Page 67 of Misery
I almost drop the glass I'm drying. "What? Who? Since when?"
"His name's Tyler. Computer Science major at FSU." She smiles, the first real smile I've seen from her in months. It transforms her face, makes her look younger. Happier. "He's... normal. Gorgeously normal. Studies too much, worries about grades, has never been in a fight in his life."
"How did you meet?"
"Library. I dropped all of my books, and he helped me pick them up. Very meet-cute. Very not-club." She glances around the bar, at the leather, liquor bottles, and everyone with a piece on their hip. "He doesn't know about any of this. Thinks Dad's in construction."
"That's probably safer."
"Definitely safer. He took me to a poetry reading last week. Apoetryreading, Elfe. Can you imagine Dad at a poetry reading?"
I laugh despite everything.
The image of our father sitting through people reading about feelings is absurd. "He'd probably shoot someone for rhyming wrong."
"Right? But it was nice. Boring but nice. Safe." She plays with her hair, twirling a curl around her finger—a nervous habit from childhood. "Sometimes boring and safe is good."
"Yeah." I think about Oskar, about blood on his hands, about how much he’d be willing to protect me, about how he’s killed for me.
Nothing about him is boring or safe.
Her eyes flick to Oskar again, then back to me. "Speaking of not boring or safe..."
"Helle."
"What? I'm just saying, the man looks at you like you're water and he's been in the desert for years." She lowers her voice, leans closer. "Plus, the sexual tension is thick enough to cut. Everyone can feel it. Aren over there is practically sweating from secondhand horniness."
Heat floods my face.
I glance at Aren, who suddenly finds the ceiling fascinating. "It's complicated."
"When is it not? But complicated doesn't mean impossible." She leans even closer, drops her voice more. "Have you... you know?"
"Helle!"
"What? We're sisters. We're supposed to talk about this stuff. I can tell you about Tyler and the extremely athletic things we did after the poetry reading." She waggles her eyebrows. "So? Have you done the deed with your scary protector?"
I glance at Oskar.
He's talking to Magnus now, but I know he's still aware of everything I do.
The way his shoulders tense when someone gets too close.
The way his hand rests on his thigh, ready to reach for his weapon.
Always watching. Always ready.
"No."
"But you want to?"
"Yes." The admission comes out barely audible. "Gods, yes. But he's going molasses slow. Treats me like I'm made of glass."
"Maybe he's scared of breaking you."
"I'm already broken. Sex isn't going to make it worse."
"You're not broken," she says firmly. "Damaged, maybe. Healing, definitely. But not broken. Broken things can't be fixed. You're being fixed."
