17
Em
By midnight, I’m in my bed, but my mind returns to being overcrowded. Sleep feels nearby but not reachable.
I roll onto my side, then my back, then my other side. The sheets feel wrong. Too warm, then too cool. My legs won’t stop twisting in the sheets as my body tosses and turns under the thick duvet.
My thoughts refuse to line up long enough to be of any use. I close my eyes and try to breathe evenly, counting in fours, but my chest keeps hitching halfway through the inhale.
I turn my face into the pillow and squeeze my eyes shut. This mansion is full of distant sounds. Air circulation. Electricity. Then, very faintly, I hear them.
Nil and Stan. The sound of their wet kisses and shameless moans. They’re most likely in their bed.
I stay very still, as if movement might distort the sound.
My eyes stay closed, but images bloom in my mind. I imagine their lips locked. Their hands on each other. Bodies tangled in their bed.
The crowded feeling lifts as my thoughts drift. The noise in my head thins, replaced by the sounds Nil and Stan make in the other room.
Grateful for the distraction, I feel myself melt into the mattress. The sounds fade, or maybe I do. I easily lose track of time from merely listening.
And before I know it, I’m blinking awake with sunlight beaming on my face. I…must’ve fallen asleep without realizing. But I feel so well-rested. My head is clear. My pulse is even.
Until I sit up, and the corner desk comes into view. The MedBay equipment sits exactly where it was left. Suddenly, my mind brings me back to the ship. To a body. To blood.
Sweat gathers instantly at the base of my throat, dampening the collar of my shirt.
My vision swims. A visual fragment intrudes—thick red against dark metal—
I’m on my feet before the thought finishes. I move without planning, without glasses. I need air. I need distance.
The nearest door is the adjoined bathroom. I push through it without knocking.
Steam hangs in the air. White tile blurs into pale shapes. And then there’s…
Stan. Standing at the sink, utterly shameless, brushing his teeth. Stark naked. Faucet running. Foam coating his grin. “Hey, doc,” he says around the toothbrush. “Here to give me a physical?”
He chuckles, low and delighted, while I make a sound that resembles a squeak. My processing stutters. Startled responses spike.
For a few seconds, I blink and blink, wondering why my vision is a bit blurry, and my brain refuses to supply explanations. Then I remember I left my glasses on the nightstand.
When he’s turning to fully face me, I realize I may see all of his front. So I pivot fast, nearly colliding with the doorframe on the way back out.
The door slams behind me with more force than necessary. My palms are damp. My heart is still racing, but the sensation has changed.
This isn’t surprise or panic anymore.
Heat pools in my lower abdomen. My skin feels tight, overaware of what I sort of saw. I press my back to the door and close my eyes, inhaling harshly through my nose.
I straighten, smoothing my shirt with shaking hands that have no reason to be shaking. I’m not embarrassed. How can I be, when all I saw was a blur of skin, lines of muscles, and his round butt—?
No. This is simply nature, biology,science. Poor vision and situational awareness. I am merely, inconveniently, aroused.
I clear my throat and call out, voice pitched carefully neutral. “My apologies!”
Stan’s voice carries through the bathroom door, bright and unapologetic. “Anytime, Em!”
Breathing more deeply, I push away from the door, grab my glasses, put them on, and head out into the hall, not sparing a glance at the desk. I’ll deal with that later. There is nothing—nothing at all—expected from me right at this moment.
