He narrowly resisted the urge to slap the man’s hand away. “As you wish.”
Logan turned away from him, apparently dismissing him from the conversation.
Impatiently, Thirty-One made his way to the bathroom and retrieved the first aid kit before returning to Ophelia. She was right where he had left her, but her eyes were bloodshot and full of tears as she stared at her hand.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, kneeling before her.
“It’s going to get infected. I’m going to get sick. I’m going to d-d—” She squeezed her eyes shut as her tears spilled over and her breath turned to shuddering, soft gasps.
“Think it through logically, Ophelia,” he urged softly, spraying her small wounds with antibacterial cleanser. “You are healthy, aren’t you?”
Her eyes cracked open as she nodded.
“And you would notice, wouldn’t you, if you had the beginnings of a blood infection? You know the signs.”
Biting her lip, she nodded again.
He hummed softly, smoothing a healing gel over the many cuts. “Modern medicine is quite advanced. You would catch it early. Do you truly believe you will die?”
Her eyes danced over his face, the gray irises almost glowing against the irritated red of her sclera. “No?”
He raised his brows at her, prompting her to try again. She sighed, closing her eyes.
“No,” she said more firmly. “It’s the stress. I-it makes the things my mother taught me get stuck in my head. It’s like I’m caught in a feedback loop. Sometimes, it’s like there’s a magic ritual I can do to make it feel better. Wash my hands a hundred times, or get into bed from the shower without touching anything unclean, or sanitize every surface in the apartment until all of it is safe. But sometimes, I’m not sure what to do, or I know I’m not supposed to do it, and it’s like I’m just…”
She shook her head, shoulders sagging.
“Paralyzed?” he suggested.
“Yes. Just… stuck in part of that loop. No way out, no way forward. It’s awful.”
He smoothed a gauze bandage over her hand, wrapping it so all her fingers were bound together.
She laughed at the sight, flexing her fingers with a wince. “I feel like a mummy.”
“It’s only temporary. You can take it off in an hour. The medigel will have healed your wounds by then. They’re shallow.”
“Thank you,” she said without looking at him, smoothing her uninjured hand over the gauze wrapping.
“You seem so touched by the smallest acts.”
She looked up at him in surprise, taking a breath to say something when Logan called out to her. Irritation spiked through Thirty-One.
“Babe, I’m so sorry. There’s something I’ve got to take care of back at the lab.” He bounded out into the living room, taking in the scene of Thirty-One kneeling before Ophelia with an unreadable expression. “Did something happen?”
“Oh, it’s just a scratch,” She waved her gauze-mittened hand as though she hadn’t been on the verge of a breakdown over the injury mere moments ago.
“Good, good,” Logan said, ducking in to press a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll probably be home late, okay?”
“No problem.” She beamed at him, but for some reason, Thirty-One found the expression insincere.
Logan didn’t seem to detect anything off about it. He grabbed his keys without a second look back, stepped into his shoes, and then he was gone.
Good riddance.
CHAPTER 11
Ophelia curledup on the couch with a bowl of popcorn cradled in her lap, long since gone cold, as she absently watched a reality show. The android sat beside her with his perfect posture on the very edge of the cushion, frowning at the hijinks on the screen.
