22. Chapter 22
Chapter 22
Avery
The meeting wraps up and despite the dark storm cloud that looms over our heads, Damon still directs his team to hang around and enjoy the food and party aisles.
I stay back at the table with Damon, Grey, Theo, and Leighton while the others explore the library. Theo continues to give me shit about the pineapple, while Grey chimes in and provides scientific evidence of why pineapple is good for their bodies.
I'm not sure I buy into the whole changing taste thing, but I have to laugh as they start arguing about it.
My eyes move over to find Damon, his chair tilted back slightly as he half-listens. Leighton is scribbling on a piece of paper, making notes about something and pretending he's not being subjected to the weirdest sperm argument in history.
"If you're so confident, then you eat it," Theo snaps.
"I'll happily eat the pineapple, but Avery should be the judge," Grey replies, giving me a wink.
I shake my head, pushing my chair back. "I need alcohol."
They continue to fire shots at each other while I stand at the food and beverage table, reaching to grab a beer. I sense him behind me, well before he appears in my peripheral vision.
"That's not strong enough," Damon mutters, pouring a glass of straight whiskey. "Not by a long shot."
"Yeah, well I'm not the best at holding my alcohol so probably best I know my limits," I laugh. "Knowing my luck, I'd drink too much, and they would try to make a move tonight."
Damon doesn't seem amused by my comment, his jaw tensing. "I'm on guard tonight. No one is going to bother you."
I turn to face him, eyes scanning for his reaction. "Doesn't it bother you having to stay up all night?"
"Not really. I'd rather know that you're safe than have something happen while I'm sleeping."
"It makes me feel bad," I admit quietly, bringing the bottle to my lips. "It can't be healthy being on alert all the time, especially if you are missing out on sleep."
Damon shrugs, unfazed. "I'll catch up on sleep tomorrow night when Theo is on duty."
The word is foreign coming off his tongue, my face freezing as I glance him over.
"What now?" he groans.
"You called him Theo," I point out with surprise. "Not Ashwood."
It's as if he's just registering that fact now too, eyes narrowing slightly as he thinks back. "Well, that's his name, is it not?" he quickly answers. "Besides, he's one of us now."
"I'm still going to call you Demon Boy every now and again," I say playfully. "Besides, those masks you wear seem to fit."
"They do, don't they?" he smiles. "I was pretty happy when I found them. It's a nice reminder to Lilydale that we can unleash hell."
I lean against the table, my hip pressing into it as I nibble on some cured meat. "Maybe so, but this," I pause, nodding to the aisles. "Is a nice present for us. Makes hell feel a little less lonely."
"Just because we're in hell, Avery, doesn't mean we aren't in charge. It's all an illusion. But illusions shatter. Besides, this is my own hell—you shouldn't have to suffer in here."
"I deserve it though," I murmur, meaning every single word. "But to be honest, being in here is the most freedom I have ever felt. It's fucked up, isn't it? I earned my place here but it also saved me."
Damon frowns. "No one deserves to be here. We're the products of a broken system that's controlled by wealth."
"That's what I mean though. Maybe I was always meant to end up here—not as a punishment, but as a way to find my place."
"I disagree."
Reaching over, I grab the glass of whiskey from his hand, taking a sip. "That's foul," I cough, passing it back. "But look how far we've all come. The whole reason we ended up in here is because of shit things that happened to us. In the outside world, that broke us. But in here, we've overcome it. There's no judgment, no need to pretend."
It's clear by the look on his face that he still doesn't agree with me, but he just nods once, staying quiet.
Humming to myself, I turn my attention back to Theo and Grey, noting that their discussions have finally stopped. Both of them are looking over at us, and realizing it's safe to go back to the table since the pineapple discussion has stopped, I grab a piece of pizza and sit back down between them.
"Pineapple?" I offer sweetly to Theo.
He looks at it in disgust. "Don't you start."
"Or what?" I ask with a smile.
The look of resentment for the pizza vanishes, replaced by a challenging stare. "Do you really want to find out?"
I shrug, acting unfazed, even though my heart is starting to pick up pace. "I've eaten a fair bit of pineapple."
Grey cackles loudly, putting his hand on my thigh. "Okay, better alternative. We see if Avery tastes better with pineapple."
"I doubt she can get any sweeter," Theo replies. "But I'm willing to give it a go. How about free time tomorrow?"
My thighs snap together, Grey's fingers getting caught in between them. He squeezes my leg tightly, leaning down to my ear.
"I hope that's all you can think about between now and then."
Raising an eyebrow, I smile at him. "I hope you do as well."
I'm too wired after the meeting to sleep. Even though it's nearly midnight, I'm unable to get my mind to stop spinning.
It's a spider web of thoughts, all coming back to a central point. I don't know how to make it stop.
On one side of the web, my body is spiraling, thinking about Theo and Grey tomorrow. On the other, I get lost in the fear that Whittingham is going to make a move at any second.
My mind flashes with images of Dr. West, still in disbelief that he's dead. It makes me wonder if his sidekick, Dr. Cromwell, is still around. Will they replace him?
And then there's Damon. His whole life is tangled around Lilydale, a constant reminder of his mother. It's a sick and twisted level of torture that far outperforms anything I've been subjected to.
Of course, the moment I let myself fall down that rabbit hole of thoughts, another question arises—what is happening between us?
He's outside at the moment, standing guard. I have no idea where they watch from or whether the guards know. It's dark and cold, and the idea of standing in a deserted corridor for seven hours sounds like torture.
I wonder if he's lonely…
Pulling out my new cell from under my thin pillow, I flick open the message screen. It's been a while since I sent a text, but it's nice knowing I can again. It brings me a sense of security, a connection to life outside of this shoebox.
Avery: Are you still out there?
Damon: Yes. Why?
Sitting up, I swing my legs over the side of the bed, foot tapping on the floor.
Avery: Are you okay?
Damon: You should be asleep.
I scoff quietly at the redirection, fingers quickly punching out a reply.
Avery: I'm not tired. And I asked you a question.
Damon: I'm fine. Go to sleep.
Avery: You go to sleep.
Laughing to myself, I can just imagine the look on his face. It's easier to be stubborn toward him in messages. But as the seconds tick by, no reply comes.
Shit—maybe I pushed it too far.
Just when I consider sending another message, it vibrates with a response.
Damon: Be careful, Avery. You're not as protected as you think.
I frown. What the hell does that mean?
Avery: It's a joke, Damon. Not a dick. Don't take it so hard.
After I hit send, panic surges through me. I've definitely overstepped the delicate line that the two of us hover constantly.
Before I can backtrack or pretend to fall asleep, there's a click, followed by the sound of beeping.
I gasp quietly as the door opens to my room, a tall shadowy figure appearing in the doorway.
"A dick? Really?" Damon asks, annoyed.
"Just let yourself in," I mumble sarcastically.
Damon steps forward, pushing the door closed behind him—not enough to make it latch, but closed enough that no one would be able to see in through the gap if they walked past.
"You're meant to be sleeping," he points out again.
"I know," I groan. "I can't sleep. And I'm paranoid about you standing out there alone."
He laughs, stepping closer. A patch of light from the barred window shines on his face and even though I'm in the dark against the wall, I have no doubt he can see me too.
"I think they are more frightened of me. The guards know to keep away."
"But not all the guards are on our side," I argue. "What if someone tries to take you out?"
"I hope they do," he says happily. "It would make for great entertainment."
Shaking my head, I lift my legs and cross them on the bed. "Do you at least have backup?"
Damon holds up the cell. "Another reason we have these. Grey is on my speed dial too. Stop stressing about shit and go to sleep."
"Can we just sit and talk for a little bit?" I ask quietly. It then hits me. It's not Damon that's lonely…
It's me.
For the past few months, I've grown accustomed to having these guys around. Even though nights were still spent alone, I realize now that after what happened downstairs, the silence is deafening. When I'm alone with my thoughts, monsters creep in, bringing images of electricity and ice water.
I'm afraid to be alone.
Footsteps come closer until the bed dips with Damon's weight. He pushes himself back against the wall, stretching his legs out next to me.
I'm thankful for him—for not laughing at me or telling me that I'm ridiculous.
Why is it that the night makes it harder to hide our vulnerability? During the day, it's easy to pretend we are okay. There's something about shadows and exhaustion that make it that much harder to fight away the demons.
"What's wrong?" Damon asks. It's softly spoken, a genuine question.
"I don't know how to deal with myself," I admit. "I feel fine, but every now and again, I'm… not. I hate being alone."
"It's easier to distract yourself when surrounded by others," he says, summing it up perfectly.
I nod, my head brushing against the wall. "Exactly. It was so quiet down there. It felt like time didn't exist—it was just separated into being a test subject or being alone. But even though being alone was better, I was in constant fear that they would return at any moment. And now that's all I can think about."
"You're not alone. We're always nearby," he answers. "We won't let them near you again."
"I know. I just keep waiting, expecting them to come back. It feels like I'm standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting for the drop."
Something brushes against my hand, and it takes me a few seconds to realize it's his. He doesn't grab it, but our hands rest against each other, touching slightly.
"That's survival mode," Damon points out. "You're running on adrenaline."
"I know he's dead," I whisper. "But the rest aren't. I just can't afford to crack right now."
"Avery," he says firmly. "I promise they won't put their hands on you again."
Taking a deep breath, I lift my hand, placing it on top of his. I half-expect him to move or recoil, but he doesn't, his knuckles warm under my palm. "I know," I reply. "It's just going to take time."
Dr. Smith's words come back to me. I can't help but wonder if the bucket is nearly full. But for whatever reason, the shaking stops for the rest of the night.
I must fall asleep at some stage because when I wake up, the sun is shining through the window, and the only sign of Damon is the faint lingering scent of him on my bed.