Page 121 of Hellbent

It reminded him of when he was a kid, walking around the farmhouse with Jack, wiping the counters, taking turns on the pull-up bar by the side of the house, filling Strider’s water bowl. At times Jack and he cooked, ate, and cleared an entire meal without a word passing between them.

They were so in sync that they didn’t need to speak.

Joey looked over from the bluish screen, saw Evan watching her. That dimple floated in her wide cheek.

She said, “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” he said.

They blinked at each other for a moment.

“What are you doing over there?” he asked.

“Catching up on the latest and greatest. There’s a disposable, disappearing chat room for black-hat hackers.”

“I won’t ask if it’s secure.”

“No,” she agreed. “That would be condescending.”

“Do you want to try meditating again?”

She gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I seem to suck at it.”

“Meditating?”

“Being out here.” She made a halfhearted gesture at the laptop. “Easier to be online. I feel real in there.”

“But it’s not,” he said. “Real.”

“What is?”

“Trauma.”

Her lips tensed until they went pale. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t ever have to know what happened to you in those foster homes,” he said. “But you’ve got it inside you. It’s holding on in your body.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because it’s waiting when you close your eyes and get quiet.”

“Bullshit. I just don’t like sitting still.”

He went over to his bed and sat with his back to the headboard. He stayed very still.

“Fine,” she said. “Fine.”

She logged out, bounced from chair to bed. Crossed her legs.

“Get relaxed but not too relaxed,” he said. “Become aware of any tightness or tingling. Rest your tongue on the roof of your mouth, your hands on your knees. Focus on the breath moving through you. Follow it and see where it takes you.”

He straightened his spine, pulled his shoulders back into alignment, made a two-millimeter adjustment to the column of his neck. Slowly the laughter and music from outside faded. He became acutely aware of the pressure of the mattress beneath him, a twinge in his right shoulder, the scent of laundry detergent. He started to constrict his focus, the outside world irising shut. But he sensed an unease inside the room.

Joey, rocking from side to side. She rolled her neck.

“Try not to squirm,” he said.

“I’m not squirming.”