Page 6 of Bunker Down, Baby

His nostrils flare. “I am literally chained to a bed.”

“Yes,” I agree. “For your own safety.”

There’s silence. A very loud silence.

Then he says, “For my what?”

I sigh, scooting to sit on the bed beside him. “Listen. I know this is a lot to take in, but the world is really bad right now. Hospitals are overrun. The flu is absolutely out of control this year. So, I did what any reasonable, caring person would do. I took you out of that germ-infested nightmare and brought you somewhere safe. Home.”

His pupils are huge. His breathing is heavier now, like he’s trying really hard not to panic.

I grab his hand.

He flinches.

Okay, rude.

“I made sure you were comfortable,” I remind him. “I even made burgers and fries. Your favorite.”

His brows knit together. “You… you brought me home?”

“Our home,” I correct.

He pauses. Then, slower this time, he says. “You drugged me.”

“Only a little.” I smile. “You were already so tired. I just helped.”

His chest rises and falls in uneven breaths. He doesn’t speak for a second. “Where the fuck are we?”

I squeeze his hand. “My bunker. Our bunker.”

He squeezes his eyes shut. Exhales hard. “You kidnapped me,” he says.

I tilt my head. “That’s a really negative way of looking at it.”

His head snaps toward me, eyes wide with sheer, disbelieving horror. “There is no positive way to look at kidnapping.”

I giggle. “Not with that attitude.”

His head thumps back against the pillow. He stares at the ceiling, a muscle in his jaw ticking. Processing.

He’ll get there.

Eventually.

But right now, he needs to shower. And based on how groggy he still looks, I should probably help.

I pat his thigh. Solid. So nice.

“Okay,” I say, hopping up. “Time to get you cleaned up.”

His brows knit together. “I… what?”

“You’re still a little out of it,” I say cheerfully, unhooking his wrist from the chain. “I’ll help.”

He yanks his arm to his chest like I’m about to chop it off.

“No,” he says immediately. “Absolutely not.”

---