He is silent, and I realize he probably heard all my thoughts since I woke up.
“I’ll make it a cold shower. Nothing will happen.”
“Okay.I’ll make myself scarce. I can try to pull into a corner of your mind and give you some privacy.”
“Thank you,”I say gratefully.
I go into the bathroom and turn on the shower. I adjust the temperature, but I can’t stand truly cold water, so I settle for lukewarm instead and step under the spray.
I try desperately to distract myself from the arousal still pulsing through my body. I think about my current predicament instead.
How long will the Kyzers keep me in this bunker? There’s no timeline and no end in sight. I have to cook as much Crimson Haze as possible, and I can’t complain or resist orders. Garrett Blanc has to see me as non-problematic and dedicated to the job. Getting out soon feels like the only achievable goal, and this compliance seems like the only path forward.
I dry off quickly and get dressed in clean clothes. I pin my hair up in a tight bun, and within minutes, I’m back in the laboratory, ready to work. I start a new batch.
Less than ten minutes have passed when the door opens. Garrett walks in carrying a food bag. He sets it on the table without ceremony, then leans against my workstation. He lights a cigarette, smoke curling up toward the ceiling.
“How’d you sleep?” he asks.
“Good.”
“I saw you toss and turn,” he says, watching me closely. “Mattress not to your liking?”
I blush. The thought of him watching me all night makes my skin crawl. I look at his face more closely. He looks gaunt, with dark circles under his eyes like he hasn’t slept in days. Does thisman sleep at all? The creeping feeling intensifies. He probably always watches me through the cameras. But I reign it in and don’t say anything. I don’t want to provoke him. Especially if he expects me to, or if he made that comment as his own provocation toward me.
“It always takes me a while to adjust to a new bed,” I say in a neutral tone.
Garrett watches me for several minutes, smoking and studying my movements as I prepare the ingredients. The silence makes me uncomfortable, but I don’t show it.
“You need to cook more and faster. A few vials at a time won’t work.”
“I produce high quality. You can charge more for it.”
Garrett dismisses this with a wave of his hand.
“I don’t care. The orders come from above. It’s not my decision. You have to make more, even if the quality suffers.” He takes a drag from his cigarette. “We’ll charge the same price regardless. The boss doesn’t care if the quality is lower. Our clients will keep coming anyway. We have the monopoly on Crimson.”
“I will do my best.”
Garrett leaves without another word, his footsteps echoing as he heads for the door. I hold my breath until I hear it close.
I eye the food bag sitting on the table, but I don’t feel hungry. My stomach is tight with anxiety and guilt.
In my head, Zeth asks,“Are you okay?”
I feel him there again, his presence fuller now, not tucked away in a corner anymore. He’s back, occupying full space in my mind like he always does.
“I’m okay,”I say.“But I was hoping they wouldn’t ask for more.”
I explain my reasoning, even though it sounds stupid now.
“The reason I was cooking so little was because I thought fewer vials would mean less people hurt. Fewer doses on the streets, less damage overall. The fact that what I’m cooking will hit the streets soon makes me feel sick.”
“It’s not your fault. It will never be your fault, no matter how much you cook. It’s not your job to save anyone. Your job is to infiltrate the Kyzers. If you succeed, you’ll save many people. Taking down this organization will prevent far more harm.”
“Thank you,”I say. But I feel distant and disconnected. I can’t shake the guilt.
Still, I adjust my process. I set up to cook more at once, following Garret’s orders. Anything to please him, so he can take the news to his boss and hopefully let me out soon.
