Page 48 of Ensnared
“But every week or so, we do need to decompress.”
“What does that mean?”
“Your human bodies intake oxygen.” He’s still doing sit-ups, perfect ones, like he’s a robot and his body’s just performing its stated task. “Then they expel the unwanted carbon compound afterward.”
“Okay.” I am not going to quit doing sit-ups before he does, but I swear, my abs are burning. He has to quit soon, right?
“We need nitrogen and argon, both of which exist in your atmosphere, but unlike your breathing, which I only mimic in this form, we need a few moments of down time to process and properly synthesize what we intake. Our bodies are much more efficient and economical than yours, but we do have to essentially shut down for a short time.”
He needs a time out. “Then you should do that.”
“It’s been busy lately,” he says.
“Right, but I have to make time to breathe or I’ll die.” I’m really puffing right now. Maybe he’ll think I’m making my point.
Meanwhile, he’s not winded at all. He’s still doing sit-ups, perfectly, his beautifully sculpted abs contracting and releasing like poetry in motion. My fingers itch to reach out and touch them.
Which is idiotic. What’s wrong with me?
Other than the fact that my abs are about to set fire and burn down the entire block.
“It’s not like breathing,” he says. “I already said?—”
“Yeah, yeah.”
He stops doing sit-ups then and leans toward me, grabbing my arms. “You need to stop. Your body’s overheated and your heart’s beating too fast.”
Thanks a lot for pointing that out, jerk. “I was making a point.” Yes, Liz. Spin this so you don’t look idiotic. “You’re being like me right now.” I wheeze. “You need to take a break.”
He looks down at his bare chest and abdomen, and I can’t help following his gaze. Gah, he’s beautiful. This is not helping my heartbeat drop back to a normal range. Even without sweating properly, he looks good. “Unlike you, I’m perfectly fine.”
“You know what I mean.”
He sighs. “I do, yes.”
“But?” I ask. “What’s stopping you?”
He blinks. “You really don’t know?”
I shake my head.
“You,” he says.
11
“Me?” I must’ve heard him wrong. “How could I be stopping you?”
“You’re at the center of everything I do now. If I shut down, what might you do? Or what might happen to you?”
“I’m not a child,” I say.
“All evidence to the contrary.”
That stings a bit.
“The last time I left you alone, you were nearly killed, and you murdered two of my people.”
I wince, because all of that’s true. “But you abandoned me,” I say. “You said you’d protect us, and then you disappeared. Surely you can trust me for a few hours. You leave all the time.”
