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He picked up the receiver, going through the same process he’d just gone through to call his own father. She gave him her father’s number, and when it began to ring, he handed her the receiver. She held it to her ear, a small sob emerging as he heard it go to voice mail, and the call was disconnected.
“You can call him from my dad’s cell phone as soon as he gets here,” Evan said. There was pain on her face, but she gave a woozy nod, shuffled to the bed, brought the quilt back, and got under it, still wearing nothing but her towel.
Evan opened his mouth to ask her if she was okay, but before he could, he realized she’d fallen asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.He watched her for a second, her chest rising and falling, mouth open as she slept.
He looked at the mountain of furniture he’d somehow piled in front of the door, then he checked the lock on the window again, peering out quickly onto the sunlit street. People ambled by; a woman with a baby strapped to her back called out to a toddler running ahead, and a skinny dog lay in the shade of a building.
Evan turned, wanting nothing more than to fall into bed and sleep for an hour, just one, but before he did that, he turned to the bathroom, headed inside, and shed the clothes he’d first put on in another life entirely.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Noelle woke to the light streaming around the edges of a curtain. For the briefest of moments, she thought she’d awoken in her own home, having fallen asleep on the couch. She’d had a terrible, traumatic dream. The boy from school, handsome, popular Evan Sinclair, had been in it. How odd. How vivid.
But then she smelled the smoke. Her eyes opened wider, and she blinked around, everything coming back to her in a horrid rush.
The cage.
The hunger.
The dreadful loneliness and fear.
The men, their breath hot on her face as they tore at her body from the inside. Taking.
Evan, smashing the bones of his hand.
The escape.
The fire.
The chase.
The ice pick.
The desert.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
It felt like a crushing weight, bearing down. She didn’t trust her freedom. She was flailing inside. She couldn’t accept it. It would be takenfrom her. This was a dream or a wish or a prayer, and in a moment, it would burst and she’d wake behind bars. Trapped like an animal.
A sound met her ears. It was her. Moaning. The whimpers were coming from her. She couldn’t stop them.
A hand, reaching, fingers linking with her own. Her breath released in a whoosh, her lungs expanding with air. She could breathe.In. Out.She took in gulping breaths until her heart slowed.
“You’re okay,” he said. His voice was groggy. “We’re free. It’s real.”
A sob was welling in her chest. She clutched his fingers with one hand and gripped the sheet beneath her with the other, holding on. He was solid, and the sheet was soft, so very soft. Outside she heard the distant sounds of children playing, a dog barking. Life. People. The world moving around them. They were part of it again. They’d risen from the depths of hell.
She turned her body toward him. He was already on his side, his broken hand resting on his hip. His chest was bare, and she saw the top of a towel wrapped around his waist. She could see his ribs. He’d lost so much weight. He’d showered as well. Washed as much of the filth and smoke and horror from his skin as he could.
And yet she knew, like her, it still remained embedded inside. She’d never feel clean again. She’d never feel free.
Their eyes met, and she saw the same desperation in his that must be in her own. The vital need to feel alive. To grasp control. To prove that they hadn’t been irreparably broken. To freely consent to another person’s touch. She came up on her knees, dropping her towel as he rolled to his back. Then they were clutching at each other, both making animalistic sounds that might be sobs or grunts or pleas for help. Maybe all that and so much more. Unspeakable things that must be expelled. He ran his hand over her breast, and she wrapped her palm around his penis, which was already hard. She moved it downward, cupping his balls, and he hissed, pressing against her hand.
She had the vague sense that choosing Evan, choosing anyone, truth be told, would erase the memories of those others. And so when the sob burst free, the words that rushed from her mouth were “I can’t forget. I want to.”
He sat up, turning her so he was on top. She didn’t mind, but she kept herself propped on her elbows so they were both in control. Her eyes were open, because it was essential she see what they both chose to do with each other. For each other.
“Forget with me. Make new memories. We’ll only think of this. This is all we’ll let ourselves remember.”
