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TWO MONTHS LATER
Iturn a page in sync with thewhoosh-hissof the ventilator a few yards away. It’s so calm down here in the basement, early morning. The perfect space for me to get ready for the day with my cup of coffee and a chapter or two of whatever book I’m reading. I’m a few pages intoThe Psychopath Whisperer. Fyre recommended it, and I get the feeling it’s going to be an eye-opening experience for me.
Speaking of eye-opening…
Arrow pricks up her ears when I close my book, drain the last sip of my coffee, and get to my feet. She’s used to our routine by now, but remains wary.
I walk over to the gurney placed theatrically in the middle of the cool room. There’s a thick, black blanket draped over the top half of the setup, and I whip it away like a magician revealing a masterful illusion.
“Good morning, you shitty excuse for a man,” I chime, giving Red a big grin. As if on cue, the eye droppers placed a few inches away from his exposed eyeballs drip a clear solution onto his retinas.
We only realized a few days after stabilizing Red that the fire had burnt off his eyelids. That, and most of his face. What remains is a ragged, seeping mess that Andy says will heal, but she always shrugs a little as if she doesn’t believe it.
It’s been two months since we escaped what Fyre calls Pervert Palace. I don’t remember much after Fyre shoved Red into those hungry flames that day, but Andy tells me it was touch and go for a few hours.
Arrow is at my side, staring intently up at the gurney. According to Fyre, she almost ripped Red’s head off when she saw him for the first time, although fuck knows how she could possibly have recognized him. I guess it was his smell.
He stinks. We don’t bother cleaning him that often. There are also large portions of his upper body that can’t be touched, so what’s the point?
“Did we have pleasant dreams?” I ask as I stare down almost fondly onto Red’s bandaged face. Every day Andy gets in she cleans his dressings, but by the morning, they’re sticky with plasma and whatever else again.
Red’s bloodshot eyes track me, focusing on me after a few seconds. I’m sure it’s taking longer each morning, as if he’s struggling more and more with the effort of waking. That makes me think heishealing, because his pain meds seem to be lasting longer.
Be studies me for a moment before looking at the straw on the other side of the bed. This setup looks like something out of a science fiction movie. Fyre has many talents, but who’d have thought mine would be coming up with the perfect DIY intensive care unit? Sure, it’s far from sterile—try as Andy might—but Red has everything he needs, and down here there are far fewer contaminants than if we’d put him up in a ground floor room.
“Oh, you want some water, poor thing?” I coo, reaching for the straw.
Red lets out a croak. There’s suddenly such a desperate gleam in his eyes that I’m sure he’d be smacking his lips…if he had any left.
It made me sick to my stomach to see him the first few times. Like he was wearing the most realistic Halloween mask of Leatherman ever created. I puked. I had a nightmare or two. And then I got over it, because the first time Red regained consciousness after we moved him here and began gibbering in sheer terror…well, it got a hell of a lot easier after that.
“Yeah, you must be thirsty,” I say, grabbing the straw and positioning it near Red’s mouth. “All night long, no one to help your pathetic self. But don’t worry, Red. Dolly is here.”
I tip the straw down, and a small trickle of water pours out the tip. It hits Red square on his nose hole, making him splutter and gurgle.
“Whoops!” I hastily reposition the straw. “Dang stupid Dolly. Can’t ever find the right hole, can she?”
Red makes a snorting sound of frustration as water hits his teeth, most of it splashing in the wrong direction.
“Are you torturing our guest again?” Fyre asks from the door. I spin around with a squeal of delight, abandoning Red in favor of rushing over to my fiancé so he can scoop me into his arms.
“Morning, handsome,” I murmur into his chest as he holds me tight. I lean back, gazing up at him, my body practically shivering at the sight of his gorgeous face, those intense black eyes, the crooked smile on his lips.
The cut on his jaw did leave a scar, but it just makes him look that much sexier. I’d rip his fucking clothes off, but we keep our PDA to a minimum where Red can see. The man is a deviant, after all. The last thing I want is him getting a rise.
Arrow wedges herself between us, insistent on making a love sandwich, and we both pat and stroke her brown fur as she wriggles happily between our legs.
Red lets out a pathetic whine, and Arrow rushes over to the side of the gurney, ears pricked, practically bristling as she stares up at the steel table.
“Easy, girl. He’s in a lot of pain,” Fyre says as he walks past her and goes to stand beside Red. “Did Charlotte give you some water yet?”
Red snorts, and Fyre gives him a bland smile. “She’s got a mean streak, I know. But you can’t really blame her, can you?” He takes the straw and lets a few drops fall between Red’s exposed teeth as I come to stand beside Fyre. “You kidnapped her, repeatedly gang raped her, and were about to murder her before handing off her corpse to a bunch of necrophiliacs. Honestly, I’m surprised she isn’t down here every second of every day, torturing you.”
Red makes soft snuffling sounds, his eyes flickering from the straw to Fyre’s face. Fyre feeds him another few drops of water.
“There you go.”
The bald-faced man whickers for more, but Fyre pushes away the straw with a small shake of his head. “That’s enough for now. Wouldn’t want you puking all over your bandages again when the pain hits. We don’t like it when Andy has to clean you up after that.”
