Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Sulla
I can’t sleep. The ergastulum memory sits in my chest like a stone. It’s been hours since I woke from it, but I can still feel the darkness. Still smell the damp and rot. Still hear the rats scratching.
Reid’s breathing is steady across the tent. She fell asleep an hour ago. I’ve been lying here staring at nothing, trying to push the memories down where they belong.
It’s not working.
Finally I give up. Sit up carefully, trying not to wake her. Pull on my pants, boots, and coat. Need to move. Need to do something other than lie here drowning in the past.
I walk out into the cold night air. Most of the camp is dark. A few lights still on in the command tent where production works late. The mess tent is locked. Medical tent closed for the night.
I head toward the bathroom facility. Maybe washing my face will help. Cold water. Something to ground me in the present.
The communal area is lit but empty. Sinks along one wall, mirrors above them. Two doors—MEN’S and WOMEN’S—leading to the toilet and shower facilities. Cameras in the upper corners of the communal space. Standard setup.
I turn on the water. Cup my hands. Splash my face. The cold helps. Not enough, but something.
I hear footsteps behind me. Turn.
Reid.
She’s in sleep clothes—soft pants and loose shirt, coat open. Hair slightly mussed. She looks as sleepless as I feel.
“Can’t sleep either?” she asks.
“No.”
She moves to the sink beside mine. Turns on the water. We stand here side by side, both pretending this is normal. Both knowing it’s not.
The silence stretches. Charged. Different than usual.
I’m aware of everything. The way she’s standing close enough that I can feel her body heat. The way her reflection watches mine in the mirror. The way the air between us feels electric.
“That nightmare earlier,” she says quietly. “Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
“You’re lying.”
I meet her eyes in the mirror. “Yes.”
She turns off her water. Turns to face me directly. I do the same.
We’re standing maybe two feet apart. Close enough to touch. Not touching.
“What was it about?” she asks. “The nightmare.”
I could deflect. Could refuse to answer. But something about the late hour, the emptiness of the space, the way she’s looking at me—I want to give her something true.
“Old things. Things that broke me. Things I survived but didn’t escape.”
She nods slowly. “I understand that.”
I believe her. She carries her own ghosts.
We stand here looking at each other. The tension is unbearable now. Building with every second.
Her eyes drop to my mouth. Just for a moment. Then back up.
My pulse jolts.
“Sulla—” she begins, then falters. Whatever she was going to say, she doesn’t finish it. Something shifts in her face—not decision exactly, more like the end of arguing with herself.
Then she moves. Fast. Decisive. Grabs my wrist and pulls.
“Come.”
I follow without thinking. She’s pulling me toward the women’s restroom door. Away from the cameras in the communal space. Into the one area that’s private by law.
The door closes behind us. We’re alone.
No cameras. No witnesses. No production crew.
Just us.
Reid turns to face me. We’re inches apart in the small space. Her chest rises and falls rapidly. The determination in her eyes is mixed with something else. Want. Need.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” she says. Voice low. Urgent. “Every night, lying four feet away. Every challenge watching you. Every time you’re kind or gentle or different than you think you are. I can’t stop.”
“Reid—”
“I need to know what this is. I need—”
She steps closer and kisses me.
Hard. Desperate. Fast. Her hands fisting in my shirt, pulling me down to her level. Her mouth demanding, hungry, taking what she wants.
She tastes like mint and desperation and everything I’ve been pretending I didn’t want for weeks. I kiss her back. Match her intensity. Feel the weeks of tension finally crack open.
Two seconds. Maybe three.
Then something shifts inside me.
I don’t know what it is. Some instinct I didn’t know I possessed. Some part of me that’s been buried for decades suddenly surfacing.
I slow it down.
My hands come up to cup her face. Gentle. Careful. Cradling her jaw like she’s made of something precious and rare.
The kiss changes. Becomes softer. Deeper.
She gasps against my mouth. Surprised.
I take advantage of her parted lips, deepening the kiss slowly. My tongue traces her lower lip, tentative, asking permission.
She opens for me.
Her whole body shudders. My thumbs stroke her cheekbones. Her fingers find my hair.
I’ve kissed women before. Quick. Transactional. Purposeful in all the wrong ways. This is nothing like that. This is learning. Discovery. I want to know every sound she makes, every place that makes her breath catch.
I pull back just enough to breathe.
“Sulla—” Her voice is shaky.
“Shh.” I kiss her again. Slower. Corner of her mouth. The other corner. Her top lip. Her bottom.
She’s trembling.
So am I.
“I didn’t expect…” she starts, then trails off.
“What?” I murmur against her lips.
“This. You being… gentle.”
The word lands in my chest like a brand. Gentle. Me.
“Is it okay?” I ask. Need to know. Need to hear her say it.
“It’s more than okay.” Her hands slide from my shirt to my shoulders. Holding on. “It’s perfect. I just… I didn’t know you could be like this.”
“Show me what you like,” I say quietly. “I want to learn.”
Her breath catches. “You’re already… God, you’re already doing it.”
I kiss her jaw. The spot below her ear; she gasps, and I file that away. Back to her mouth. This time she meets me halfway, her tongue touching mine carefully, exploring me the way I’m discovering her.
We’re learning each other.
I’ve never learned anyone before. Never wanted to. But with Reid, I want to know everything.
Her hands slide from my shoulders into my hair. Fingers threading through it. Gripping slightly when I do something she particularly likes.
I do it again—that slow stroke of my tongue against hers—and she pulls my hair gently.
The sensation makes me groan against her mouth.
She freezes. “Did I hurt you?”
“No. Goddess, no. Do it again.”
She does.
I feel it everywhere. I pull her closer—one arm around her waist, the other still cradling her head—and I don’t let my hands wander. Just hold her. Just this. Just her heart racing against my chest and mine answering.
Mine.
The thought should terrify me.
It doesn’t.
We break apart to breathe. Both gasping. Both staring at each other.
Her lips are swollen from kissing. Her eyes are dark. Pupils wide.
“What are you doing to me?” she whispers.
“I don’t know. What are you doing to me?”
She laughs breathlessly. “I have no idea.”
I rest my cheek against hers. Her hands still in my hair. I’ve never let anyone touch my hair before. Never let anyone this close.
I break back just enough to look at her.
“You’re so beautiful,” I say. The words come out rough. Honest.
She blinks. “I’m not—”
“You are. To me, you are.”
Something in her expression cracks. Vulnerability showing through.
“No one’s ever…” She stops. Swallows. “You’re the first person who’s ever made me feel beautiful.”
I kiss her again. Everything I have. All the tenderness I didn’t know I possessed. She gives it back. Kisses me like she’s trying to say something too. We’re both saying things we don’t have words for yet.
Finally, we break apart. Both breathing hard. Both wrecked. Her hands are still in my hair. Mine are still cradling her face.
“I’ve never been kissed like that before.”
“Neither have I,” I admit.
She pulls back slightly to look at me. “What do you mean? You’re the one who kissed me like that.”
“I’ve never kissed anyone like that before. Didn’t know I could.”
Understanding dawns in her eyes. “You’ve never been gentle with anyone.”
“No.”
“Why me?”
“I don’t know. I just… with you, it’s the only thing that feels right.”
She studies my face. Looking for lies. Finding only truth.
Then she kisses me again. Brief. Soft. Grateful.
“Thank you,” she breathes.
“For what?”
“For being gentle. For making me feel precious. For being different than you think you are.”
The words settle in my chest. Heavy. Meaningful.
I kiss her one more time. Slow. Deep. Savoring.
When we finally pull apart completely, reality crashes back.
“We’ve been in here too long,” Reid says. Practical even though her voice is shaky.
“I know.”
“People will notice.”
“I know.”
For a moment, it’s as though I’m still frozen in ice.
“We should go,” she says.
“Yes.”
“One more,” she says. Not a question. A statement.
I kiss her again. This one is quieter. Like a promise neither of us is ready to say out loud. When we break apart this time, we both know we have to leave.
“I’ll go first,” she says. “Wait thirty seconds.”
“Okay.”
She checks the door. Makes sure the coast is clear. Looks back at me one more time.
“That was…” She stops. Smiles. “Everything.”
Then she’s gone.
I stand alone in the women’s restroom. My mouth still knows hers. I can still taste her.
Thirty seconds pass. I walk out.
The communal area is empty. Reid is already gone.
I look at myself in the mirror. I look the same.
I walk back to our tent.
When I enter, Reid is already in her cot. Facing the wall. Pretending to be asleep.
I lie down on my cot.
Four feet away, Reid shifts slightly.
We don’t speak. Don’t acknowledge what just happened.
I lie here in the dark and think, I’ve never kissed anyone like that. Didn’t know I could. Didn’t know I was still capable of wanting to.
I close my eyes.
For the first time in days, the ergastulum doesn’t follow me into the dark.
Something else does.