Page 36 of Not Fooling Anyone

She somehow clenches my fingers harder, enough that I’m worried it might bruise, but that’s okay. Whatever she needs to get through this.

“It’s cold,” she murmurs. “In my veins.”

“Some people report a flushing sensation,” Justin says. “It’ll pass soon.”

He finishes up and attaches the IV line, but I keep her attention on me, still rubbing the back of her neck, enjoying the rare chance to touch her freely. Her skin is warm and soft, muscles gradually loosening as the worst of it is over, but I don’t let go just yet.

She holds eye contact with me, her normal barriers gone, and as Justin moves to the other side of the room, waking up the computer, she whispers, “You keep seeing me at my worst.”

Her hand is still gripping mine, not quite as tight now, and I run my thumb over her knuckles, soothing her. “Nothing’s scared me off so far.”

“Let’s get you in the other room,” Justin says.

She nods, making the mistake of looking down at her arm, and freezes.

I tip her chin back up. “Don’t look at it. Think about something else.”

She squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, then stands, letting go of my hand as she follows Justin and situates herself on the fMRI table.

I watch through the window, holding my breath as he returns and starts up the machine, her head disappearing from view as the procedure begins.

I take a seat in the chair Lexie just vacated, watching the monitors for a few minutes, but I have no idea what it means. My leg jiggles and I have to force myself to stop, laying a hand on it.

“I’ve always wanted to read her mind,” I joke aloud. “Now I can.”

He looks over his shoulder, glancing at me, but doesn’t respond. Guess it wasn’t funny.

I stand, crossing my arms, and get closer to the biggest screen, studying it. “Looks like a walnut.”

“Brains look like that,” he confirms.

After another minute, he frowns and pushes the intercom button. “I need you to stay still, Lexie.”

I stare through the window but can’t see anything wrong. “What’s going on?”

“She’s shaking or something,” he mutters. “Look at this. Her amygdala’s lighting up when it shouldn’t.”

I’m guessing that’s bad from the way he says it.

“Can you shut off the machine for a second? I’ll go in there and talk to her.”

He wavers. “That’s not part of the procedure. No one else has contact with their partners while they’re in there.”

“And no one else was probably as freaked out as her. This will even the playing field.”

He looks at the clock again on the wall. “I can give you a couple of minutes. Any longer and we’ll have to scrap it and move on.”

Does that mean they’d kick us out of the study if she’s unable to complete this? She’ll be crushed.

I join her in the room, crouching next to her on the side opposite of her IV. She’s still half inside the machine, head immobile so she can’t see me. “Lexie.”

She reaches up and takes out one of her earplugs. “What is it?”

“You’re moving too much,” I whisper, not sure if there are microphones in here. “They can’t get a clear image. And some part of your brain is lighting up that shouldn’t.”

Her fist clenches reflexively at her side and she lets out a sound of frustration. “I can feel it. The… the needle. I know it’s there.”

“Think about something else. Something you love.” I slide my hand over hers, a featherlight touch, up over her wrist, her inner forearm, trying to relax her. “Concentrate on it.”

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