Alone Page 17

  Nipples are hard against mine. Arm around my shoulders. Mouth against my neck. She begs me to keep fucking her. To make her come. With every thrust, she gasps and asks for more. Heat coats my fingers. I haven’t even touched her clit but she’s shuddering, deep tremors moving through her body. When I move my thumb to stroke her clit she bucks under my touch and buries her teeth in my shoulder.

  I’m so aroused I can barely stand. I pull out and step back, kicking out of my jeans and panties. Liv whimpers, scrabbling and scratching my shoulder to try and get me back to where I was, with my fingers deep inside her. She quiets a little when I push her down to lie on the table and bend over to close my mouth around her nipple.

  Licking, sucking, biting, I fumble for a chair and sit heavily. Liv squeaks when I yank her to the edge of the table and dive in, taking her in my mouth. She’s lifting her hips again, pushing up against my tongue, trying to force me to go faster and harder. I place a steadying hand on her belly and slow down, making long soft strokes to pull her back a little.

  “Please, I need to come. Please let me.” This begging is one of the sexiest things I’ve ever heard.

  Grazing my teeth over her clitoris makes her moan. I do it again, ever conscious of the fresh flooding arousal between my own thighs. Fuck it. I slide my free hand between my legs and touch myself. The first contact makes me gasp. The second makes me groan.

  Liv lifts her head. “Are you…oh, fuck. I’ll come if I hear you do that.”

  “Good,” I murmur against her. I remember how that feels, the low vibrato of someone talking against my clit. Seems she likes it too. Her cries reach a high note when my tongue slides inside her. Stomach clenching, my legs tremble with every stroke of my finger against myself and stroke of my tongue against her.

  I dig nails into the soft skin of her thigh, trying unsuccessfully to hold off. My climax comes just before hers and the moment I cry out against her sex, she groans and comes in my mouth. Her heels press hard against my back, a hand yanking my hair, every pulse under my tongue strong and glorious and feeding my own release.

  I drop my forehead against her thigh, and rest slick and satisfied until Liv slides off the table and onto my lap, straddling me. She’s wet with sweat, and she slips a little until I steady her. I hold her tight around the waist, my head on her shoulder. I kiss her neck, tasting the saltiness of her.

  “It’ll never be enough,” she whispers against my ear.

  “No,” I agree hoarsely. “It won’t.”

  “I never expected this, Celeste. But I don’t want to give it up.” She sits up straighter, slings her arms around my shoulders. “It’s typical, isn’t it? Even if there was a way for me to stay, I can’t. I’m an unknown and unwanted factor in this experiment. Plus…I have a job and a life out there that I need to return to. And you have a job in here for just a little longer. Me being in here means you can’t do that job the way you’re supposed to.”

  She’s right, but that doesn’t make it easier. “I know.” I cringe slightly, waiting for Mother to pipe up with her usual about people not wanting to be near me, but she doesn’t. A surprised hmmph exits my mouth.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I just realized something is all.”

  “What?” Her left eyebrow lifts a fraction.

  “I think the false things are leaving.”

  She studies me with her head tilted. “Really?” The hint of a smile teases the edges of her mouth.

  I rush back through the past few days. The last time was Mother’s intrusion when Olivia and I first—

  I nod slowly. “I think so, yes. It’s been days since I heard anyone.”

  Liv’s smile becomes fully formed. She takes my face in her warm hands, pulling me close. The kiss lingers, a gentle tongue exploring my mouth until she pulls away with a final soft peck on my lips. “That’s incredible.”

  “I think…” My eyes close briefly. “I think it’s you. I think I’m in love with you, but I don’t know if it’s real or if it’s because of this.” I fling my arm in a shallow curve.

  She’s silent, slowly blinking.

  “It’s okay. You don’t need to say anything. I know it’s weird and way too fast. And like I said, maybe not even real.” I add the last part just in case I’ve frightened her. Because if it’s just my circumstance that’s making me feel this way, then there’s no need for her to fear the fact I’ve fallen insanely fast. But…it feels so real.

  Her mouth opens. It closes. Her tongue slides quickly along her lower lip. “I care about you, Celeste. I know that much.” Her words are quiet and without any sort of cruelty and I feel the warmth of them deep in my body.

  It’s enough. I didn’t expect her to respond at all and this admission is more than I’d ever hoped I’d hear. She kisses my nose, then disengages from my lap and bends to collect her underwear from where she hastily dropped it. Liv straightens, stares at the chessboard, wearing her concentration frown. I stare too, but my face is probably more one of surprise that none of the pieces moved while I fucked her hard at the other end of the table.

  She leans over to move her knight. “Checkmate,” she murmurs.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I wake sometime in the night and know right away that what roused me is the absence of her. It’s a black hole. An empty well. A missing limb. This is what my life will be like when she goes—I will fall asleep only to wake up all night long, wondering where she is. I’ll wander aimlessly around the compound, remembering places she’s been, places she touched me, places she made me feel real again. And I will never feel complete again.

  When I roll over, a faint light from under the closed bedroom door casts an eerie glow through my room. She must be in the bathroom. I wait for a few minutes but she doesn’t come back. Maybe she’s sick. Concern rising, I call, “Olivia?” But the word is almost inaudible and unintelligible with sleep hoarseness.

  After another minute or so, I swing my feet over the side of the bed to the cool wooden floor and pad naked across the room. When I’m almost at the door I hear typing, fast and fluid. Liv doesn’t have a laptop. Is she on my computer? Their computer. I pause, listening for a few moments to be sure what I’m hearing really is the sound of fingers on a keyboard. Yes. Stealthily, I open the bedroom door and sneak down the hall toward the computer room.

  The closer I get, the louder the typing is. It doesn’t make any sense. The computer is not an ordinary one and needs log in details, and even if she figured them out there’s no Internet or anything useful on it. Maybe Liv is just typing to feel connected to her old life? Maybe I’m having one of those weird, super-realistic dreams. I give my arm a clichéd pinch. It clichéd hurts.

  At the partially closed door to the computer room, I realize immediately that all my assumptions are wrong. Liv is typing what looks like a report formatted similarly to the logs I write daily, her forehead furrowed as her beautiful, talented fingers fly over the keyboard. My skin prickles. I’m too hot, too shocked, too afraid to do anything but ask the most basic and obvious question. “What are you doing?”

  At the intrusion, Liv hits a key hard and spins the chair around. “Hey,” she says smoothly. Her face gives nothing away, but I know what I’ve just seen.

  “What are you doing?” I repeat. “You shouldn’t be in here.”

  “I had some thoughts about a drug formula and wanted to get them down before I forgot.” The words are quiet, calm. “Sorry, I should have asked if I could use the computer, but I didn’t want to wake you.” At that, Liv stands and walks over, reaching to pull me close.

  I take a step back, through the doorway of the computer room, away from her lying hands. “How did you get access?”

  “It was turned on.”

  “No. It’s never left turned on overnight. That’s part of their protocol. And it logs me out automatically after I leave it for more than ten minutes.” I know I’m right, that it was turned off because I’ve followed that protocol to the letter for over three
years. Panic sits behind my sternum, and at any moment it’s going to bubble up and choke me.

  Liv shrugs, seeming unconcerned. “Well it was.”

  My response grinds out through clenched teeth. “Show me what you were writing.”

  Olivia laughs, low and melodic. “What? Really? You want to read about chemical formulas and data?”

  “Yes.”

  “Come on, darling, you’re being silly.” She tries to tug me down the hall, away from the computer room.

  “No I’m not. Show me.” I grab Olivia’s arm to stop her from leaving, my fingers digging into her soft skin. Liv gasps and chastened, I loosen my grip immediately, afraid I’ve really hurt her. “Shit. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

  Liv rubs her bicep. “It’s okay.”

  I take a few long slow breaths, trying to settle myself and after twenty seconds or so I’m calm enough to talk again. “Show me.” This time it’s less clenched teeth, and more quietly forceful.

  She hesitates, until I move around her to tap the keyboard. Even then, all she says to me is an urgent, “Wait!” When I turn around, an unrecognizable expression—somewhat akin to fear—crosses Liv’s face. She exhales. “Okay.”

  Liv swiftly inputs something, and the screen transforms into a familiar interface. The logging system. Only this time, it’s not from me. It’s about me, logged by a user identified as O.M. SOLDANO.

  Olivia. Maria. Soldano.

  Oh, God. Oh, no no no.

  I can’t—

  This isn’t—

  I click and scroll, eyes skimming over the words. Everything is there, laid bare. Details of our interactions, conversations, my demeanor, things we’ve done since she arrived. Sexual encounters. I can’t take it in, can’t examine it properly, can’t understand. I jab my finger at the screen. “What is this? What the fuck is this?”

  To give her some credit, she doesn’t even try to be evasive, but responds with a calm, “It’s exactly what it looks like, Celeste.”

  My question comes out unevenly, riding the dips and curves of my emotion. “You’re spying on me for them?”

  “No, sweetheart, not spying. Just monitoring the same way as always. Onsite as opposed to remotely via the logs and check-ins.”

  “Monitoring me? You? You’ve been reporting on me this whole time? Every night?”

  “Yes, and this is obviously the first night you’ve woken. You’re an unusually sound sleeper.” Olivia is relaxed, almost dispassionate. Like it doesn’t matter. Like I don’t matter. Now she’s been caught, she’s not even bothering to skirt around the truth.

  I want to vomit. “Oh? Well I’m sorry my circadian rhythms interrupted you spying on me.”

  “Celeste…”

  “You knew everything this whole time? You lied?” The tightness in my throat makes it hard to get the words out.

  Mother’s noxious stench is in my nostrils. “Crybaby.” She sounds bored, as though she’s got somewhere better to be and torturing me is a chore.

  I sniff hard, rubbing my nose as if it would help push that fearsome odor away.

  Olivia steps forward, hands outstretched. “Celeste, please.”

  “Tell me,” I insist. My chest is so tight I can barely breathe. You’re okay. You’re fine. You’re running through the woods. At the beach diving under waves. Standing on the sidewalk watching cars rush past. Breathe. In and out. In. Out. I start walking backward. I can’t let her catch me.

  Olivia lowers her hands, but she’s still moving toward me. “All right.” She sighs. “Yes, I knew about it this whole time. I’m part of the experiment.” Two steps forward.

  “Part of it?” My back hits a wall and I scoot sideways along it, up the hallway away from the computer room.

  “Celeste. Please, relax.” Her voice is low and calm. Too calm. She says something in Italian.

  “What?” I stare at her, my hands behind me feeling for obstacles as I move away.

  She murmurs again, this time a long hypnotizing stream of Italian. It’s not angry or intimidating. It sounds soft. It sounds…loving, and the whole time, she’s creeping closer to me with her hands outstretched, palms up. We’re playing a slow, horrific version of Keep Away. Neither of us is winning.

  I’m totally exposed physically and emotionally and I can’t stand it. “Do not come any closer. Are you even real? Are you a person? Don’t touch me.” I keep backing away, toward the kitchen, afraid to turn away from her. My heart pounds hard against my ribs as I bump into the walls, the table in my desperation to get away. I trip over a chair and stumble, catching myself on the couch.

  “Told you. You’re so fucking dumb,” Mother whispers in my ear. “Nobody wants you.”

  I swat at her. “Go away.”

  Olivia implores, “Celeste, please relax. Just talk to me.”

  “Talk?” My voice pitches strangely. “How can I talk to you when I can’t even trust you now? Everything’s a lie, isn’t it? All these things I thought we had in common. It’s all a lie, right? You only said those things because you knew what I needed to trust you.”

  “No! Only a few minor details were false, like why I’m here. Everything else I told you is the truth. They chose me because I profiled as the closest match for you.”

  Profiled. What an awful, clinical word. “But why, Olivia? You used me. You let me touch you. You touched me. I thought—” I inhale a deep, shuddering breath. “I thought this was real.” I duck around the couch and sidestep to the kitchen.

  Liv follows, still a couple of feet away from me. She’s trying to get close but I’m faster than her. Sneakier. It took me a while to learn, but now I’m very good at staying out of the way of hands that want to hurt me.

  “It is real, Celeste, I promise. You and me, this is real.”

  “That’s bullshit! Why? Will you get a performance bonus for fucking me, Olivia? Are you even a lesbian, or was every touch and kiss horrible and forced and sickening for you?” My stomach heaves and I clap a hand over my mouth until I can regain control. I can’t stop to puke. If I stop, she’s got me.

  “No, it’s not like that,” she insists. “I wanted this. I want you. I’m not some random person they pulled from the street. I asked to be assigned into the dwelling.” She smiles, a little sadly. “Celeste, we’ve known one another far longer than you think.”

  That stops me. Both my hands fumble for the kitchen countertop, for something to hold on to. “What do you mean?”

  Now her gaze is steady and sure. “I’m Controller A.”

  I’ve run out of gas. Someone cut my power cable. I’m dead in the water. I can’t move. I can’t think. It’s all I can do to keep breathing. “What?”

  “I’m Controller A.”

  “You’re Controller A?” I repeat dumbly.

  “Yes.”

  Bile rises up the back of my throat and I try desperately to swallow it down, to put a lid on my betrayal but there’s no stopping it this time. It keeps coming up until I have no choice but to lean over the kitchen sink and expel it. It’s over. She’ll catch me now. Liv is by my side in seconds, pushing sweat-wet hair out of my eyes and rubbing my back as I heave and heave.

  Vision blurred and dizzy, I want to tell her to stop touching me, but I can’t breathe enough to get the words out and when I try, I choke on the vomit in my throat. Still bent over the sink, I shift and squirm under her touch, trying to push her away. But she doesn’t move from my side. Her hand is too hot against the back of my neck, burning. I stop retching and finally manage to gasp, “Don’t touch me.”

  Olivia removes her hand to run water in the sink, but she’s still right beside me. I twist away and straighten up, away from the stream of water. Cupped hands make a small pond to splash water onto my face, but I’m naked and there’s nothing to wipe my face on, no T-shirt or towel. She fetches a dishtowel from a drawer and passes it to me. Despite my body’s best efforts to get rid of it, the nameless feeling still sits in my stomach, burning like acid.

  I turn around,
rotating away from her and lean against the sink. Liv reaches around to shut off the faucet, calm and methodical, going through the motions of someone who cares. She opens the fridge, takes out water and pours me a glassful. I accept with a shaking hand, rinse and spit then drink the rest of her offering.

  “Please, Celeste, can we just sit down and talk? Let me explain what I can to you.”

  I ignore her request, a more immediate need taking my attention. “I’m going to put some clothes on.”

  She looks like she’s going to protest, but at my hard stare she nods and indicates with a gesture that I should go and get dressed. I stop in the bathroom to scrub and gargle the taste of vomit from my mouth, then as quickly as I can, yank on clothes to cover my vulnerability. There’s a scream inside me that desperately wants to be heard. I could slip out the front door and run away from her. But I can only go so far. She’s always going to follow. Always going to find me. I’m trapped here with her.

  I feel a tug on my tee and Riley’s urgent whisper of, “Hide in the cellar with me.”

  “I can’t,” I murmur absently. “Be quiet and stay behind the boxes. Be a good girl for me and it’ll be okay. I promise I’ll keep you safe.”

  I pinch my arm again hard, and it still hurts. I pick up my lambskin rug from the end of the bed, rubbing the worn fleece over my face. I feel it. I smell it. I’m here in this bedroom and this is really happening to me.

  Olivia is in the same place I left her, leaning against the kitchen counter. Grateful for the chance to ease off my trembling knees, I walk past her and sink down onto the couch. “Why are you here? I want the truth.” You can’t handle the tr— Stop. No.

  Olivia settles on the couch too, a cautious distance from me. “I’m here because I want to be here. It’s complicated, and there are many factors at play, but this was always part of the psychological component of this experiment. Cut the subject off for an extended period, monitor them closely so they’re safe, then reintroduce them to a human contact. Nature versus nurture would be the best way to describe this portion. See how far the subject would bend the rules for companionship. See how seclusion would change their core ideals and values.”