Chapter 62
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
I’ve found a phone in Wyatt’s office. My hands shake as I pick it up, swiping at the screen. It’s been so long since I’ve held a phone, and the sleek screen and weight of it feel like precious gold in my hands.
The phone lights up, a generic lock screen in place, and for a second, extreme disappointment fills my body. I should have known. Of course he’d lock it.
I breathe in for four seconds, hold for seven, then let it out for eight.
Oakley and—I presume Kyan—were fucking just a bit ago, but it’s quiet now. The sounds they were making sent a confused tingle through my body. For some stupid fucking reason, I almost knocked on the door.
Oakley has been acting completely off for the last few days.
I assumed it was the stress getting to him.
Which is fair, it’s getting to me too. I feel like a rat caught in a trap just waiting for someone to come dispatch me.
My skin has been crawling incessantly despite the showers I take to pass the time. What else is there to do?
But instead of going into the room full of moans of pleasure, I started snooping. And for the first time in days, I found the office unlocked.
I can’t help but feel guilty for being in here. For going behind Wyatt’s back. And that makes me clench my fists.
Why the hell do I feel guilty? Wyatt kidnapped me. To be killed.
That doesn’t alleviate the heavy press of guilt. To try and relieve some of the pressure, I swipe to the lock screen.
“Hey.”
I jump straight up, whirling around to see Oakley standing in the dim light of the doorway, hair messy.
My face flushes, and I try to catch my breath. Oakley frowns, looking at the phone in my hand. “What…” he scrubs a hand down his face. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to escape.” The words come out snappier than I mean them to. I take a deep breath. Oakley is just trying to survive with me. I can’t alienate my ally.
My hot ally, looking like he just rolled in from sex island. The half-lidded look with his bare chest on display with all those tattoos… Suddenly, I remember what his dick felt like in my hands, and then I can’t remember anything about anything.
“Hey, we need to talk,” Oakley says.
His tone snaps me back into focus. Is he guilty about fucking Kyan after messing with me? He shouldn’t be. I mean, it’s complicated, but I understand why he’s doing it. Kyan is a flirt, and Oakley is drawn to that like a hummingbird to sugar.
I realize I’ve been silent for too long, so I shrug. “You don’t have to explain. You can fuck whoever you want to.”
There’s silence, and I glance at Oakley to see that his face is flushing and he looks slightly confused.
Oh…oh god. Was he not talking about that…
? And then I realize I just gave him permission to fuck whoever he wanted.
As if I were in the position to give that permission.
As if he and I had something. Right, ‘cause I touched his dick once? Kissed him? I can still feel the imprint of his lips, and I shake my head, trying to shake the memory away. This is ridiculous. This is why I don’t mess with people; I start taking it way farther than it needs to go.
I let the anger and humiliation take over, covering for my weakness. “I mean, fine, fuck our captor if that’s what makes you feel better.” Only, it comes out sounding bitter and even more jealous.
I bury my face in the locked phone.
“I’m not…” Oakley pauses, and I can hear him taking a breath and pausing his anger before it gets started. Recently, all we’ve been doing is fighting, and that tension between us could be cut with a knife. Then Oakley lets out a hissing breath. “I told him.”
I type in random numbers, trying to unlock the phone. Whatever. He can tell him he’s the prettiest man on earth for all I care. The phone keeps denying me.
“That’s it?” Oakley asks, sounding unbelieving.
“What do you want me to say?” I stifle a growl as I get locked out for a minute.
“I don’t know…I thought you’d be mad, but okay.” I hear him move.
“Should I be mad?” I turn to look at him, arms crossed. Oakley glances away from me and won’t look at me. It makes me narrow my eyes. Wait. Should I be mad?
“No, it doesn’t matter.” Oakley waves his hand and starts to walk away. Like he’s running from me. Warning bells start going off in my head.
“No.” I stand. “What did you tell him?”
“Nothing,” he snaps.
He’s snapping, which means he’s defensive. Which means he thinks he did something wrong. And if it isn’t fucking, then…
My stomach drops into my toes.
“Oakley.” I grab his arm, stopping him from leaving. “What did you tell him?”
Oakley stops, still not looking at me.
Deep down, I know what he told him, but I can’t acknowledge it. The reality floats around my consciousness, and I don’t want it to be real. “Oakley.” My voice has turned pleading.
“He deserved to know.”
“You didn’t…” I’ve been racking my brain for days to recall everything I can about DID.
What are the clinical consequences of telling someone they’re a system in an unsafe environment?
I know that from childhood, most people learn how to cope with and integrate trauma.
Someone with a dissociative disorder does that too…
but in their own way. By isolating and forgetting.
Which means that unlocking memories while not feeling safe can be completely overwhelming for their brain. Their brain forgot them for a reason.
“Oh my god…” I breathe, the gravity of the situation overtaking me.
Alters being overwhelmed could make them act irrationally.
They could do drastic things they wouldn’t normally do to maintain balance, including locking certain alters in place for extended periods of time or bringing out alters that we haven’t yet met.
Oakley turns. I look past him to see one of the alters walking toward us in the dark hallway. By the scowl on his face, I assume it’s Wyatt.
“What’s this?” He’s holding something and shoves it up. It looks like a piece of paper. I frown, unsure what it is, but Oakley takes a step back toward me.
“You have something to tell me?” Wyatt’s eyes are wild. He looks out of control.
I straighten, immediately wanting to meet his chaos with my control. “Want to check your tone?”
Wyatt snarls at me, ignoring my attempt, then locks gazes with Oakley, holding up the paper. “What kind of games are you playing?”
“I…I’m not…” he holds his hands up.
Wyatt just…stops. He stares at Oakley, breathing hard, and I watch as his anger morphs into something…else.
“Why?” he asks, but the anger has changed into something high-pitched. He takes a step back, looking around him, then back into the hall. “It’s dark.” His chest rises and falls quickly. “Where’s Krypto?”
Both Oakley and I just stand there. Wyatt, or whoever’s, whole body trembles, like adrenaline is dumping through them.
“Oakley.” I reach for him, wanting to pull him behind me. He takes a step toward me, but steps in front of me, blocking me with his body.
The person fronting ignores us.
“What is it?” I ask, motioning at the paper.
“My journal,” he says back.
His journal?
Whoever is fronting is definitely not Wyatt anymore; his shoulders start caving in on themselves, and somehow, the huge man looks so much smaller. He’s staring at a spot on the wall.
As he does, his muscles relax, and slowly, he straightens. He frowns, running a hand through his hair, then looks at us. He evaluates us, and I can’t tell who’s out.
“Ky?” Oakley breathes.
The man looks at Oakley, then down at the paper in his hand. He frowns, running his hand through his hair again. “What the hell is going on?” His voice is gruff.
“Uh…that’s my…” Oakley tries to reach for the paper.
The man frowns, holding the paper back. “Mousey?” He sounds like he’s trying to hold back a shake in his voice.
“It’s just…it’s what we talked about.” Oakley’s pleading now. “Someone else read it.”
Kyan shakes his head, blinking a few times. When he looks up, he locks eyes with me. It’s then that I realize I’m still holding the phone.
Immediately, Kyan’s face transforms into a snarl. “Were you ever going to tell me?”
I’m not used to seeing this kind of anger on Kyan’s face, but it looks like he’s covering up some other emotion. It looks a lot like…fear. Is Kyan a protector alter for whatever part was just out?
“Miss…‘better bill your insurance for orgasms’?” Kyan is stalking toward me now, and the reality that he knows hits me like a brick.
He knows. And he knows that I know. Everything is falling apart.
Oakley shoves himself between us.
Kyan gives him a look, then takes a step forward.
“Back off,” Oakley says.
Kyan narrows his eyes, then sneers. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt your precious girlfriend.” His voice lowers. “Move.”
There’s a beat of silence, and Oakley doesn’t move.
“Something isn’t right, and it started with her.” Kyan is seething now.
“Ky…”
“Don’t Ky me.” The anger in his face makes my heart race. I don’t know what to do with an angry Kyan. Something tells me I can’t control him like I do Wyatt.
“You’re going to get out of my way, she’s going to give me the phone, then we’re going to talk to figure out our little problem.” Kyan arches an eyebrow. “Now.”
He steps into us, so we take a step back. Step by step, until we get to the living room. Walking backwards, always keeping my eye on Kyan.
“Ky, I thought—”
“Save it.”
Oakley continues trying to talk, but Kyan isn’t having any of it. When we get to the couch, I stand there reluctantly.
“Sit,” Kyan demands. Immediately, I remember how I made the same command to Wyatt in the kitchen. I know as soon as I sit, I’m giving up the power in this situation.
Kyan clocks my refusal immediately, his nostrils flaring. He stalks up to me, hand starting to raise toward me. I don’t have time to process what he’s about to do before Oakley jumps up.