“Fawl, I feel your reticence,” he says, his voice husky, “and am compelled to assuage your anxiety. I am completely given over to you, wife.”
“I think you maybe, Ben.” I smile into his kiss, soft and slow and deep, and he walks me back into the sturdy post of the yurt, grounding us in something real.
But social exile wears on a person—even a person like me. Even when I pretend it doesn’t.
“Humans are meant for connection,” I whisper against his throat.
“I am barely human, Fawl,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against my temple, “and youaremy connection.”
The words crack something open in me.
I’m still aching from last night—my skin marked by him—and when he pushes into me again, right there, with my legs wrapped tight around his waist, we move together like we’ve done this in a hundred lifetimes. Like we’re trying to memorize each other before the world calls us back.
He drives into me until we’re both slick with sweat, shaking, unraveling in each other’s arms.
And, for a moment, I’m silly enough to believe him.
That we could withdraw from the world.
Chapter21
Controlled Burn
We leave the island that afternoon, and I am limber as a noodle, boneless and buzzing, wrung out in the best possible way.
When we step out of the railcar, the afternoon sun drenches us in gold. I feel it press against my bare shoulders, warm, weighty, and for once, I don’t flinch. I look straight up at the bright, endless sky and feel nothing but light.
I turned something horrible upside down.
I’m a diamond. Sharp, unbreakable, cut just right for pressure.
Josh was wrong about me, and I’ll tell him so tonight. Him and Dru, both of them perched in their smug little tower of assumptions.
Inside, I stare at my body in the mirror. Unmodded. Loved. Those things can happen at thesametime.
I slather lotion over my own skin. I take care of it—a small, decadent rebellion.
Then, a knock. The mannies. They haveneverknocked before.
I call out, and they pause again before stepping inside. Another new feature, courtesy of Ben—privacy settings and automatic REM shutoff. The machines are learning boundaries, which is more than I can say for most men.
And then—they freeze. Like…midmotion.
Clunk. A heavy necklace clatters to the floor. A jar of cream rolls under the bed.
Their pupils go red. Then, in eerie synchronization, they whirl around and race downstairs.
My stomach drops to my knees.Something is so wrong.
I hear furniture scraping, crashing.
And I know it’s Ben.
* * *
I step onto the main floor and walk into chaos. Raucous screams. A holopad held high.
Lily. Ben’s little brother, Michael. Ben’s grandfather—seriously, what is his name? They all look up at me pleadingly when I tumble down the stairs.
