Nerves.
Lehrer had seized control of Noam’s own nervous system and twisted it toward agony. Because Lehrer might not be able to manipulate Noam’s brain, but he sure as fuck could manipulate the tiny bright neurons in Noam’s fingers and muscles and bones.
A shifting sound of cotton on cotton, barely audible above Noam’s own broken voice—was he screaming? Crying?
A cool hand pressed against his throat. Lehrer’s fingers tightened very slightly, almost but not quite enough to cut circulation.
“Do you want me to stop?” Lehrer murmured.
Noam was past the point of pride. “Yes,” he groaned, both hands clutching at Lehrer’s. His nails scratched uselessly against Lehrer’s knuckles, Lehrer’s skin breaking and repairing all in the same breath.
“Yes, what?”
A hitching sob tore out of Noam’s throat. “Yes,please—”
Lehrer’s grasp tightened further, and something black cut in at the edges of Noam’s vision, his mind gone fuzzy.
God, he couldn’t die like this, he couldn’t—not now, not here, not with ...him—
“Please stop—please ... sir.”
A moment later that hand let go. The pain vanished.
Normal sensation returned in slow pulses, a prickling like a thousand needles over his skin. Noam shuddered and rolled onto his side, dry heaving against the pool of spilled water.
All he could see was Lehrer’s legs, the shifting fall of his trousers as he stood. “Pull yourself together,” Lehrer said. His shoes paced away.
Noam sucked in another wet sob. The water against his cheek had gone lukewarm. It soaked into his uniform shirt.
“Get up,” Lehrer said again, more impatiently this time, and Noam could do nothing but push himself upright with trembling arms. The bruises along his ribs screamed in protest. His arm was an angry mess of dark color.
Noam wiped one hand over his face and dragged himself up under Lehrer’s unyielding gaze.
Only then did Lehrer turn and retrieve his tie from the chair where he’d left it. Somehow that felt so long ago now.
What the hell just happened?
Lehrer wasn’t ...
Dara was right. Noam couldn’t defeat him. Not so easily.
He’d been a fool to ever think he could.
“Go,” Lehrer said, flapping one hand dismissively.
Noam clenched his jaw hard—which also hurt—and made himself say: “Are you at least going to ...”
No, not like that.
“Will you ... heal my ribs. Sir.”
Lehrer glanced toward him, still buttoning up his shirt. “Why?”
“I have basic on Monday. I can’t—I won’t do well. Like this.”
Lehrer finished with the buttons, left his tie hanging loose around his neck as he paced back toward Noam once more. And Noam instinctively flinched back, recoiling when Lehrer touched his fingertips to Noam’s cheek.
“This won’t leave a mark,” he said after a moment’s consideration. “As for the rest ...”
