Page 37 of UNAwere

I let out another small sob. ‘Briggsy…’

‘I’ve got you, sweetheart. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’

‘My slushy…’

‘We’ll get you a slushy. It’s okay.’

He unties me, and my body slackens until I’m falling against his bare chest. His scent envelopes me, and I know I’m finally safe.

‘I’ve got you,’ he murmurs, his mouth against my hair. ‘I’ve got you.’

The electrodes embedded in my skin are gently removed – quick, so the pain of pulling them out doesn’t last as long.

I hear my mother’s voice, disembodied in the room. Rip it off like a Band-Aid, rub it better, and keep going.

‘Shit…’ I whisper.

‘You owe me a dollar,’ Briggs says gently.

I let out a pathetic laugh.

‘C’mon.’ He picks me up as if I weigh nothing, carrying me up the stairs. ‘When we get outside, I want you to keep your head down, okay? Don’t look around. Just keep your head tucked close to me. You think you can do that?’

‘Yeah.’

We’ve made it into Lucia’s sitting room, and I can hear his feet padding against the floorboards. I frown, clinging to his shoulders, feeling the heat of his skin against my palms. He shushes me as he carries me through the house, his mouth against my hairline.

‘Briggsy?’ I murmur, my face close to the crook of his neck.

‘Mm?’

‘Are you naked?’

‘Mhm.’

My cheeks heat. ‘Oh…’

I’m lowered down into the back seat of his truck. My eyes flicker, and I moan at the pain in my body. Briggs shushes me again, and I feel his hand smooth back my hair.

‘You’re safe,’ he tells me, as I slowly drift away. ‘I’m not going to let anything happen to you.’

Iwake up in a warm bed, surrounded by thick blankets.

There’s a dull pain in the back of my head and at the base of my spine, but I’m otherwise warm and comfortable, curled up on my side. I let out a soft noise, vaguely remembering being rescued by a naked Briggs, and lift my head from the pillow.

We’re in what appears to be a motel room. The curtains are drawn, and the lamps are on. He’s opposite the bed, in a leather armchair, his head falling to one side as he sleeps. It looks as if he’s been watching me, and there are remnants of bandages and his first-aid kit scattered over the end of the bed.

I sit up a little more, my head swirling, and grit my teeth. When the feeling subsides, I check my arms and hands. There are bruised scabs where the electrodes were embedded in my skin. Most of them look as if they’ve been cleaned, and there’s a bandage over a particularly deep one.

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I ease myself onto my feet and pad quietly across to the bathroom. I close the door before I turn on the light and wince as my eyes struggle to adjust to the brightness. A fan switches on in the ceiling, humming and clicking, and I go about shedding my knitted sweater and skirt and turn on the shower.

In ten minutes, I’m out and drying my hair with the motel’s hairdryer. It sputters and puffs out warm air, but it works enough to get my hair to a point of dryness that’s not going to soak the bed’s pillows. It’s slightly frizzy, but it falls in strawberry-blonde waves down my shoulders, and the hot shower has helped bring a bit of colour back to my cheeks.

I realise pretty quickly that I forgot to bring fresh clothes in with me. Wrapping a towel around my body, I quietly leave the bathroom, peeking out at where Briggs is still sleeping in the armchair. He doesn’t move, and I can hear his heavy, even breaths.

I skirt over to the bed, where my bag sits on the floor by the end of it. Going through it, I pull out a pair of jeans, panties, and a long-sleeved T-shirt. I don’t bother with a bra. My muscles ache as I shrug everything on.

I’m easing the shirt over my head when Briggs murmurs something in his sleep, grunting softly. I shove the shirt down over my breasts and stomach, heart racing, and watch as he adjusts in his seat. He cringes, as if in pain, eyes still closed, and then I smell it.