Page 79 of The Atom Between Us

After, I lay there with my head pillowed on his arm, our legs intertwined. The air was thick with the scent of sex and sweat, the dim light pulsing in time with the building’s failing power grid. In the aftermath of our passion, a fragile peace settled over us, a reprieve from the storm brewing outside these walls.

For a while, neither of us spoke. I traced the pattern of his tattoos on his forearm with my thumb, idly cataloguing the fine lattice of hair and the callouses at his wrist. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt the ghost of his body inside mine—hard, sure, and desperate. It was different from the first time in the showers. That had been a detonation, all violence and unshed tears, need hammering at the walls of pain. This was quieter, more dangerous. This was something I wanted to remember.

He shifted beside me, propped up on one elbow, and looked down at my face. The edge of his mouth twitched.

“You’re thinking,” he said, voice soft.

I snorted. “That’s what I’m built for.”

He ran a finger along the seam of my jaw, then stopped, palm cupping my cheek. I felt the heat radiate out from his skin, pooling under mine.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, so low I almost missed it.

I rolled my eyes, but let him keep his hand there. “What for, exactly? You’re going to have to be more specific.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. I could see the war in his head, the way he built and demolished possible answers in real time.

“For making me bleed? For breaking regulations? For being an utter arsehole to me? For pretty much imprisoning me? For—” I paused, let the smile curl. “For dragging me to this charming little room and then not even buying me dinner first?”

He shook his head, a laugh more vibration than sound. “All of it,” he said. “But mostly for the first time. I—” He stopped, the muscle in his jaw jumping. “I couldn’t control myself. I should have. I regret that.”

I rolled over, pressing my chest to his, and flicked the tip of his nose with my finger. “You didn’t do anything I didn’t want.”

He looked at me, really looked, as if trying to decide if I meant it. I let the answer settle in my eyes.

“Believe it or not,” I said, “I wanted it. I wanted you.”

He went very still, and then his whole face softened in a way I’d never seen. A rawness, pure and unfiltered, so intimate it almost hurt to look at.

He stroked my cheek, and his mouth moved as if he was working through a calculus problem with no solution.

“You—fuck, Dee. You’re in my head. Always.” The words escaped him in a rush, as if he’d only meant to think them.

I smiled into his shoulder, savoring the way my name sounded in his voice. “Because I’m a vector. Remember?”

He huffed a quiet laugh, drew me closer, and kissed the spot behind my ear, soft and slow.

We stayed like that for a long minute, bodies cooling, hearts still in overdrive. Somewhere behind us, the pit waited—open-mouthed, counting down.

When the radio cracked to life on the far wall—”Unit Two, status. Repeat, Unit Two. Break, break, confirm status of prisoner 132”—we both jerked upright, panic and protocol instantly snuffing the last warmth from the room.

He leapt to his feet, dragging me up with him, hands shaking as he zipped his uniform and then my jumpsuit. His lips grazed my forehead, a frantic benediction.

“Will you come back?” I asked, the question out before I could edit it down to something safer.

He paused, eyes searching mine. “Always.”

We dressed in silence, the moment already a fossil in the wet cement of memory. As he led me to the door, hand at my elbow, I felt the difference in the way he touched me. Less like a prisoner, more like something he wanted to keep.

In the corridor, the lights were brighter, the air sharper. He checked both ends, then steered me back through the arteries of the block, every step a countdown to separation.

Outside my cell, he stopped. For a second, I thought he might kiss me again. Instead, he just looked at me, all the walls down, unmasked and human.

“I’ll see you in the pit,” he said.

And I believed him.

Back in the dark, I lay on my cot and pressed my palm to my cheek, remembering the shape of his hand.