“You’re seriously just going to go? Just like that?”
“Yes,” I tell her, shutting the door. “Now sit down before you kill me.”
Her arms cross, and she pouts, plush lips turning down as she drops onto the bed.
I dress quickly, while she does her best to keep still.
Every time she starts to fidget, I feel like I can’t breathe. So she sits on her hands in the center of my bed, not saying a word. But after a while, the silence starts to hurt too.
“Can you say something?” I request, when the sound of her drumming heartbeat grows too deafening.
“I—” She starts to speak, then stops. “Maybe we should give up on this, Elliot.”
“No.”
“Elliot, I’m serious.”
“So am I,” I snap, yanking a shirt over my head. “If you think I’m letting you ruin your life over a piece of shit like Oliver St. Grey, you don’t know me at all.”
She quiets, and I lace my shoes before standing at the end of the bed.
“Come here,” I say
She scoots forward, kneeling on the edge and wrapping her arms around me as I take her face in my hands and smooth out the frown in her brow.
“It’s going to be fine,” I say. “I promise.”
She nods, and I kiss her because it turns out I was right. It does make her feel better.
***
They place me in my usual room.
A dark, five-by-five, brick box. No windows, one door, and an old cot in the corner.
I take a seat at the small wooden table in the center, claiming the aged chair with the X carved in the left arm from the last time I sat in it.
Might as well make myself comfortable. I know the drill by now.
They’ll leave me to sit and stew for a while. Eventually, an inquisitor will come in, dressed in an impossibly tight pair of pants with a file the size of my head and say something droll. They’ll then sit down, pretend to take a moment to organize their thoughts, and hum suspiciously while I wait, presumably with bated breath. All for the sake of wearing you down.
I use the other chair to prop up my feet while I wait.
I would use the cot, but I’m pretty sure the oblong orange stain was here the first time I was in this room. I’ll take my chances with the chair.
I don’t count the time as it passes. That only makes it worse. Instead, I close my eyes and focus on the one thing that’s going to keep me sane for the next few hours.
Her soft, brown skin. Thick, two-toned lips. The little cluster of freckles on her nose.
Years of watching her, and I’ve memorized every inch, to the point her image solidifies until I can almost hear her calling my name. But the moment is disrupted as the heavy metal door creaks on rusty hinges.
“Good evening, Mr. Cross. My name is Inquisitor Almar. I will be conducting your inquiry today. Do you have any questions before we begin?”
The inquisitor greets me as is standard, though I can already hear the presumption in his voice, as I shake my head.
I remove my feet from the chair, but I do not greet him in return.
“I see it’s been a while,” he says, settling. “I have to admit, I’m not surprised to see you here. However, I did anticipate a more speedy return. Guess that dampener has some utility after all.”
