Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 110757 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 554(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110757 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 554(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
“So you did know that.” Disappointment tinges her words.
“I did. I chose self-preservation. I was selfish.”
For almost a minute, we sit in silence. The soft sounds of her breathing remind me of when we were together and I’d wake up before her. I’d stay still and just listen.
“Did you know the children would be what they are?”
I sigh heavily. “No. None of us did. We hadn’t tested aromium enough to know how it affects people long term, so we thought they’d be stronger, faster, need less food and sleep. All the supposedly good effects.”
“You don’t think they’re good anymore?”
“No. I think we flew too close to the sun. People are meant to have imperfections. And the cost of what we did was too high. My mom died from the virus. I’d give anything to undo that.”
There’s movement beside me, and when I glance that way, I see she’s holding her hand out to me, her arm stretched behind her. My chest constricts as I take it.
“I’m sorry,” she says, the therapist tone gone. Her deep empathy is one of the things I admire most about her.
“I tried to evacuate her, but she wouldn’t do it. She said nurses have a responsibility to treat people, and that’s what did her in.”
“She sounds like an incredible woman.”
I swallow past the boulder in my throat. “She was.”
“Do you know what happened to my mom?”
The anguish in her voice tells me she’s at war with herself over whether she really wants to know. Briar reminds me so much of her mom. Lucy Hollis was bright, compassionate, and brilliant, but she took no bullshit.
“I don’t know exactly what happened, no. I know she refused to continue the work because she had ethical objections, and then ... I didn’t see her again.”
Briar’s quiet, so I just sit with my shame and guilt.
“I left two men and a woman to ... to be tortured and killed.” Her voice breaks as she says it. “It was after the virus and I was by myself. I waited almost two months for my family at my parents’ house, and then I left to look for them and Mae.” I rub my thumbs over her knuckles as she pauses. “I was in the woods somewhere—Utah, I think. I heard people nearby and I went to check it out. It was a group of fifteen people, and they had machine guns. I saw an RPG on the ground.” She sighs deeply. “They had three prisoners. Two men and a woman, and they were ... it was bad. They were beaten and starving. Barely had any clothes on. And I left them there. I didn’t help them.”
I squeeze her hand, wishing I could see her. “What could you have done, B? Fifteen people with machine guns against just you?”
She hums a bitter note. “Yeah, that’s the thing. The odds were against me. But what if that were my sister? How would I feel about someone running the numbers and deciding not to take a risk that was statistically unwise?”
Her anguish cuts through me. The post virus world is merciless.
“You had two shitty choices. No good ones. I would’ve done the same thing.”
“I still remember what they looked like.” She’s crying now. “I carry that with me. What I did. What I didn’t do. My dad wouldn’t have walked away. He would’ve left and come back with a plan.”
“Your dad would’ve wanted you to live.”
“I’m trying to tell you I’ve done bad things, too. Things I’m ashamed of. Why did you assume I couldn’t forgive you instead of talking to me?”
I’m too stunned to speak for a few seconds. “Are you saying you could?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. But you shut me out and didn’t give me a choice.”
Hope flickers. I didn’t think there was any way she’d give me another chance.
“I was an asshole over my assholery. I’m sorry.”
“I love you, Marcus, but you have to talk to me.”
I go still. Her goodness is like shining molten gold, filling all the dark cracks in my broken soul.
“I love you, too,” I say. “More than I can put into words.”
“I want us to keep talking,” she says.
“I’ll talk as much as you want.”
We could talk while fucking, but I don’t say it. I’ve wanted her in the most primal way every minute we’ve been apart. To have any chance of getting back there, I’ll have to swallow my need for her longer.
“I need a shower,” I grumble.
“Can we look at each other again? I prefer a view of you to the wall.”
A corner of my mouth quirks in a smile. “I’m flattered you think I look better than a wall.”
She gets up and walks around to stand in front of me. As she pulls her hair from its bun, combs her fingers through it and puts it in a new messy bun, her tits jut out and my fingers twitch.