Read Online Phoenix (dystopian romance) (Theta Waves: Episode 1) by Thea Atkinson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Thea Atkinson
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ants that must have somehow embedded themselves beneath her skin would give her rest. Except that now that she stood still, all of those things seemed to magnify. Even her vision gave into the misery, blackness seeping in from the sides. Her legs went to water.
Ezekiel caught her just as the door groaned open.
"Eazzy?" A woman's voice. Sultry if Theda had ever heard it.
"Bridget," Ezekiel said.
There was a long pause that even in Theda's weary state she understood as awkward.
"It's her," Ezekiel said.
An even longer pause hummed in the air. And finally a shuffle of movement, the feeling of air moving across Theda's cheeks. It felt deliciously cool and painful at the same time. She shivered again.
"A spitter," Bridget said.
"Couldn't see that coming, could you?" A bit of dark humor in Ezekiel's voice, but for the life of her, Theda couldn't understand what it meant.
"And you both stink."
"It's the puke."
"More than that," Bridget said. "She smells like she hasn't washed in months."
Theda felt Ezekiel's shrug and for a second felt her face flush. Another wave of nausea, no doubt.
"I don't suppose she has," he said.
Bridget sighed. "Well, get her undressed and showered. And don't think I'm doing it. I'm not touching that filth. You know where everything is. I'll go make a couple of sandwiches."
Ezekiel grunted something that could have been a thank you, but all Theda registered was undressed and showered. She tried to twist in his arms. Tried to protest that she didn't need to shower. That the last thing she wanted was a shower. That the thought of a thousand tiny needles of water striking her skin might actually put her into a coma.
"Stop it," Ezekiel commanded. He was already clunking up the stairs in his boots, heading for what Theda assumed was a bathroom. She started to cry.
"That's ridiculous," he said. "What the hell are you crying for? You really do stink."
Another wash of heat swam up from her toes. "Don't make me," she blubbered. "Not yet."
"It will make you feel better," he said.
She wanted to tell him he knew nothing about withdrawal, but for some reason couldn't. And damn if she could find the wherewithal to fight him off as he eased her onto the toilet and pulled off her shoes. All she could do was let the hot tears stream down her cheeks.
She felt his finger on her chin as he tilted her face up to meet his. He was crouched next to the toilet, holding her steady with one arm. The hardness of his features, of the solid jawline, the chiseled cheekbones, softened for a moment. His eyes actually looked sympathetic as he regarded her. She thought he might agree to let her live in her own filth until she felt better. She tried a weak smile, hoping it might be the catalyst that made him decide.
"You're going to wash. I don't care if it kills you," he said.
"Give me another smear," she whispered. That would help. She knew it would.
"And have you drown?"
"What do you care?"
That got him. He clamped his mouth shut and swallowed. Theda watched his Adam's apple bob up and down.
"One more smear," she urged. "What does it matter to you? It will make me nice and docile." She tried to flutter her eyelids at him coquettishly. He laughed.
"Seems to me you're already pretty docile," he said. Instead of peeling off her jeans and shirt like she expected, he simply plucked her from the toilet seat and plopped her into the tub. Steam struck her face as he ran the hot water.
"Stretch out," he said. "Not like that, you'll drown. Keep your face up and stretch your legs toward the tap."
With the buffer of clothing, it didn't hurt as much as she thought; she found she could move her limbs just enough for him to run his hands along her body, scrubbing hard with a bar of soap. He paused long enough to rinse her free, studying the bloodstains that wouldn't come out with a thoughtful crook to his mouth. Then he grabbed the shampoo and worked it into her hair.
"Rats nest," he said. "You haven't washed it or combed it
Ezekiel caught her just as the door groaned open.
"Eazzy?" A woman's voice. Sultry if Theda had ever heard it.
"Bridget," Ezekiel said.
There was a long pause that even in Theda's weary state she understood as awkward.
"It's her," Ezekiel said.
An even longer pause hummed in the air. And finally a shuffle of movement, the feeling of air moving across Theda's cheeks. It felt deliciously cool and painful at the same time. She shivered again.
"A spitter," Bridget said.
"Couldn't see that coming, could you?" A bit of dark humor in Ezekiel's voice, but for the life of her, Theda couldn't understand what it meant.
"And you both stink."
"It's the puke."
"More than that," Bridget said. "She smells like she hasn't washed in months."
Theda felt Ezekiel's shrug and for a second felt her face flush. Another wave of nausea, no doubt.
"I don't suppose she has," he said.
Bridget sighed. "Well, get her undressed and showered. And don't think I'm doing it. I'm not touching that filth. You know where everything is. I'll go make a couple of sandwiches."
Ezekiel grunted something that could have been a thank you, but all Theda registered was undressed and showered. She tried to twist in his arms. Tried to protest that she didn't need to shower. That the last thing she wanted was a shower. That the thought of a thousand tiny needles of water striking her skin might actually put her into a coma.
"Stop it," Ezekiel commanded. He was already clunking up the stairs in his boots, heading for what Theda assumed was a bathroom. She started to cry.
"That's ridiculous," he said. "What the hell are you crying for? You really do stink."
Another wash of heat swam up from her toes. "Don't make me," she blubbered. "Not yet."
"It will make you feel better," he said.
She wanted to tell him he knew nothing about withdrawal, but for some reason couldn't. And damn if she could find the wherewithal to fight him off as he eased her onto the toilet and pulled off her shoes. All she could do was let the hot tears stream down her cheeks.
She felt his finger on her chin as he tilted her face up to meet his. He was crouched next to the toilet, holding her steady with one arm. The hardness of his features, of the solid jawline, the chiseled cheekbones, softened for a moment. His eyes actually looked sympathetic as he regarded her. She thought he might agree to let her live in her own filth until she felt better. She tried a weak smile, hoping it might be the catalyst that made him decide.
"You're going to wash. I don't care if it kills you," he said.
"Give me another smear," she whispered. That would help. She knew it would.
"And have you drown?"
"What do you care?"
That got him. He clamped his mouth shut and swallowed. Theda watched his Adam's apple bob up and down.
"One more smear," she urged. "What does it matter to you? It will make me nice and docile." She tried to flutter her eyelids at him coquettishly. He laughed.
"Seems to me you're already pretty docile," he said. Instead of peeling off her jeans and shirt like she expected, he simply plucked her from the toilet seat and plopped her into the tub. Steam struck her face as he ran the hot water.
"Stretch out," he said. "Not like that, you'll drown. Keep your face up and stretch your legs toward the tap."
With the buffer of clothing, it didn't hurt as much as she thought; she found she could move her limbs just enough for him to run his hands along her body, scrubbing hard with a bar of soap. He paused long enough to rinse her free, studying the bloodstains that wouldn't come out with a thoughtful crook to his mouth. Then he grabbed the shampoo and worked it into her hair.
"Rats nest," he said. "You haven't washed it or combed it
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