Page 65 of Possession

I rest the book on my lap but don’t open it yet. I observe, “This is a great room.”

“Yeah.”

“Somebody really loved this room,” I say, fishing, hoping I’ll get something from him.

He falls silent. I feel him swallow. He clears his throat. “My mother,” he answers quietly.

I rub the dense muscle of his chest with my hand. I don’t really expect him to give me any more than that, but he says, “She was good at voices too.”

I tilt my face so I can nuzzle at his throat. He gazes down at me. His eyes are soft now, even though his face is still splattered with blood.

He says, “Read to me,” so I do.

TWENTY-TWO

Roman

I close the bathroom door before turning on the lights. I don’t want to wake Lucas. I need to do this on my own.

It’s been growing in my mind, the awareness of what I’ve been avoiding. Every time I half catch sight of myself. Every time I see how Vitali looks at me.

I avoid it for a few more minutes while I do everything except what I’m really here to do. I even shave with the electric razor just by feel, like I’m used to doing.

My heart starts pounding as I finish. My hand is shaky when I set the razor down.

Then I look up at the mirror.

I experience a weird disconnect when I find that the person looking back at me is, in fact, human.

The fact that I knew that has no bearing on the fact that, somehow, I didn’t expect that. And I don’t like it. At all.

I survived by becomingnothuman, by letting everything that happened happen to a not-human body.

But it’s a human body reflected in the mirror, scarred and way too lean but undeniably human, with a human face. And the eyes are … afraid.

I watch as my reflection panics. I see the chest start heaving, the stomach start contracting. I hear, distantly, the sounds of distress.

I close my eyes when I can’t take it anymore. My teeth clench. My fists clench. I cannot be that damaged human thing.

Abruptly, I want back in my cell, where I’mnotthat thing, where I’m strong and dangerous and untouchable. Where no one dares handle me without a shock collar around my neck.

“Roman.”

My eyes fly open. Fury ignites inside me. An awful, inhuman roar erupts from me. Then I see in the mirror what I wanted: the beast I became to survive. It should make me feel better, but it doesn’t—because I also see Lucas approaching me, frightened and worried. And it turns out the beast isn’t untouchable after all—because Lucas’s hand settles on my back.

It’s so dangerous, what he’s doing, so fucking dangerous, but he doesn’t seem to care. He steps behind me like the beast—likeI—won’t hurt him.

I watch in the mirror as his arms wrap around me. His skin is fairer than mine. He’s more slightly built. He’s so beautiful.

For a second, I think how wrong my scarred, brutal body looks with his—but I can’t equate that with how right it feels.

Eventually, my breathing evens out to match his. His thumbs stroke me, moving over both scar tissue and undamaged skin, accepting both of them the same. His torso and face are pressed against the scars slashing my back. He’s never asked about any of the scars. Somehow he knows that it’s not something I can talk about, not yet, maybe never. He’s so intuitive. He’s so … loving.

I take a deep breath and let it out.

I raise my eyes to their reflection. I hold my own gaze until I see all of the things I am at once. Mixed together. Complicated.

I can’t say that it becomes comfortable, but I get to where I can turn away calmly. I take Lucas’s hand and tug him toward the shower.

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