The force of his orgasm sent tremors down his body as he rode it out. He was a shaking mess as he came down from the high and opened his eyes. His Siren gazed at him and he would never forget her expression as long as he lived. There was no name for it, no words to describe the feelings it stirred within him.
It was everything.
She took a minute to catch her breath before she lifted herself off of him. The stain soaking his scrubs was a mixture of her orgasm and his own. He made note to stuff them into the tear in his mattress.
A trophy for her pleasure.
“You made a mess,” she smiled as she leaned back onto his thighs.
“That’s what you do to me,” he said seriously. “Even when I’m not sure you’re real.”
Brooks sat up, embraced her body and pulled it down with him. He rolled at the last second so that she was on her side facing him, tucked into his arms.
He thought vaguely about how he felt no pain during their time together. Normally the convulsions from electroshock therapy left him sore and groggy for days. Tonight, however, he felt none of it. What it meant, he wasn’t sure.
He ran his fingers through her hair as they sat in silence. He wasn’t sure what tomorrow would bring, but he couldn’t find the energy to care.
If he could hold onto this feeling, he could make it through anything.
“I don’t want to wake up,” she confessed into the darkness.
“Me neither, Sunshine.”
Shelayinthehospital bed next to Brooks and observed as he twisted and turned, restless in sleep. She was unsure of her next move after the rooftop.
When she fell into eternity and landed in the asylum, despair was at the forefront of her mind. The poison inside distorted her temperament and it felt like a lifetime before she crashed.
She studied him from afar, though. Studied him. Taking in information and processing what made him tick. He was distant from the others, but did noncommittal acts of kindness here and there.
He picked up fallen paint brushes in art therapy for those who were too far gone from reality to paint. Sometimes, when a patient came from the forbidden hall with burn marks upon their head, he would pass them part of his meal and encourage them to eat. She had even seen him smile affectionately when he sat with the patient who liked sticking objects down his pants or up his nose.
He always made sure no one was looking, though. Except for Lytta. She was always watching.
The one time she tried to get close to him resulted in detainment andtherapy. There was a force that roamed these halls and recognized her for what she was, and it would stop at nothing to keep her from him.
Many times throughout the last few weeks she’d tried to get to him by sitting at his lunch table or picking flowers in the greenhouse at the same time as him. All attempts had been futile. She wondered if he even remembered their time together on the roof. Had that been taken from him too?
Lytta remembered every second of it. Her life hinged on her next moves.
She couldn’t deny the draw she had to him. Their chaos called to each other, and she was desperate to return what was stolen from him.
It was odd, this place. When the Deathless God of Chaos went to rest, the world fell into disorder. The Olympians became greedy, power hungry, and took more than what they gave back.
Entitled.
Disgusting.
Guilt filled her chest as she recalled the misery she’d inflicted on the world, too. How she had been no better than those she despised. Some would say it wasn’t her fault. She was a victim with no control over her madness.
And now? That misery had followed her into the afterlife. Sickness spread through the asylum, a wave of pestilence infecting each and every patient unfortunate enough to have crossed her path.
Lytta shook her head. She couldn’t think of that now. What’s done is done, and the only way to make it better was to follow through with her plan.
It took Lytta a day or two to figure out what buttons to push to receive electroshock therapy alongside Brooks. She had taken a calculated risk that the head of the asylum would be so consumed in her sadism with his torture that Lytta would be overlooked.
She was right.
Lytta watched him sleep as she plotted her next move.
