Chapter 16 Em
Em
Some moments earlier
I stand inside this new space with off-white walls and a big, gray bed. I suppose this is my room now.
My eyes scan the layout. Spatial familiarity helps regulate me. So does the feel of something in my hands, like tasks needing to be done. At the moment, there aren’t any.
There’s a twitch in my left hand, where Stan placed his phone. I flip it open, needing to fidget, and see that, despite the chipped metal finish, the screen is clear and clean, appearing brand-new.
The phone’s background photo shows Stan smiling wide with Nil beside him. A round window’s between them, which tells me this picture was taken in the mess hall.
I take a deep breath. Stan slipped a phone into the ship. I shouldn’t be surprised. Worse things happened on the ship. People were hurt—were killed—during my experiment. It’s indiscernible evidence that I didn’t do enough to reinforce rules, to protect people who relied on me.
Yet I’m the one here, given a big bed in a warm home with people who care about each other. Meanwhile, the one I’ve come to rely on the most is…doing everything else for me. Idris is on the other side of the world, fixing the experiment that was made up of my ideas and my hope.
My hand clutches the phone. I don’t have Idris’ number memorized by heart.
Even if I could call him, I’m certain he’d tell me to rest, to find something else to do than worry over the past. So my feet move toward the desk.
It’s a habit of mine to stare at a screen, letting work take me away from my thoughts.
Lately, my mind’s been overfilled with them.
I sit and adjust the angle of the desk lamp by a few degrees. Then I turn the monitor on. It whirrs. It comes to life, whereas I feel rather far away from that feeling.
When I lift my gaze to the screen, my vision blurs. I blink, refocus, and continue. It blurs even more.
My vision swims with an unfamiliar, foreign pressure building behind my eyes. With a long exhale, I tell myself that the pressure merely suggests a dysregulation response. Stabilization is clearly needed.
So I reach into my pocket and retrieve a small pill box. Opening one tab, I take out one of the black capsules. The movement is calming and familiar. I’ve been doing this since Idris took my blood and told me it read normal. The next day, he gave me pills he compounded himself.
Inspecting it further, I can see the pill’s black sheen catch the light of the lamp.
I bring it up toward my mouth. But my hand hesitates. I hadn’t realized I was shaking. Most likely from stress or lack of nutrition. I haven’t eaten much. Haven’t been able to stomach much since—
A memory surfaces, unbidden. Idris standing too close to the screen, blocking the lower half of the screen as my blood results populated. His gentle deflection. I turn back to the monitor now, pulse quickening, and pull my blood results up.
It only takes a few clicks, but the text swims. Columns smear into pale bands. Numbers refuse to resolve in my vision.
I blink hard, leaning closer, but the screen only blurs further, heat building behind my eyes until it burns.
I can’t see well enough to read, because I realize belatedly that there are tears brimming my eyes.
More images run through my mind in flashes. Blood oozing thick. Cold bodies behind doors.
My eyes shut. Wetness drenches my cheeks. I try to breathe. The images disappear. My grip loosens. The capsule slips free and strikes the desk.
With a displeased sigh, I open my eyes and pick it up. The casing fractures in my pinching fingers, splitting the pill in half. Powder spills across the desk.
Frowning, I try to calm myself. In for four, but my lungs stop when a sweet scent fills them.
Baffled by the fragrance, I hover my fingers over what should be purely the powder of Kys I remade on the desk.
But this scent doesn’t make sense. My formula carries a chemical bitterness.
This does not.
I remain still, figuring out possibilities. But my mind quickly lands on one conclusion.
Placebo.
Idris has been putting together the capsules. He wouldn’t have replaced mine.
He wouldn’t.
The pressure behind my eyes worsens. My vision blurs again, much more this time. I blink and feel more hot tears run down.
This can’t be right. It’s not possible. I inhale through my nose and catalogue known variables.
Idris has been my most reliable companion. He has regulated my sleep, even my vitals. He’s watched for adverse effects with a diligence that borders on obsessive. My body’s depended on him for stability since the ship. Perhaps even longer than that.
Yet my mind can’t fight the creeping logic. The Kys that Idris gave me is sweet. The Kys I formulated myself is bitter.
The thoughts spiral loose in my head. It’s all too much, to the point past overwhelm.
I stumble back from the desk, putting distance between myself and the powder. My feet keep moving back until the broken capsule is merely blurry dots in my teary vision.
Then my back brushes the door behind me. Sound carries through the adjoining wall. I quickly recall Kaye mentioning that the bathroom this room’s attached to is also accessible to Nil and Stan.
Heat floods my systems, one by one. My face, my neck, and then so much lower, right between my inner thighs.
I freeze, processing the sounds they’re making. Breath, broken and strained. The muted impact of skin meeting skin.
A muffled voice through the closed door follows. “Is your good boy doing a good job, babe?” That has to be Stan, his words carry low and rough.
Another voice answers him. “Yes, you sure as hell are.” That’s Nil. I’d know the sound of his from hearing a single syllable.
My curiosity overrides caution. I turn, take hold of the handle, and slowly swing the door open, quiet and careful, only enough to peek.
Heat rolls into the room, thick with steam. My lenses fog from the edges, blurring what I see into color and motion. Light reflects off glass and tile, and even through the fog and steam, it’s unmistakably them.
With the door open even this little, the sounds carry clearly.
Stan’s larger body drives forward, pressing Nil back against the wall of wet tiles.
Nil’s long legs are folded between them but spread as Stan pins him there, bodies colliding with intent over and over.
Water beads along sculpted skin as they move together.
I’m drawn closer by the need to see. For a brief second, I think Stan turns his head. I think I catch the curve of a smirk aimed in my direction.
Certainty eludes me. Steam obscures detail. My glasses cloud further.
Even so, the thought of being seen sends a sharp thrill through me.
I close the door quickly, the latch clicking louder than I’d hoped.
My heart races. More heat gathers under my skin, spreading downward. It’s pleasant at first, then increasingly urgent. The sensation demands release, insistent and consuming.
I retreat to the bed and slide beneath the thick duvet, pulling it close around me.
Through the wall, the sounds continue. Running water. Broken breath. The rhythmic meeting of skin against skin. Moans grow louder, rougher, and unrestrained.
The need blooms inside me, a burning pull that rises from within and refuses to be ignored.
My hand slips beneath the duvet, past the waistband of my pants. This feels necessary. A way to clear space before my thoughts overwhelm me completely.
I close my eyes.
Stan’s voice carries through the wall. “Ever come without stroking yourself?”
The sensation builds fast, driven by his words alone. I try to picture him there, holding Nil in place as his hips pummel into him.
Instead, my mind returns to the image from Stan’s phone. His smile. Nil beside him. The narrow space between their bodies. I place myself there, imagining what it must feel like to be filled by them.
“You close?” Stan’s question pulls a gasp from me. It’s meant for Nil, yet my body answers all the same.
I whisper, “Yes,” the word high-pitched into the heated air.
The pressure crests in time with their own release beyond the wall, their moans undeniably audible. My breathing turns shallow and uneven.
Release follows quickly.
A sound escapes me, more breath than voice, as sensation rushes through me in waves. It leaves me loose, emptied of thought, my mind quiet at last. The world narrows to warmth and weight, the distant sound of water fading.
Sleep takes me soon after, heavy and immediate, my mind too spent to spiral.
***
A knock draws me out of sleep.
I blink awake slowly, aware of my body before I am of my thoughts. The first thing I register is how relaxed I feel. It takes only a moment to recognize why. I finally reached REM sleep, deep and uninterrupted, after the last few nights of restless, broken cycles.
When I open my eyes more fully, the room comes into focus, and I’m briefly surprised to find my glasses are still on my face.
I push them up and take in my surroundings, reminding myself where I am.
Off-white walls, tall windows, softened light.
The Knights’ estate. The guest room. No longer the ship.
I sit up and let the duvet fall back, making a pointed effort to ignore the desk nearby and the small collection of MedBay items resting there. My attention moves elsewhere.
Another knock follows, then another, lighter and quicker, accompanied by Stan’s voice drifting through the door in a sing-song cadence that carries easy confidence. “Em,” he calls in a melody. “You alive in there? Because dinner’s happening, and it’s gonna be so good, gorgeous.”
Nil’s voice joins in, quieter but threading care through Stan’s enthusiasm. “If you’d rather stay in, we can bring something over to you.”
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand, smoothing my clothes and fixing my hair, as I make my way to open the door.
“There’s no need for that,” I tell them. “I’d appreciate being led to the dining room.”
Stan’s standing directly in front of me, and the sight of him triggers a sudden flash of memory.
Steam. Glass. Movement behind it. Sound carried through walls.
The warmth returns low in my body. His mouth curves into a knowing smirk that suggests far more than he says, and for a moment, I wonder if he caught me watching them.
My mind reminds me of the fog, the steam, the way my glasses clouded. There was too much uncertainty to draw a conclusion, and he makes no comment, offering no confirmation.
Nil stands beside me, and together, we turn down the corridor.
As we walk, the fragrance of roasted meat grows stronger with every step.
Stan inhales and lets out a sound of approval. “If this smells half as good as it tastes,” he says, “I am going to embarrass all of us by making noises that should stay in the bedroom.”
Warmth spreads across my cheeks. Nil stays close at my side, matching my pace. “You holding up alright?” he asks, low enough that Stan keeps talking.
“Yes,” I say, after a brief consideration. “I am.”
He nods, seeming satisfied with the answer, though his attention lingers a moment longer before he faces forward.
Stan appears rather energized by the promise of dinner. “I mean, ideally there’s a sauce,” he says. “If it’s dry, I’m going to take it personally.”
“Seems like you always do,” Nil retorts.
“And you love that about me, babe.”
Nil huffs almost silently.
Soon, the dining hall opens up before us.
A single table runs nearly the length of the room.
At one end, Kaye is seated and talking, her leg crossed over the other as she gestures animatedly with her fork.
Another woman with long, brown hair sits beside her, posture relaxed, and listening with a smile, while a man with short, silver-white hair occupies the seat at the far end, appearing attentive but reserved.
Kaye looks up as we enter, smirking wide. “Perfect timing,” she says, pointing the fork at the other two. “Em, this is Elle, my bestie, and her hubby and my half-brother, Sterling.”
The silver-haired man frowns. “Hubby?” he mouths, looking displeased.
Between them, Elle giggles and reaches for my hand, which she shakes slightly. “Nice to meet you, Em. I’ve heard great things about you.”
“Likewise,” I say.
Nil pulls out a chair for me. Once I take it, he sits on my right and Stan on my left.
While Kaye asks Elle excitedly about her birthday plans, Stan reaches for the serving platter and starts filling my plate. Nil grabs a glass, filling it with water before placing it by my utensils.
Their unexpected coordination captures my attention curiously. I glance between them, then back to my plate, feeling warmth rise in me, slower this time, reaching down into my chest.
Across the table, Kaye laughs loudly at something Elle has said. “Oh, please,” Kaye says, waving her fork. “You loved the idea of fireworks right up until Sterling said it’d spook some dogs.”
Sterling lowers his browline. “It does. Some people with PTSD too.”
“It really does,” Stan says around a mouthful of food. “Elle, you don’t need to cause chaos at your birthday party. You deserve some nice and smooth fun.”
Kaye points at him. “You’re the one who ruined my birthday party by setting up a bounce house in my damn backyard!”
“It was fun and not traumatizing anybody!” Stan replies. “Besides, everyone remembers it, which is the goal.”
Elle laughs, covering her mouth as she chews. I smile a tad at the adorable sight, especially when Sterling carefully and quietly pours more tea from a pot into her cup.
Conversation continues, but my attention’s taken away when Nil nudges my knee lightly under the table. “Got everything you need?” he whispers.
“Yes,” I answer, after a quick check. “Thank you.”
Nil’s lips curve faintly upwards, then he turns back toward the conversation.
Kaye launches into another story, this one involving a confused caterer, who didn’t know how to fulfill her request to serve a dessert called halo-halo.
I’ve never heard of it, but the way she describes the chilled dessert with all sorts of sweet toppings…
I begin imagining having some, and suddenly, it’s all my stomach wants.
As dinner passes, Stan interjects freely, correcting details, and embellishing others, while Elle adds commentary that sends Kaye into fresh laughter. Sterling listens with a long-suffering expression that never quite hides his fondness toward his family.
I lower my gaze to my plate and take a bite. Chewing thoughtfully, I listen as the conversation flows around me.
Under the table, Nil’s knee touches mine once more. Warmth returns tenfold, thrumming through my entire body. And I don’t move away, aware of how I’m simply sitting among people who ask nothing of me.