Page 38 of Mindeater

I hurry to pick up my fork. “When…when?”

“In a week.” He pauses to sigh almost wistfully. Like he’s imagined this for far longer than I want to acknowledge. “The ceremony will be private but beautiful. I’ll finally have you in every way.”

One week.

One week to find a way out.

***

I peel off the sticky underwear, throw it in the bathroom trash, and step into the hot spray. Anger, unlike anything I’ve ever felt before, eats me alive. It consumes much like I do. He’s never done this before—touched me like that.

Made me…forced me…

I gag, retching directly into the drain. Carrot and meat splash at my feet. Bracing with one hand on the tile wall, I purge my guts, shiver, and gasp.

Ryx fishes a partially squished strawberry from his pocket. He shows it to me and pops it in his mouth with a smug smirk.

“There are so many barrels,” I whine, kicking at one with my foot.

“Your leaders drink a lot,” he supplies and sits on top of one. “Wonder what else Patryn keeps down here.”

“It’s a basement,” I say dryly, folding my arms and leaning beside him.

A huge stack of boxes blocks the service door. Patryn told me not to let Ryx know about it. I don’t have any intention of doing so because I can’t stomach the thought of anything happening to him. He’d get in trouble or worse. Plus, I don’t know where that door goes.

I scoot a bit more, wanting to be near him always. Our arms are close enough to create that distorted static I’ve come to associate with only him. It’s our opposite DNA clashing, warning us that we aren’t meant to be so close. I’m obsessed with the thrill of it.

“You’re so ugly when you pout,” he jokes, procuring another berry.

“And you’re ugly when you smoke,” I retort.

“I’m ugly all the time.” He doesn’t say it in a way that makes me think he wants a compliment. It’s simply a fact for him.

“I don’t think so…” I murmur, looking at my feet.

“You’re just used to it.”

I watch him nibble the strawberry, lost in his thoughts. “Your nose is kind of big.”

He snorts, shakes his head, and makes those long locks hit my cheek. “Better a big nose than a big head. And trust me, you have a huge head.”

“I do not!” I balk, stepping away from the barrel to glare at him.

“Big smart head.” He grins and chucks the strawberry at me.

“You should be happy I’m smart.”

His smile drops. “I am.”

“It’s not big,” I huff, crossing my arms.

“It’s just right,” he says softly and slips off the barrel. My cheeks burn as he gives me his back and gets back to work.

I don’t say it, but I want to.

That he’s just right. Right for me.

The memory feels strange given the circumstances, but something about it feels important. I can’t think clearly enough to know why. Something like homesickness mixes with the ocean of rage, and I decide quickly. I need to go back. Just once.