Page 15 of Bottoms
I glared at him, not that he saw since it didn’t stop him from continuing to read that stupid fucking sheet of paper. He took another sip from his coffee, his eyes glued to the page.
“What is that?” I asked irritably. I hoped he could hear it in my tone, too.
“New hairstyle still seems to be a touchy subject,” he grumbled, as if I had offended him.
I ran the fingers of my right hand through the short stubble left after my time in the bathroom with the electric shaver. My scalp physically ached along with the rest of my body, making me forget at times that my hair was missing. There weren’t a ton of mirrors on the walls to remind me, either.
It wasn’t like anyone I cared about would see me like this.
The upside was that taking care of my hair would be easy now. I could use all the extra time I could get, considering the barrage of other ailments I now needed to tend to. As if on cue, the backs of my legs started to itch, and I gritted my teeth rather than give in and scratch the delicate skin.
“Embrace the pain, Nessa. Stop fighting it and just let yourself feel all of it.” I heard Fynn say, but I couldn’t see if he had given up on reading, since my eyes were clenched as tightly as my teeth.
“I can hold on until it passes,” I said through my teeth as I tried to ignore the stabbing sensation the itch had quickly become.
“Aren’t you tired of simply holding on in life?”
My hands balled into fists on the table, and I felt the tips of my nails against my palms. I focused on the sharp, hot pain as I pressed my nails into my skin and lifted my head, fueled by my anger.
Fynn had managed to put down the papers he had been reading, and now our gazes met. His eyes were full of silent amusement as he took in the state I had been reduced to. I pressed my nails into my hands harder, seeking a sharper bite. Keeping my eyes locked with Fynn, I mentally focused on all the pain radiating from different parts of me. Each one was distinct in sensation.
“Better, isn’t it?” The slight vibrations of Fynn’s low tone resonated with his words inside my body, while the sound of his voice eased away some of my anger.
“Different,” I said after taking a few deep breaths and realizing the worst had started to ebb away. Retreating to whatever black hole inside of me it liked to crawl into. The disturbing part was not knowing exactly when the stars would align wrong, and I would get hit with everything at once. My shoulder still ached, but even that seemed duller now that I had identified its specific pain flavor.
“Wigs to the shopping list, or no?”
My lips turned into a smile, but I turned my gaze to my coffee cup before light laughter escaped me, as if my body felt equally confused by my emotions. I brought both of my hands up to wrap around the mug, warming my fingers. The sharp bite of pain that burst through my shoulder when I moved my bad arm no longer prevented me from doing what I wanted. My brain mentally cataloged the sensation as if it planned on studying them in my free time.
I would have plenty of free time to spare for new, macabre hobbies.
“As long as we are making a list, I think I have a few more items to add,” I said after taking a slow sip of my coffee and facing Fynn again. His trick about embracing the pain had worked, and I didn’t know how I felt about that on too many levels to unpack. For now, we could go back to the conversation about things we needed from the store.
Fynn sat, giving me his full attention, while I rattled off an impossibly long list of items I wanted from the store. I told Fynn I liked the idea of wigs, but I would need several of them in different colors and cuts. May as well have fun while I waited for my hair to grow back.
I also listed off nearly every type of cleaning supply I could think of. I planned to make a long and complicated list of items that would force Fynn out of the house for an extended period. That would give me enough time to properly escape.
Fynn sat and nodded, giving me a slight smile from time to time as he listened to my order. My confidence waned when he didn’t move to take any notes of what I said, and I realized his smile was a mocking one.
“You’re not going to get any of this, are you?” I sighed.
Fynn’s smile widened, and the small bubble of hope that had temporarily settled in my heart burst.
“I heard what you wanted, and I’ll see what I can do,” Fynn said simply.
I wasn’t sure how to react when he was being nice, so I looked back to my coffee instead. The cup was mostly full, but I doubted I would be able to drink much without creamer and sugar.
“These,” Fynn started, pulling my gaze back to him. He held up the small stack of papers, “are the identities of the three men wearing the ski masks.”
“Who were they?”
“Tyler Lawson,” Fynn said, flicking one of the pages onto the table. It was a crime scene photo of one of the men laying face up in the middle of a dirty alley. The black mask had melted onto his face, but one lifeless eye looked back at the photographer.
“I don’t know him,” I said, flicking the image back in Fynn’s direction. I had seen my fair share of crime scene photos inside the NYPD lab. It didn’t shock me; if that was his intention.
“Jason Keller and Mark Witcomb,” he said, tossing two more papers with crime scene photos into my line of sight. “They were all young, fresh out of the military.” Fynn reached with his hand just under the hem of his shirt, toying with a silver chain. “No one tells you what it’s like when you first get out and return to civilian life. Most of us can’t make the transition, so we find work doing something familiar. That’s why they found employment on a security team. One that happens to report to old daddy Ryland.”
“Tanner’s father tried to kidnap me?” I asked, trying to keep the laughter out of my voice. It wasn’t funny, but my body seemed tired of feeling nothing but pain and worry. The time had come for me to laugh in the face of danger. Since that was all I seemed to be able to attract.
