Page 16 of Insidious

“Isaac.” He offers his name like I should already know.

And then his face dissolves like mist.

Voices seep back in.

“… three days now,” someone whispers.

Three days since what?

My head throbs faintly. It’s a recurring theme.

I drift again.

Another memory overlays the grey fog.

The cafeteria always smells faintly of burnt toast and coffee that tastes like tar.

Six months since I started, and it still doesn’t feel entirely real.

I’m halfway through my lunch when Isaac and Dennis walk in together. Dennis, one of the trainees like me, spots me first and he lifts a hand in an easy wave before heading straight over.

I barely have time to brace myself before Isaac drops into the seat beside me—a solid, warm weight that immediately crowds my space, his thigh pressing firmly against mine and nudging me dangerously close to the edge of the bench. The clean smell of his soap mixed with machine oil drifts my way. Heat climbs my skin before I can stop it in a slow, traitorous flush that spreads from my neck to my cheeks as I imagine him in the shower. Now my panties are wet.

This is my standard reaction to being within a mile of Isaac. This is why I avoid him at all costs. I won’t shit where I eat. I think.

Unfortunately, like any other hot-blooded woman, my brain short-circuits into embarrassingly inappropriate territory every time he gets too close. Situations involving being tied up and kidnapped by one specific person.

Dennis hesitates for half a second, clearly thrown off, before circling to the opposite side and sitting down across from us.

“So,” he starts, smiling at me, “a few of us are heading to the pub later. Thought you might want to—”

“Did you recalibrate the torque settings on bay three?” Isaac cuts in, turning slightly towards me like Dennis hasn’t spoken at all.

I blink at him.

“Yes.”

Dennis clears his throat. “Right. Anyway, like I was saying—”

“What about the bracket you were working on this morning?” Isaac continues, completely unfazed. “Looked off.”

“I fixed it.”

Dennis tries again. “It’s just a casual thing. Nothing—”

“Did you log it?” Isaac asks.

“Yes, Isaac.”

It takes me a minute to suspect exactly what he’s doing. Is he marking his territory?

And somehow, I’m not entirely annoyed about it.

Dennis exhales through his nose, trying to laugh it off, but there’s an edge to it. He makes one last attempt—something about timing, about maybe later this week—but Isaac intercepts it yet again with another question, another comment, another reason for me to keep my attention firmly angled to the side.

By the time Dennis glances at the clock and mutters something about needing to get back, the invitation has dissolved into nothing.

He gives me a quick, slightly awkward smile before leaving.