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I want to go for a walk; I want to hang out with Luce or Jamie. I want to… be around other people. But since neither of those options are realistic, I guess I’ll settle for… wait a second! It hits me that I never heard Mickey lock the door.
Moving on my tip-toes, I quietly make my way over to the door, and when I place my hand on the handle, my heart races like I’m doing something forbidden. As I push down the handle, the door swings open, and I feel like doing a celebratory dance. I’m not locked in. Oh, is that why Mickey told me where he and Soren would be? Are they expecting me to join them?
Before I can make a conscious decision, my feet carry me over to the stairs, and I descend them with a pep in my freaking step. I find Mickey and Soren in the living room; it looks like they’re in the middle of a heated conversation.
“Keeping her here is the best option for all of us,” Soren says, impatience tainting his words, making it sound like he’s tired of repeating himself. “I did what I had to.”
Huh? What did Soren do?
“You mean keeping her under surveillance,” Mickey corrects. “Babysitting her.”
Soren exhales loudly, cupping the back of his head with both hands. “What’s the alternative, Mick? We don’t trust her. At least this way we can keep an eye on her.”
“She could still be lying…” He cuts off when Soren scoffs.
“Really? You don’t think she would have come clean by now? Look, it might only have been days, but I believe her.”
He believes me? The words make a smile play with the corners of my lips, raising them ever so slightly.
“Whatever,” Mickey grumbles non-committedly.
“And you do too,” Soren clarifies. “I know you do.”
I shift my weight from one foot to the other, eager to hear more. But the damn floorboard creaks, so before I can find out if Mickey really does believe me, they both look up at the same time.
Mickey has amusement in his eyes, Soren narrows his as though he definitely wasn’t expecting to see me. Huh.
“Umm, hey,” I say, awkwardly waving at them.
Mickey snorts, waving back.
“So I guess you want her down here?” Soren says, looking pointedly at Mickey, who just shrugs.
“Want is a strong word,” he retorts. “But locking her up won’t work in the long run. We need a better plan now that we are responsible for her.”
My mind takes me back to the hallway, to the warning from the stranger. He made it clear that Soren and Mickey are responsible for me, which means… “I have a life to live,” I say, opting for reasoning with them. “I can’t just stay here all the time. Luce and my family will worry, and—”
“Yeah,” Soren agrees.
Mickey shakes his head and huffs like he’s had enough. “You two just aren’t getting it,” he barks. “There’s no talking about this. No pleading or reasoning.” He turns his head to look straight at me. “That guy is the owner, in case you didn’t know.”
“Yeah, I—” He doesn’t let me finish saying that I’d already worked that out.
“The fact he’s taking a personal interest is bad. So fucking bad.”
Soren clears his throat. “I know,” he says grimly.
Apparently, I’m the only one who doesn’t know it, which isn’t entirely true. From the demeanor of the guy, I knew he wasn’t there to swap cookie recipes or braid my hair. But I don’t know what it means to have his attention, so I ask, “What is he going to do? What did Dr. Patel want to talk to you about when I was sent outside?”
“It means our asses are on the line if you’ve lied,” Soren answers.
“And that we can’t afford to let you go until…” Pausing, he points at my stomach, “that thing has come out.” Mickey adds, not sounding happier than I feel about the prospect of having me around twenty-four-seven.
We spend the rest of the day going in circles; me asking them to elaborate on something that doesn’t need it. Them giving me exasperated slash angry answers. In short, it’s not productive. If I’m honest, that’s probably my fault. I’m the one who keeps asking the same questions while hoping for different answers.
Right now, the guys are in the kitchen cooking something that smells so delicious it has my stomach growling and my mouth watering. As I watch them from the couch, I want to go out there and help them, insert myself into their domestic rituals. But I don’t, I just keep observing from afar.
Tearing my gaze away from them, I pick up the small 3D picture of Fet they gave me before they started cooking. The more I look at it, the more I fall in love with the blob that lives in my body. For the first time, everything feels completely real, and like I’m on the right path in life. I might not have gotten onto this path in the best way. Hell, I haven’t gone about a lot of things in the best way possible. But I’m here now, and that’s all that matters.
