Page 83 of Dose

Only then do I stop.

I remove the blindfold first so she can see me, then release both cuffs. Faint red bands circle her wrists. I rub my thumbs beneath them and check her fingers.

“Any tingling? Numbness?”

“No.” Her eyes are wet and unfocused, but they track me. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

I give her water and wait while she drinks. Then I strip off my shirt, lie on my right side, and draw her against me, keeping the new scar across my left shoulder free. The final closure strips came off yesterday; the skin is sealed, pink, and still tender enough that Raphael continues to issue opinions about it.

I pull the blanket over us. Isla does not speak for nearly a minute.

“You all right?” I ask.

“I don’t have the word yet.” Her voice is hoarse. “I’m building it.”

“Take your time.”

I trace slow lines down her back. When she shivers, I tuck the blanket more closely around her and offer the water again.

Eventually, she looks up.

“Rest,” she says.

“What was?”

“Not having to decide what came next.” Her fingers find the ink at the center of my chest. “I knew I could end it. I knew you would stop if I disappeared into my own head. So I didn’t have to keep watch over you.”

My throat tightens.

“The old cuffs were still there,” she continues. “I remembered them. This didn’t erase them or turn them into something good.”

“No.”

“But I chose the same position, and this time the choice stayed mine.” She studies the red bands at her wrists. “I trusted you with that.”

“You did.”

The enormity of it makes me careful with my next breath.

“Did anything feel wrong?” I ask. “Not difficult. Wrong.”

She thinks before answering. “The third time you stopped, I couldn’t tell whether I was crying from frustration or fear.”

“I should have paused sooner.”

“You did pause.”

“After the tears.”

“Because that was the first sign.” Her gaze stays on mine. “Next time, ask before the third edge.”

“Next time,” I repeat.

Her mouth curves. “There will be a next time.”

I kiss her forehead. “Before the third edge.”