s too much.

I’m not used to interacting with people like this, and I don’t know how to feel about it. It’s confusing me and I don’t like that, so I push him. He staggers back. He doesn’t get scared or shitty. He doesn’t leave. He just stands there and waits for me to walk to the bed.

He shadows me like he’s going to catch me if I fall. I make a threatening sound, but he doesn’t relent. When I get to the mattress, he offers his hand.

“Let me help you,” he says. “You’ll tear the stitches otherwise.”

It’s really hard for me to take his hand, but I do it and, yeah, it helps. He braces against my weight as I lower myself into a sitting position, then he withdraws, leaving me with the food.

At first, I’m glad. I’m pretty protective of my food. Before Oscar Crowley bought me, I spent a lot of years in a crowded prison where everyone ate together and you had to guard your food like it was gold—because it was.

It’s hard to let go of that, especially when there’s barely enough here even for me. But I don’t fucking like having him sitting over there without food.

I make a sound of irritation to get his attention. When he looks up, I motion for him to come. When he hesitates, I growl.

He gets up and walks across the cell. He sits cross legged on the floor opposite the tray but doesn’t reach for anything.

I pick up the bowl of rice and meat and hand it to him. He accepts it, takes a few bites, then passes it back to me.

We eat all the food that way, passing things back and forth. It’s very weird. I’m struggling with wanting to snatch things away and have them for myself and wanting to give everything to him so I can watch him eat. It’s strangely satisfying.

After everything is gone, Lucas takes the tray and sets it in front of the passthrough window. I’m torn again. Part of mewants him to go away. I can’t settle with him here. I can’t relax. But part of me is unhappy when he withdraws to his usual spot, leaving me alone on the mattress.

***

I fight my way out of a leaden sleep to the sound of voices. I force my eyes open. Then I throw the blanket aside and launch up from the mattress.

Briggs is reaching through the bars, and his hand is gripping Lucas’s sweatshirt. I rip Lucas away from him, flinging Lucas away from the bars. Hand darting through, I grab onto Briggs.

Electricity jolts through me, shattering my thoughts, stealing control of my body. I’m suspended by it, as always.

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