Chapter 12 - Percy

I'm in bed, hands looped together over my chest, staring at the ceiling. When I came back to the apartment today, after a long, fruitless excursion with Ado, I'd found an air mattress in the living room, and all of Veronica's stuff scattered around it.

"I'm sleeping out here," she'd said, "and you can't convince me otherwise. I want to be close to the door."

I'd just stared at her, fighting every instinct inside me, demanding that I kiss her, hold her, pull her body into mine. The air mattress was right there . All I had to do was take her by the hips and push her down into it. Something inside me knew that she wouldn't resist me; it would feel as good for her as it would for me.

But I'd taken a deep breath, turning and heading for the closet in the hall, where the second lock in the pack was still in the blister package. Then, I'd spent ten minutes installing it on the outside of the door.

"Veronica," I'd said, weakly, making her jump. She'd looked up from whatever she was doing on her phone, already tucked into her air mattress. "Please come lock the door behind me."

" What? " she'd said, eyes going wide. I'd gripped the wall next to me tightly, using it as an anchor to keep from going to her. When I spoke next, it was in the most serious voice I'd ever used in my life.

"When I walk down this hall, and go into my bedroom, you are going to follow me, and you are going to lock the door from the outside. Tomorrow morning, after you've showered and completely ready for the day, you'll come and unlock it. It will be the last thing you do before you leave. Is that clear?"

Something like desire flashed through her eyes, and I had to close mine, visions of my hand on her throat lightly, talking dirty to her, coming immediately to mind.

I could do that again. I could do that right now. I could have her .

Without a word, I'd turned and walked down the hallway, hands shaking as I shut the door behind me. A moment later, I could smell her nearby, knew that she was just on the other side of the door. The lock turned, and for the first time since we'd both entered the apartment together, I was able to relax, just slightly.

The only way I'm getting to her tonight is if I break down the fucking door. And even I'm not that crazy. Doing this, having her lock me in here until she leaves, is the only way I'm going to be able to survive having her here in my apartment with me.

It comes back to me, all at once, the day Aris took me by the shoulder and brought me here, telling me the space was mine if I wanted it. Not to rent or have for free for a while, but if I wanted it, he would sign it into my name.

When I'd nodded, unable to speak, he did it the next day.

This apartment was my therapy for a long time. Every day, I woke up, made a list of things I wanted to accomplish, then drove to the hardware store and got the materials. I sanded. I painted. I re-wired light switches and outlets and blew a fuse more than once, making the baker downstairs furious with me.

I tore up the carpet, polished the solid wood flooring, and then put rugs down when the baker claimed my stomping around was too loud. I bought a few pieces of furniture, but for some reason, felt unable to do more than that. I discovered that my team members had canceled my lease in Washington and brought all my belongings to Rosecreek.

Aris said they were in his basement, and I was welcome to go through them whenever I felt able. Otherwise, if I didn't want them, I only had to tell him, and he would get rid of them.

I still haven't answered him about it, but I am focusing on getting the apartment in perfect shape. The last renovation was the lock.

It's been hours since she locked the door, and I'm still here, body shaking, tracing the patterns in the popcorn on the ceiling. I'll do this all night, gladly, if it means she's safe.

Then, from the hallway, I hear the tiniest, muffled click, and I know with absolute certainty that she has unlocked the door from her side. All at once, I can smell her outside the door, and the one saving grace is that the smell is all wrong. It's nothing like her true scent—cinnamon to her core—and that, at least, confuses my body enough that I don't leap to my feet.

Instead, I breathe and try to use the exercises my therapist has given me. I trace the four lines of the window, timing my breaths with the action. I count to ten. I picture my happy place—an old arcade I used to frequent as a kid. I cycle through these exercises, begging Veronica to go away, to go back to her air mattress, to let me suffer in peace.

Then I hear the tiniest little knock. I don't answer. Maybe she'll think I'm asleep.

"I know you're awake," she says, her voice muffled through the door, but clear, like she hasn't been able to drift off, either. "Answer the door."

"Go back to bed, Veronica," I warn, my body already heating up at the idea of opening that door and seeing her there, in her little silk pajamas, eyes dark and wide and staring right up at me.

"Don't tell me what to do," she snaps, then, "come to the door."

I could laugh at the absurdity of that if I wasn't so torn up with the pain of trying to resist her. My body, as though aware that she is the one holding the cards in this relationship, sits, stands, and moves to the door.

My hands shake as I unlock it from my side. I open it only a crack.

"What?" I ask, the word coming out more breathy than I intended.

"Why did you leave?" she asks, and a bit of the unforgiving need inside of me dies at the way she says it, the way she reminds me of all the pain I caused her.

"I'm not sure now is the best time—"

"I was in love with you, Percy," Veronica says, her voice cracking. The hallway is dim, the only light coming in through the curtains over the window, but I can see her perfectly. I can see her pink-painted toenails, the stitching on the bottom of her nightgown and the way her fingers play with the tips of her hair, her tick. What she does when she's anxious.

"I was in love with you," she continues, when I can't find it in myself to speak. "And you were my best friend. And you just—you disappeared without a trace. Do you know I spend days calling every hospital in the area, giving them your description? Do you know that I filed a police report that you were missing? That's how much I trusted you. That's how much I thought there was no way a man like you could hurt me that bad."

"Veronica, I—"

"I practiced cooking molcajete because I thought you would come back. I thought it was all a big misunderstanding. I made it over and over and over again. I went to the Hispanic food store every day, buying cactus for the dish, and I could see they thought I was nuts. But I wanted to have it nailed for you."

"I didn't—"

"Were you even in love with me, Percy? Did it even hurt you to leave?"

"Of course it did!" I say, louder than I meant to, swinging the door open. When I meet her eyes, there's this look on her face, this flash of terror, and all at once, I feel like I'm going to be sick.

Because I recognize that expression.

Veronica is scared of me. At my sudden, abrupt movement, the way I stepped toward her and raised my voice. I startled her, and reminded her of what I'd done to her when under the effects of the serum.

And the worst part is that it brings it back to me, all at once, like a set dropping in around me, making me the unsuspecting actor in a show for which I've never read the script. I feel the cool, damp summer's night air on my skin, hear the soft crunching of the forest floor under my feet. I can smell it—the soil, the plants, the fear and sweat and blood of someone near me.

I smell her, and I remember her, and for some reason, I have this terrible, pressing idea that something terrible is going to happen. Varun is going for her, specifically, maybe even running after her in this moment. It's why she's out in the woods, so scared and trying to get away.

Then, I see her eyes, the way they widen, and in a moment of lucidity, I remember that the thing she should be afraid of is me.

" Run, " I hear myself say, trying to imbue every ounce of the words meaning, and all my feelings, into that single syllable. I'm trying to say don't trust me, and you are not safe . In my lucidity, the searing, terrible pain of not being able to shift rolls through my body, and I let out a groan, doubling over, thinking I'm going to be sick from the feeling.

Like being filled with maggots that are eating you alive from the inside. Like watching your body slowly plump, filling with a gas or liquid you can't drain, waiting for the inevitable moment that you finally burst. A tear slips down my cheek, and I wish that I could just shift into my other form, my truest form, that I could just, for even a second, stretch those muscles.

Then, that cloudy, impermeable fog descends over me once again, and I watch, suspended, like a spectator to my own body, as Veronica runs from me. I see myself twitch, then launch into a sprint after her.

I don't move gracefully. It looks like I'm in pain, because I am, but even in this terrible state, I'm a highly trained special ops agent. I track her, predict her next move, and predict correctly. She doesn't have a chance to escape me when I jump out onto the trail in front of her.

"Oh, Gods," I say, snapping back into the current reality, remembering I'm in my apartment, and jolting when I feel something warm wrapped around me.

It's Veronica, and she's crying, her arms thrown around my shoulders. I'm stooped to be able to bury my face in her chest. Our bodies are pressed together, so, so warm and inviting.

"Percy," she whispers, her tear-strained cheeks shining in the low light when she looks up at me. "I saw it, too. I don't—I don't know what just happened, but I could—I could see it from your perspective. The pain—it was horrible, grotesque. I am so sorry that happened to you."

People have been saying that for months. Showing me sympathy that I've never wanted. But for some reason, hearing it from Veronica feels different. The fact that she just witnessed it, got a taste of what it felt like for me the past few months, was able to leave sympathy behind and empathize with me for a moment, and the fact that it brought her to tears—

It makes me feel loved. It makes me feel valid. It makes me feel whole for the first time in years.

"Percy," she whispers, and I wonder if she could feel those emotions, too, and hear those thoughts, but then I don't care because she's reaching up and pulling my head down, pressing her lips to mine.