Sympathetic.Pitying.
“I have no doubt you’ve researched the condition thoroughly,” she says. “But it’s never as simple as one symptom or one obsession. I fear a mind like yours is being tortured.”
“Jesus,” I whisper harshly, letting a low chuckle escape. What hearing that word on her lips rouses to the surface, torture doesn’t come close.
She arches an eyebrow. “Did I say something amusing?”
“No at all,” I say, though keeping my impulses leashed around her is becoming exhausting. My muscles feel stretched, strained too tight over my bones.
If she could only hear the chorus of dark thoughts right now. All I can think about is grabbing that infuriating scarf and dragging her closer, sealing my mouth over hers. Shoving my hand up her skirt to feel how tight she can grip my fingers as she moans softly into my mouth.
I blink hard, fighting the aggressive imagery back into the shadowy trenches of my mind. Frustration liquifies beneath my skin, molten.
“It’s been reported your outbursts have been happening more frequently.”
“By whom?”
“Everyone,” she says, fucking relentless. “Even before the incident with Dr. Prescott and the rumors involving the particle accelerator, you were making your colleagues uncomfortable.”
“Working alone remedies that, doesn’t it?” I say, teeth gritted against the heat flaring under my clothes.
“Yes, isolating yourself can work…for a time,” she says, pressing the matter. “But it will likely only result in increased obsessive thoughts. Ruminating more on fears. Reinforcing compulsive behaviors. Maybe even lead to a detachment from reality.”
I smile at this, grabbing the knot at my collar to loosen my tie. “The study of space itself is bleak, lonely. Isolating.” I meet and hold her gaze a measure too long before shifting my attention to the fountain.
“Care to elaborate?”
I watch water trickle over Urania, allowing the guiding muse to steer my thoughts. “On the ocean, lonely sailors swore they saw mermaids. Forced to observe in solitude, early astronomers believed they saw angels in space. Whether adrift at sea or the vast cosmic ocean, our obsessions have a tendency to make us a little detached.”
She tilts her head. “Do you see hallucinations in space, Orion?”
I look at her, stoic. “As of today, I’ve only ever seen one angel.”
She drops her gaze, her hair falling alongside her face to shield her profile. The urgency to grasp her neck and force those gleaming eyes back on me is a hostile demand slamming through my veins.
“Besides,” I say, “can’t really blame them for losing their shit. A woman can tempt the sanest man mad.”
Her lips curve into the slightest smile. “Sexual deprivation can make a man lose his shit for sure,” she retorts, less than clinical.
I run my tongue over my teeth, watching her. “Careful, little archer, that fiery nature of yours is showing.” I grin with smug satisfaction.
Her mouth presses into a tight line, those pretty eyes losing some of their spark. “Look,” she says. “Banner mentioned you’ve suffered some loss. I don’t know the details, but I do know isolating yourself won’t protect you from that pain. If anything, it only prolongs the healing process.”
My jaw tightens, anger crashing through me in a fierce wave. “Fucking Leo. He’s always so helpful,” I say, sarcasm thick.
Collins frowns. “I overstepped,” she says apologetically.
I ease out a tense breath. From the start, she’s been an anomaly. Being here with her now was supposed to satisfy my curiosity—not allow her to probe my wounds.
“This is why beautiful things are admired from afar,” I mutter beneath my breath.
Confusion draws her brows together, regret flickering beneath the defiant fire in her eyes. Though it may burn bright, I recognize a sadness in her fury—delicate hairline fractures where dark filaments slither into the light.
And I decide that it’s better if I learn nothing else about her.
“My point is, any great discovery is made alone, Dr. Holbrook. Working in isolation is not only practical, it’s necessary.” My point effectively made, I stand to leave.
“Wait—we’re not done.”
