Part 4 - Day 15: Torn apart at the seam
The shelf had changed.
A small curtain made from a strip of dark blue fabric hung from a paperclip rod across one end, giving a private corner. Two simple dresses cut from soft cotton scraps lay folded in a shallow box he had lined with tissue. One was pale gray, the other a faded green. A pair of tiny LED lights no bigger than match heads sat on the towel; Anna had figured out how to press the sides to turn them on and off. The TV remote lay near Beth’s usual spot, its buttons too large for one hand but usable if she leaned her weight into them. A small Kindle rested against the books. Beth had to use both hands to tap the screen and turn the page.
Anna was on the desk again.
He had cleared a space on the graph paper near his keyboard. She sat with her legs dangling over the edge of a thick hardcover book he used as a platform, watching him work. He had been at it for hours. The screen in front of him was filled with dense text and diagrams she could not read from where she sat. Every so often he would reach over without looking and run one finger lightly along her calf or the side of her thigh, a brief, absent touch that made her breath catch. She would lean into it. He would keep typing.
The flirting was quiet and constant. She would stand up and walk along the edge of the book so he would notice her. He would glance over, the corner of his mouth lifting for half a second before he forced his attention back to the screen. Once he had picked her up without warning, held her in his palm for a few seconds while he read something, then set her down again like it was nothing. The heat of his skin stayed on her long after.
He was trying to act normal. So was she. It was not really working.
“They’re letting me see more of the raw data now,” he said at one point, eyes still on the screen. “If I can get on the lead team I’ll have direct access to the notes on reversal protocols. There’s a chance. A real one.”
Anna nodded even though he was not looking at her. She believed him. She wanted to believe him. The thought of a cure, of being able to leave this shelf and this apartment as something closer to whole, still lived in her. But it felt distant compared to the immediate fact of his hand when it brushed her leg again.
Beth was on the shelf behind them, the Kindle propped against the book. She had not spoken in hours.
He worked until the light through the window turned orange. Then he stopped typing. His hand came over without ceremony. Two fingers hooked the hem of Anna’s dress and peeled it upward in one smooth motion. The fabric came off over her head and he dropped it on the desk beside her. She was naked in the open air of the room.
Anna did not cover herself. She looked up at him.
He stood, lifted her carefully, and carried her into the bedroom. The door clicked shut behind them.
On the shelf, Beth stared at the small gray dress left crumpled on the graph paper.
In the bedroom he placed Anna on the pillow and undressed without hurry. When he came back to the bed he did not speak. He simply brought his hand down and let her climb into it. She sat in the center of his palm while he carried her to the middle of the mattress. The sheets were cool and vast. His body above her blocked most of the light.
He laid her on her back and rested two fingers along her sides, pinning her gently without effort. His thumb moved between her legs and began to stroke with slow, deliberate pressure. Anna’s back arched immediately. The scale made everything total. One fingertip was wider than her hips. The heat and texture of his skin were everywhere at once. She reached up and gripped his thumb with both hands as the pressure increased, not to stop him but to hold on.
When he finally moved over her, the head of his cock was larger than her entire torso. He pressed the length of it against her body, rocking slowly so that the weight and heat of it moved across her breasts, her stomach, between her thighs. Anna wrapped her arms and legs around as much of him as she could reach. The friction and pressure were overwhelming. She came once like that, shaking and gasping against his skin, then again when his thumb returned between her legs while he continued to rock against her.
He was careful. He never put his full weight on her. But he did not treat her like she might break. He used her body the way she had silently asked to be used, contained, overwhelmed, given no room to think about anything except the next wave of sensation. When he finally came it was across her stomach and chest, hot and heavy, and she stayed beneath it, trembling, until he gently moved her to a clean part of the pillow.
He did not notice her wet eyes as he finished cleaning her with a warm, damp cloth. Not wet from pain, but from the sheer size of what had just happened inside her chest. She had never felt so completely taken and so completely safe at the same time. She had never felt so small and so wanted.
He carried her back into the other room and to the shelf without speaking and set her down on the towel. He glanced once at Beth, who was still sitting with the Kindle in her lap, then turned and walked back into the bedroom. The door closed.
Anna’s gray dress was still on the desk where he had dropped it.
Beth was also on the edge of tears, but for different reasons. Steady, helpless tears ran down that she was no longer trying to hide.
Anna sat naked on the towel, still sticky in places, still sore between her legs, still shaking from the aftermath. She pulled the black fabric square over herself and waited.
After a long time Beth spoke. Her voice was thick.
“I didn’t think it would feel like this,” she said. “I thought if I just stayed small on the outside I could keep the rest of me intact. But it’s shrinking too. My soul is getting smaller along with my body and I hate it. I hate that I’m crying like this. I hate that I can’t stop.”
Anna’s throat tightened.
“I left you alone,” she said. “I kept telling myself you were choosing to stay miserable, that you were being stubborn. But I stopped looking out for you. I found something that made me feel big again and I let you disappear on this shelf. I’m sorry.”
Beth wiped her face with the back of her hand.
“You’re in love with him,” she said. It was not a question.
Anna nodded. “Yes. I am. And he wants to know you too. He’s said it more than once. He wants to do things for you. He wants you to have a better life than this shelf. He’s not asking you to do what I do. He just wants you to stop hating him for saving us.”
Beth let out a short, bitter sound that was almost a laugh.
“Saving us,” she repeated.
Anna looked at her steadily.
“He wants to take you to the park,” she said. “Just the two of you. Somewhere quiet. So you can talk. No pressure. No expectations. Just… a chance for you to see him as something other than the man who trapped us. I think you should go.”
Beth stared at the gray dress still lying on the desk across the room.
She did not answer.
