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“No.”
“You think I’m in that kind of danger? So much danger that I need to be chipped so you can track me in case they – in the event of a -- ”
“Yes.”
“Is that why you just slept with me?”
Bang bang bang.
This is all too much, too fast, too jumbled and full. Emotion and action don’t mix for me. They just don’t. You act on instinct and override fear to get the target to safety. Sometimes I’m the target. Most of the time, it’s someone else.
You don’t feel for the target, though.
And the target never has feelings for you.
But this is different.
The stakes are higher.
The stakes are everything.
“I slept with you because I can’t keep my hands and heart off you, Lindsay. I want to chip you so I never have to stop touching you and loving you.”
Her neck snaps back with shock, anger melting into desperate love. “Oh, God. It really is that bad.”
I give her a look that says it is.
She deserves the truth.
“You cannot trust anyone. Not a single soul,” I say, holding out my hand. She puts her shaking palm in mine and squeezes.
“Not even Jane?” she asks.
I don’t reply.
Because I don’t know.
Then I drop to my knees at her feet.
“Again?” she gasps. “Now really isn’t the time for -- ”
Bang bang bang. “Ms. Bosworth!”
“I’ll be there in a minute, Silas!” she shouts.
“I’m not going down on you, Lindsay. I’m looking for the best place to plant the chip,” I explain. Just under the ankle bone? No.
I grab her hand again, pinching the fleshy web between her thumb and index finger. One swipe with the alcohol wipe, then jab.
“Ow!” Her other hand is on my shoulder, digging in, but she doesn’t move. Doesn’t jerk away. Acceptance on her part surprises me, but she’s always been smart. Quick. She gets it.
I wish she didn’t have to.
“This is so surreal, Drew,” she whispers. “It’s like Find My iPhone, only now it’s Find My Lindsay.”
Exactly. That’s the whole point. “Everything about the last week has been surreal, Lindsay. Welcome to my reality.”
“I want to live in your reality with you,” she says as I throw on a small Band-Aid over the fresh cut. Looking down, she rubs my hair. I look up. “I hate that I’ve spent the last four years thinking you didn’t love me. That you betrayed me.”
