Page 15 of The Flesh Remembers
My heart aches with guilt even as it beats faster in the company of others here in the clinic. How can I completely love James and yet feel this pull toward another? What kind of monster am I becoming?
I do not know what lies ahead, but I fear that we have opened a door that should have remained closed and that what waits on the other side may consume us all.
Pushing the Boundaries
That night, Eleanor lay restless in her bed, the sterile air of her quarters stifling. When sleep finally claimed her, it brought no peace, only vivid dreams that teetered between ecstasy and torment. She found herself in the carriage house where she and James had once sought refuge. The scent of rain-soaked earth filled her lungs as lightning illuminated the room. And there he was, alive, whole, his presence overwhelming.
Her heart clenched as he opened his arms to her. “Eleanor,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Don’t let me slip away again.”
But as the dream ignited into searing intensity, a flash of lightning revealed his face, and her blood turned to ice. His eyes were sightless, hollow. His skin was unnaturally paleand waxen, the scent of decay clinging to him. “Don’t let me slip away,” he repeated, his grip tightening painfully. Pleasure and fear collided within her, leaving her gasping as the dream dissolved.
She woke with a strangled cry, her body trembling, her heart pounding against her ribs. Sweat clung to her skin, the ache between her thighs sharp and unrelenting. She clutched the silver disk at her throat, its faint hum offering little comfort. Was James reaching out to her, or was her mind unravelling under the weight of her despair and longing?
Eleanor pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, stifling a gasp. She had been dreaming of James’s mouth on her breast, his voice low and fevered in her ear. But as her eyes blinked open, the voice did not stop.
It whispered still. “El… my El… you promised…”
She sat upright. The room was empty. The pendant at her throat pulsed once. Then silence.
The following day, she found no solace in Dr. Fairfax’s measured reassurances that a second attempt would happen soon.Not soon enough.Her entire body thrummed with restless energy, tinged by the dream’s disturbing eroticism. Even routine tasks, like reviewing notes or sampling serums, left her mind wandering to images of James or to the fleeting possibility of finding release in another’s arms. Her late-night talk with Frye had left her with troubling thoughts when she had stood so close to him. And the touch of his hand upon hers had inflamed her with a quiet passion she tried very hard to deny.
In the late afternoon, unable to bear the oppressive gloom of her quarters, she ventured again into the depths of the clinic. She passed cramped storage rooms and unmarked doors, eventually stumbling upon a small alcove where asingle lamp burned. Within, she glimpsed Marian Collins, hair somewhat dishevelled, rifling through a cabinet of bandages.
Marian jumped at the sound of Eleanor’s footsteps. “Oh! I didn’t hear you.” She pressed a hand to her chest, exhaling. “Everything all right?”
Eleanor opened her mouth to speak, only to hesitate as she took in the nurse’s rumpled state, the faint flush on her cheeks. A stab of curiosity mingled with something like jealousy.Has she been with someone? Perhaps she and Dr. Fairfax were lovers as she had speculated earlier?The notion rankled her unexpectedly.
“Eleanor?” Marian repeated gently, stepping closer. “You look… troubled.”
Perhaps it was the residual heat of the dream, or the memory of how Marian had confessed her fascination, but a reckless impulse seized Eleanor. She closed the distance between them in a single step, grasping the nurse’s wrist. “Have you ever felt like the entire clinic is a tinderbox of desire?” she whispered, voice shaky. “As though we’re all feeding off something too potent to contain?”
Marian’s eyes widened, fear and longing warring in her expression. “I do. But it frightens me,” she murmured. “This place… it warps our hearts.”
“Do you think I’m disgusting?” Eleanor whispered, her eyes downcast, unable to look directly at Marian for fear of her answer.
“No. I think you're grieving.” Marian replied softly, her hand reaching out and gently touching Eleanor’s shoulder, then running down to her arm in a comforting caress.
“I think I liked it.” Eleanor choked, shame burning hotly in her cheeks.
Marian said nothing, but continued to gently rub Eleanor's arm, her other hand now coming up to caress Eleanor’s other arm.
“I felt… powerful. The moment I came, the machine answered. It listened.
And part of me… wanted to cry. Not because of James. Because I’d never felt that before. Like I could command death with a moan.”
Marian smiled softly. “You’re not the first to feel that way, and you won’t be the last.”
Eleanor finally looked up into Marian’s eyes and saw understanding there and something else she couldn’t quite place.
“So, I should just embrace it?”
Marian gently touched Eleanor’s cheek with the tips of her fingers.
“No. You should decide how far you're willing to go.
Because the clinic will never stop asking for more.”
Despite the weariness in her limbs, Eleanor let her hand slip from Marian’s wrist up to her shoulder and lightly curl against her cheek. The contact carried a boldness that even she hadn’t anticipated. Marian let out a small exclamation of surprise, her full, pink, lips parting. For a charged moment, they hovered in that intimate hush, the hum of distant machinery providing a backdrop.
