WEEK 61: You smell like my dead grandmother

Prompted by: Laura

The crazy author says: Yeah, I realize he’d be too drugged up for this to happen but anything’s possible when you combine adrenaline and fiction, right? Riiight? Meh.

One squeeze and he releases me, reaching for the bandage covering his eye.

Tech grabs his wrist. “Stop.”

An agonized sound hammers past its prison of teeth and metal, drowning out the command. If he could scream, he probably would. His hips buck violently and all hell breaks loose.

Sheets go flying. Tubes rip from human flesh.

Blood. I see blood.

Standing, I feel something whip across my skin. I think it’s an IV line.

His blood is on my cheek.

And suddenly they’re both on the floor.

Tech doesn’t wind up on top either. He’s knocked out of his seat and pinned face down against the linoleum tiles. “Jesus Christ, you’re gonna break my fucking arm…”

“Trace,” I whisper.

He turns toward me, still in a crouch. Panting. Chest heaving. He’s a rabid animal trapped in a very small cage. His expression is wild. Pupil dilated so wide it nearly eclipses the bright blue of his frantic gaze.

I take a step back. I can’t breathe. I need to know, “Do you remember me?”

A growl leaks through the muzzle and before I can even blink, he pounces.

As his body slams into mine, lifting me right off my feet, I wrap my legs around his waist and hang on for dear life.

“What the hell’s going on in here?” It’s Twitch from the doorway.

“He tried to kill me,” Tech answers wryly.

“Bet you deserved it.”

“Just help me, jackass.”

I can only assume Twitch is honoring the request when he chuckles, “You need a shower.”

“Shut up.”

“You smell like my dead grandmother.”

“We have the same dead grandmother, fucktard.”

Twitch succumbs to a full belly laugh and I can’t control myself. I start bawling like a baby. He’s about to laugh at me next, but I don’t give a shit.

I’m too relieved.