Twenty-four
Gage Bronson
Restoration Resistance Headquarters
August 20, 4010
1:00 am
The infirmary is nearly empty when I arrive, but then, I planned it that way. I don’t want a lot of witnesses or intruders during my visit. I pause at a makeshift nurse’s station situated just outside the row of doors concealing recovering patients. Olivia McNabb is behind one of them.
After a lot of persuasion, the nurse lets me in to see her and I am grateful to find I am her only visitor.
“She is resting, though not peacefully,” the nurse—who has two bionic arms—says, gazing into the room with concern as she opens the door for me.
I frown, seeing that Olivia is held down to the bed by a set of buckled straps. “What the hell is this?”
The nurse sighs, her face etched in sympathy. “The poor thing keeps trying to hurt herself. Can’t sleep more than an hour before the nightmares start. She won’t take her drugs because they make it hard for her to wake up from them, so she’s in constant pain. She keeps ripping out her IV and won’t let anyone touch her. We had to do it, especially after she broke a mirror and tried to slit her wrists with the glass. They doctors have diagnosed her with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, the poor thing. Keeps mumbling about what they did to her… awful things. It’s no wonder…”
The nurse trails off as I open the door to the room, stepping inside slowly, afraid that any sudden movement might set Olivia off. As it is she looks exhausted, but I can tell she’s fighting sleep. I close the door, shutting the nurse out, and step into the pristine, white room. White walls, white floors, and white sheets covering a pale and drawn Olivia. Even her eyes are washed out in the bright fluorescent lights, their depths empty and fathomless.
“Bronson,” she croaks, her voice hoarse—likely from screaming.
“Hey,” I say as gently as possible. She reminds me of a scared doe and I don’t want to do anything to rattle her after the hell she’s been through. Her hand rests at her side, now a bandaged stump. I sit by her bed and study her face, trying to decide where to start.
“I’m not dead, you know,” she jokes.
I cringe. “I know.”
“Then why are you looking at me as like you’ve just seen a ghost?”
I sigh and plunge ahead with what I’ve come to say. “I’m sorry, Olivia. For not protecting you at Stonehead. I should have done more to keep them from taking you.”
“What the hell would you have done, Bronson?” she scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Sacrificed yourself? What a goddamn noble dude you are. Blythe’s a lucky girl.” She smiles when my eyes widen. “Oh, come on, if you guys haven’t hooked up already, you will eventually. That girl’s infatuated with you and any nitwit can see you feel the same way.” I don’t answer and Olivia keeps talking, her voice gaining strength with each word. “Look, you’re brave, okay? You’re hot and you have big muscles. You’re sweet and you care about people enough to put yourself on the line for them. That makes you a hero, no matter what happened to me. Okay?”
I shake my head. “I don’t feel that way, but thanks.”
“Look at me.” Our eyes connect. “You can’t win all the battles. You can’t save everyone. This is war, Gage. We are at war with our own government and there are casualties. The sooner you get that through your head, the better off you’ll be. And while we’re on the subject, that mission going wrong wasn’t just your fault. The success of it rested on my shoulders too. We took the lead on that one together and one of us got caught and tortured. Don’t go feeling sorry for me just because I’m a girl. I’m stronger than I look.”
Hell yeah, she is. I know grown men who couldn’t endure what Olivia has. And the worst is yet to come if her PTSD is as bad as the nurse let on.
“You’re such a badass,” I say with a laugh. “You’re a true survivor, Olivia.”
She tears up, but I pretend not to notice. “Get out of here, will you?” she says, her voice cracking. “I’m sure somewhere out there, there’s a kitten up a tree that needs rescuing.”
I laugh again and stand to do as she asks, not wanting to intrude if she prefers to cry alone. “I’ll come back to visit soon, okay?”
She nods. “I’d like that.”
I turn to leave her, closing the door just as a sob rips from her throat. The sound stays with me, haunting me as I retreat back down the hall. I think I’m going to lose it myself when I turn the corner and come face to face with Blythe.
“Hey!” I say as I steady her after nearly knocking her over. My hands on her shoulders, I gaze down at her in relief. She is a sight for sore eyes. “What are you doing here?”
“Came to see Olivia,” she says. “I couldn’t sleep thinking about her. You?”
“Same,” I answer. “She’s in bad shape, Blythe. I would give her some time. I just left and she kind of hinted that she wanted to be alone right now.”
Blythe nods. “I understand.” Boy, does she ever. As I slowly get to know Blythe, I’m learning that she’s the queen of wall building. Vulnerability is a weakness, one she detests in herself. “Can we talk for a minute?”
“Yeah.”
She grabs my hand and pulls me into the first door we come to—a sterile and darkened procedure room. There is faint moonlight coming through the window, and we stand close to it, deciding to leave the light off so as not to alert anyone to our presence in the room.
The second we are alone, I grab her and pull her against me, pressing my lips to hers demandingly. She answers eagerly, coming up on her tiptoes to loop her arms around my neck, which presses her body neatly against mine from chest to hip. My tongue sweeps the inside of her mouth, tasting her, taking her in through all of my senses as my hands touch and I inhale her scent. The soft sounds from the back of her throat complete the sensory overload until I’m drowning in her, unable to come up for air even if I want to.
When I finally let her go, her breathing is harsh like mine, her mouth swollen and her eyes wide. She stares at me as if she is both afraid and enamored.
“What is this?” she asks breathlessly.
“I’m not sure,” I answer as honestly as I can. “Blythe, there’s something I need to tell you.”
“Me first,” she says. “I hope you won’t be mad at me, but I think it’s best that we keep this—whatever this is—just between us for now.”
My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “That’s an excellent idea, actually. Why would think I’d be mad?”
She shrugs and then giggles. “I don’t know, something tells me you’d like nothing better than to rub Dax’s nose in this.”
“As fun as that sounds, I agree with you about keeping it between us. So much is happening and things are uncertain all around. We should give ourselves time to decide just what this is before we go letting everybody in our business. Besides…” I pull her against me and bury my face in her neck. She gasps in surprise. “I like secrets.”
“Hmm,” she mumbles as I kiss her neck, working my way down the slender column to the slope of her shoulder before biting down there with just enough pressure to make her squeal.
“Secret kisses, secret touches,” I stare at her pointedly, “secret sex in the infirmary.”
Her eyes grow wide in shock but she laughs. “Here? Now?”
I shrug. “Why not? We’re alone. This awesome bed-thing reclines. It’s a sterile environment. Plus… I’ve always wanted to play doctor.”
She shrieks and laughs as I grab her by the hips and lift her up on the table, laying her against the reclining back before stepping between her legs. My fingertip traces the seam of her jeans as she lays back, watching me with eyes gone dark with desire. I quirk one eyebrow up and grin as my finger trails up, lifting her shirt and exposing her beautiful stomach. Her ab muscles jump and bunch beneath golden skin. My touch skims back downward, circling around the button on her pants.
“Gage,” she whispers, her voice heavy and thick, her breathing racing li
ke a subway train.
My name on her lips sends a jolt of electricity down my spine and I make up my mind to have her saying it again, over and over, before the night is gone. I’ve just flicked the button at her waist open, when the sound of a key scraping a lock sends us into a panic. I rear up off her and she leaps to her feet, grabbing my hand and pulling me through another door on the far side of the room and closing it just as the other opens.
The room we’ve found ourselves in is on the other side of a one-way mirror, through which we can see Jenica and the Professor entering alone, looking just as we had a few moments before—as if they don’t want to be seen.
“What is this place?” I whisper to Blythe as we watch them through the glass. Jenica steps behind a screen in the corner while the Professor starts preparing some sort of equipment. “What do you think they’re doing here?”
“This room we’re in is an observation room,” she says. “Thus the one-way mirror. As far as what they’re doing here… I’m not sure.”
“They’re a couple,” I blurt out, needing to tell someone. “I overheard them on the hovercraft on the way to Stonehead. “He loves her. They’re in love.”
Blythe watches the Professor move around the room, collecting instruments and laying them on a tray near the table. Jenica emerges in a paper gown, naked beneath, and slowly walks over to the table.
“I always knew he loved her,” Blythe said. “You’d have to be a fool not to see it. But Jenica…” she trails off.
“I know. She doesn’t seem capable of love. She’s so hard and cold.”
But her eyes don’t look cold. In fact, she looks downright scared and miserable as she lies back on the table, watching the Professor move around the room. The metal instruments rattle in his grasp as his hands shake, his eyes misty behind his glasses.
“Are you certain we are making the right decision?” he asks as he pauses, reaching out to grab her hand.
Jenica’s voice wavers when she answers. “This world is dark,” she says, clasping one of his hands in two of hers. “Too dark to bring an innocent life into it.”
The Professor sniffles, his curly head bobbing as he nods. “You’re right, of course. It’s just…” he trails off and hangs his head.
“Neville,” Jenica says gently—more gently than I would have ever thought her capable, “I want nothing more than to be a family. Me, you, and…” she pauses and I hear emotion creeping into her voice. Too much emotion to show outwardly. She clears her throat and schools her face into its emotionless mask. “But it’s not the right time,” she continues, once again herself. “It would be cruel to subject a child to our kind of life. Maybe someday but not now.”
The Professor nods. “As long as you’re sure, Jenica. I will do whatever you ask of me.” A moment of silence passes between them. After a while, he gently lays her flat on the table and pulls a set of stirrups out of the table’s sides. “Are you ready, my love?”
Jenica nodes silently, turning her face away from him and toward the mirror. I inhale sharply before I remember that she cannot see us. Blythe’s hand is over her mouth and I turn my back, giving Jenica her privacy. The weight of what’s happening on the other side of the glass causes acid to build up in my throat and anger to burn in my gut. Our world is so fucked up that a couple who love each other cannot even start a family together for fear that their child will live in a world where its parents are hunted and persecuted.
After another moment, Blythe turns her back as well, her shoulders shaking as she sobs silently, tears streaming down her face and neck. I pull her against me, burying her face in my chest to muffle her sobs. At some point, we sink to the floor together and I am holding her as tightly as I can, allowing her to get it all out, every bit of anguish she feels at having to be a witness to this moment.
I lose track of time, but it feels like hours before it’s over and they leave, the Professor toting a bag of medical waste to be incinerated—what is left of their unborn child—and Jenica walking slowly beside him, her eyes glazed and unfocused as if she is in a trance. When we are alone again, Blythe turns to me with red-rimmed eyes, her voice hoarse from crying.
“It’s not fair,” she whispers. “They deserve to be happy. They deserved…”
I pull her back against me and rest my chin on top of her head. “I know. But maybe Jenica’s right. Maybe it would be cruel to bring a child into the world at such a time.”
“Then is it also wrong for us to be doing what we’re doing? Starting a relationship during a revolution? Making room in our lives for love when there’s so much hate in the world?”
“No,” I answer vehemently. “Blythe, look at me.” I tilt her chin up with my hand. “It is during times like these, when the night is its darkest and hate is at its strongest, that we are forced to remember love. We have to cling to it, to use it as a light against that hate, and as our anchor in the storm. It is the only thing that is constant and true, when everything else is falling apart.”
She wraps her arms around my waist and clings to me as if for dear life. “Does that mean, if I were to tell you to let me go…?”
“Never. I would never let you go.”
The Bionics Page 50
