Chapter 17 Em #2
“Thought I smelled ginger,” he says. “Having a good morning, Em?”
“So far, yes.” I sip my tea, then ask, “And yourself?”
He shrugs. “Not used to the space yet, so I couldn’t sleep much.” Then he adds, laughing lightly, “And Stan was snoring. Hope you didn’t hear it on your end.”
I blush, remembering different, more pleasant sounds from yesterday. I shake my head, saying, “No, I must’ve been heavily asleep.”
“Sounds nice. Kys kinda did that for me when we were on the ship.”
The mention of the ship rattles me a little, but my ears perk up from how he described Kys’ impact on him. “Could you elaborate on what Kys did for your sleep?”
Nil keeps pace beside me as we walk, close enough that our arms touch.
The idea of holding his hand is rather tempting for some reason.
I sip more of my tea to calm my mind. Clearly, I’ve been feeling lonely without Idris here, and perhaps being in close proximity to Nil and Stan has affected my mind to consider such scenarios.
He doesn’t look at me while he speaks, his gaze trained forward. “Kys helped me sleep,” he says. “On the ship, I mean. It quieted things. That sorta surprised me.”
“That was part of the original intention,” I reply. “Stabilization without cognitive dulling. I’m glad it did that for you.”
He nods, then frowns slightly. “There’s something else.”
I turn my head. “Go on.”
“I’ve been remembering more,” he says. “Lately.”
“That’s wonderful news,” I say without reservation. “That suggests recovery beyond predicted projections.”
His ears redden. I notice immediately. The color blooms fast, concentrated at the tips. Heat response, perhaps. Possibly exertion, though we aren’t moving quickly.
“Are you feeling alright?” I ask. “Your face is flushed.”
He clears his throat. “I’m fine. Just warm.”
The hallway temperature is consistent, but I don’t press.
“Could I tell you more in private?” he asks.
I nod, trying to blame my blush on the tea I’ve been drinking, but it’s quite chilled by now.
We slow near a cluster of doors. Nil reaches out to test the handle of the first, then the second. Both are locked. At the third, the door opens into a quiet room lined with shelves and a wide desk. There’s a bubble-wrapped computer, along with other equipment, appearing new and recently arranged.
“This room should work,” he says.
He steps aside and pulls a chair out for me. He waits until I’m seated before easing the chair forward. His fingers brush my back lightly, then withdraw.
I set my mug down on the desk. He moves it a few inches farther from the edge, precise and considerate.
Nil leans against the desk in front of me, posture relaxed but attentive. His hands rest on the edge, fingers gripping.
“My stepdad talked about Kys often,” he says. “More as rambles of his observations. He treated it as a tool to…‘stabilize mood swings’ and something about getting through crises.”
“That was his early philosophy,” I think out loud. “I recall reading his research articles. He resisted framing it as enhancement.”
Nil nods. “He believed the brain knew how to ‘regulate’ itself but needed ‘clarity’ to do it,” he continues. “Kys was meant to make that clarity.”
I listen closely, committing each word to memory, aware of how carefully he speaks about his late stepfather’s work.
“He warned about holding on to the drug for too long,” Nil adds. “Anything that stayed past its purpose caused harm, he said.”
“That would explain the delayed degradation and digestion we observed in the more recent reiterations of Kysergic Synesthesine,” I remark.
He glances at me then, quick and uncertain, and looks away again. The color along his ears deepens in a shade of red. It makes the gold earring pierced into his left lobe stand out.
“I meant what I said yesterday, Em. You’re doing important work,” he says. “Trying to fix it.”
“Thank you,” I reply. “Your insight, as well as this conversation, has helped.”
His smile returns, restrained yet sincere. He reaches for my mug and turns it so the handle faces me.
The warmth seeps into my palm when I pick it up.
“If more memories return,” I say, “we can document it carefully.”
“I’d like to do that,” he whispers. “With you.”
I meet his eyes. He holds my gaze, but he remains so still that it doesn’t seem like he’s let out a breath. More curiously, the rosy tint from his ears is now spreading across his high cheekbones, curiously unexplained.
I’m about to ask if he’s feeling unwell, when Stan’s voice booms through. “Em! Kaye said it’s spa time!”
Nil sighs as he looks down and stands up. “We’ll talk more soon.”
Nodding, I follow his lead out of that home office and find Stan some feet away, waving his two big arms in the air.
He smirks at us, while we walk over to him. “Having a threesome without your third? Brutal, babes.”
That earns an eye roll from Nil.
Stan wraps an arm around him. “What? Am I right?”
“We were just talking,” Nil answers.
“Right.” Stan smirks. “Talking through…body language?”
“Stan.” Nil groans while I can’t stop a breathless, short laugh.
They both look my way. Nil raises his brows.
Stan’s smirk stretches. He thankfully doesn’t mention the morning mishap in the bathroom.
Instead, he leads the way while he tells us about the sauna room Kaye turned into a home spa for the day, and how Kaye’s “committing brother-in-law betrayal” by not inviting him.
“Heard that!” Kaye snaps, her head peeking out of the door where steam’s rising from.
Nil speeds up to whisper something to Kaye, who pouts as she listens. “Ten minutes tops it is. Thanks for looking out, pal!”
Kaye covers her mouth, eyes widening as she looks between me and Nil. Whatever she thinks she’s noticed, she doesn’t say it out loud.
Nil offers her a small smile. Before I can ask what’s happening, Stan’s suddenly in front of me. He places his hands on my shoulders, firm and warm, guiding my attention back to him.
“Okay, here goes, gorgeous,” he says, smiling. “I just want to say, thank you.”
“For what?” I ask, searching his gray eyes.
“For letting us take care of you,” he continues. “Even when you clearly hate being taken care of. That means a lot to me. To both of us. Honestly, all of us.”
I hesitate, unsure how to respond.
“And now,” he adds, volume rising with theatrical resolve, “you get to go have fun with my so-called best friends who are leaving me out because apparently spa time is only for girls!”
“Correct, you cootie-carrying fucker,” Kaye says, holding up her middle finger toward him.
Stan places a hand to his chest. “Wow. Betrayed in my own house.”
“It’s my house,” she replies, grabbing my wrist.
Kaye drags me toward the open door. Steam spills out, warm and fragrant. Behind us, I hear Stan whining as Nil murmurs, low and soothing. “You’ll survive, Stan.”
“You’re right, babe. I’ll feel better soon.” Stan sighs. “Even sooner if you give me head.”
Kaye groans as she slams the door with a decisive thud.
Elle looks up from where she’s crouched near the stones, smiling as she pours water over them. The steam rises swiftly, filling the indoor sauna.
“So,” Kaye announces, looking delighted, “first ten minutes here. Then the living room is ready for movies and foot massages.”
Kaye helps me change with brisk efficiency. Sauna-appropriate clothing turns out to mean being in my underwear with a robe over it. She ties the belt for me, fingers quick yet gentle. The thick fabric feels absurdly soft.
“You’re going to love this,” she declares.
I’m not certain that can be confidently predicted, but I follow them to the wooden benches inside the sauna.
The heat is intense at first. But my skin warms up from it rapidly, forcing me into a relaxed state. My breathing evens out after a few moments. Kaye talks almost nonstop, filling the space with easy chatter while Elle listens, smiling and occasionally chiming in.
Most of it is about Elle’s birthday party, the decorations and food. There’s a quick cake debate were Kaye insists they just get all the cakes Elle wants. Kaye seems deeply invested, while Elle is politely sharing practical solutions.
I absorb it without interruption. The sound of their voices blends with the heat, the rhythm of breath, and hiss of steaming stones.
Time passes. Eventually, we relocate to the living room, where foot baths are carefully prepared with soothing oils.
A movie Kaye insists we watch, called Heathers, plays on the massive flat screen.
I recognize the film vaguely. Kaye quotes lines enthusiastically.
Elle laughs when Kaye defends the male lead’s violent ideals.
Massage therapists arrive. Tender hands work tension out of my shoulders, my neck, and up to my scalp. My thoughts drift, completely quiet for once.
For the life of me, I can’t recall the last time I felt this loose in my own body.
As the movie’s end credits scroll, Elle stretches her legs out in front of her with a satisfied sigh, the faint burn scars along her calves catching the low light. One of the massage therapists dims the lights another notch before slipping out.
I rest my head back against the couch. Unconcerned with posture or vigilance. Or truthfully, anything at the moment.
But then Kaye’s phone vibrates against the armrest.
Once. Twice. Three times and—
She snatches it up, squints at the screen, then lets out a short laugh through her nose.
“Oh my god,” she mutters.
The phone vibrates again. She picks it up, but not before I catch a glimpse of rapid-fire notifications.
She waves a hand, utterly unconcerned. “It’s Dae. Complaining about nipping the bud on the PR nightmare, and probably asking me for nudes.”
Elle laughs lightly, whereas my brows pull down with concern. The Adels and Damon have been dealing with the aftermath of my failed experiment. So I ask, too curious not to, “Is everything alright on their end?”