Chapter 51 Lucy & Nitro
LUCY & NITRO
{One week later}
LUCY.
I was going insane.
Why was it harder to accept my limitations now? The question wasn’t one I needed to ask, because I already knew the answer. Once you get a taste of life without limits, returning to restrictions was tantamount to truly dying.
Another seven days of staring at white walls, of smelling hospital sanitizer and bleach, and of hearing the constant beeping of monitors.
That sound was burrowing its way into my brain.
Once I left here, it would keep beeping inside my head for weeks before fading.
I knew, because that’s what happened at Eros after leaving Brightfield.
How many nights had I slept in the oh-so-soft bed at the Institute before the beep… beep… beep had finally disappeared?
I shifted against the stiff sheets, familiar restlessness crawling beneath my skin.
I’d already done a walk today. I was supposed to be taking it easy now, at least until dinner.
How could I stay calm and heal when I felt so trapped again?
Over twenty-three years, shuffled around to different cages, always wondering when I’d be free.
For a fleeting moment in time, I'd thought I was liberated forever, yet here I was, slipping back into that same suffocating routine that had defined my entire life before the DemonX compound. Before Nitro and the others. Before I discovered what living actually felt like.
A heavy sigh escaped me, drawing Nitro's attention momentarily from whatever he was carving. His hazel eyes flicked up, concern evident in the slight furrow of his brow before he returned to his task, the small blade in his hand scraping methodically against the pale wood.
He hadn’t said much today.
Just like last week, when he’d arrived hours after Asher left for the Cirque.
Nitro just seemed to have retreated into himself.
At least today he was doing something instead of staring off into nothingness as time ticked by. Today, he had his knife out. Today, his expression looked less tortured.
I stared up at the ceiling, counting the tiny holes in the acoustic tiles for the thousandth time.
One week was nothing compared to the decades I'd spent watching the world through windows and device screens, but somehow it felt worse now.
Now that I knew what freedom tasted like, each minute trapped in this hospital room felt like dying in slow motion.
"If I have to stay here much longer, I'm going to lose my mind," I muttered, more to myself than to Nitro.
His leg bounced restlessly, and I wondered what he was feeling. Did he hate being stuck in here with me? All the DemonX Alphas were used to living unrestrained. It must be difficult to spend so many hours inside.
The quiet scrape of metal against wood continued, Nitro’s large hands moving with unmatched dexterity as they worked the small piece.
His expert handling of the knife wasn’t surprising—the man should have been born with blades for fingers—yet it was still fascinating to watch him.
He seemed to know exactly how he should carve the aspen, drawing out hidden shapes most people couldn’t see.
Whatever he was making right now, he’d said it was for me.
"You really won’t tell me what you’re making?" I’d already asked a few times.
His lips twitched upward at one corner, eyes never leaving his work.
"You'll see," he answered, the same response he'd given every single time.
I laid back against the pillows, watching the play of expressions across his face.
When he concentrated like this, Nitro transformed.
The sarcastic boundary pusher faded, giving way to someone softer and more approachable.
His auburn hair fell across his forehead as he bent over his work, and my fingers itched to reach out and brush it back.
Right now, he was an Alpha I didn’t have to be scared around, an Alpha I could see in my future.
When a soft knock sounded on the door, Nitro's movements were swift and practiced. The knife disappeared into his boot, and the small carving vanished into his jacket pocket before the door even began to open. His leg stopped bouncing, and his expression shifted to one of guarded neutrality.
My surgeon entered, flanked by two nurses I recognized from previous visits.
Doctor Leonard, a white-haired Beta with kind eyes behind old school, wire-rimmed glasses, approached with a clipboard in hand.
The other younger doctors carried tablets, but my surgeon said he was a purist. I didn’t like that I was beginning to recognize the faculty here, even growing comfortable with a few of them.
I didn’t want to return to a life where my closest friends only existed to keep me alive.
No, that won’t happen. I told myself confidently. Things are different now. I have people outside this building that care about me.
It didn’t taste like a lie when I thought it, even though I was only guessing that the men had changed their minds about me.
If they hadn’t, then they were world class actors.
Xander’s protectiveness. Asher’s look of wonderment.
Nitro’s quiet dedication to whatever he was apparently making for me.
Fallon… I hadn’t gotten a read on him yet.
And each time Kane was here, he couldn’t stop talking about cars. I wasn’t sure what that was about.
"Good afternoon, Miss Graves. How are we feeling today?” The surgeon’s gaze was appraising, roving over my body.
“Fine,” I lied automatically, the response almost a knee-jerk reaction.
I’d spent so much of my life pretending I wasn’t sick, especially when my parents were around.
Put on a brave face, Lucy. They’ll visit more if you don’t make them sad, Lucy.
Maybe they’ll let you outside if you seem healthier, Lucy.
As the years passed, I continued to lie out of habit, not because I truly believed it would gain me anything.
“Good, good.” Doctor Leonard handed one of the nurses his clipboard, then walked over to the sink area to grab a pair of purple gloves. “Would you like your male friend to leave?”
I glanced at Nitro, who was staring daggers at the doctor’s back.
“No, I’d like him to stay,” I said quickly. Nitro’s eyes darted to mine, his face softening.
“As you wish. Let's take a look, shall we?” The doctor turned around and strode over to me.
Before he could ask, I pushed the sheet and blanket down to gather around my hips and then I pulled the hospital gown up, exposing my abdomen. An angry red line traversed my pale skin, held together with neat black stitches.
I winced as his latex-covered fingers pressed gently around the edges of the wound. It still hurt more than I wanted to admit.
"Hmm," Doctor Leonard murmured, turning to the nurses. "We need to change the dressing more frequently. There’s moderate pulling too. No separation yet thankfully."
Both nurses nodded, one of them making notes as he continued his examination.
"Have you been moving more than recommended, Miss Graves?” he asked, pointing to an area that looked particularly inflamed.
I shrugged, avoiding his gaze. "I get restless."
"I understand, but separation could lead to wound dehiscence if you're not careful.
" His clinical tone triggered a cascade of memories I’d rather forget.
Warnings about worsening health. Waiting for clearance to walk more than a few feet at a time.
Wanting desperately to have one good day after a string of miserable ones.
The doctor turned to the nurses, giving me his back. I hated when doctors did that. "I’ll prescribe a different antibiotic, and we'll need to keep a close watch on that area. If it doesn't improve, we might have to consider a wound vac.”
The nurses continued nodding. One writing. Both hanging on every word so they could attend to the patient. Me, again. In a hospital bed.
“We’re keeping up with her additional medications from the Eros Institute, yes?” He glanced back at me for a heartbeat.
“We are,” the nurse who wasn’t writing answered.
“Good, good,” he was bobbing his head now, satisfied. “I read over her file, and it’s remarkable that she’s not still institutionalized. The Institute truly is cutting edge.”
Each word the doctor spoke was another brick added to a wall building around me, sealing me back into a prison I'd only recently escaped. Was I never fated to fully escape being a patient?
“It would be really remarkable if I could get out of here,” I murmured, more to myself than anyone else. Even if I’d screamed the words, the doctor and his nurses wouldn’t have heard. It was always that way—once they turned away from me, I became invisible.
But then I blinked over at Nitro. I saw the way his expression had changed. He’d heard. I bit my lip, embarrassed, looking away quickly.
I wasn’t supposed to be in a damn hospital again. I was supposed to be free, experiencing the world I'd been denied for so long.
My vision began to blur. I blinked rapidly, fighting back the hot tears threatening to fall. I refused to cry here, especially in front of Nitro. I didn’t want him to see me breaking. I wanted all the Alphas of DemonX to see strong, vital Lucy. Not a whimpering, snotty mess.
I swallowed hard, forcing the lump in my throat down, burying the grief and rage and frustration deep inside where it had always lived. If I let it out now, after all these years, I feared I might never stop screaming. So, I smiled.
It felt like I was slipping backwards through time.
Back to a frightened, isolated girl.
A girl I'd promised myself I would never be again.
NITRO.
No matter how much I concentrated on keeping still, my left leg wouldn’t stop shaking.