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“I'm just grossed out by the idea of them putting something in me,” I tell him. “It's like a fucking parasite.”
“Yeah. I know,” Torin says. “I wouldn't like that either.”
So he has an ounce of compassion in him, does he? Interesting.
When the tracker stops at the base of my left foot, the device in his hand starts beeping like mad.
Oh god. Oh no. He found something.
“Good thing you brought her here.”
Torin growls.
“Oh my god. Take it out.” My voice is shaking. His hand tightens around mine. “Get it out of me. Get it out!”
Torin puts his arm around my shoulder. “Do it.”
“You don't have to worry,” the man says, rubbing his hands together. There’s a strange sort of glee in his eyes, like a fisherman pulling up a trophy catch. “It will hurt, but it'll be very brief. Something here’s just a tiny tracker, under her skin.”
“Oh my god.”
“Have a seat,” the man says, gesturing to the metal table.
Torin frowns. “Do you have anything to numb the pain?”
The infection looks much better, but it will hurt.
“Of course. It’ll be an extra fee.”
“Don’t care. Do it.”
The man opens a small dorm-sized fridge and takes out a syringe.
Panic thunders through me. My heart races, and my vision tunnels.
“No needles.” My voice comes out too small, too fast. “No needles. Please.” I hear myself say please to him, and I don't care. “They used—there were so many in the cell. I lost days. Please. I’d rather feel the pain.”
“Shh,” Torin says, pulling me close. “Are you alright?” His voice drops, just for me.
He holds up a large palm to ward off the needle. The man puts it away, his eyes curious as Torin’s big arm settles around my shoulders. He slides a rough thumb over my cheek.
“Those goddamn fuckers. I'm going to make them pay so fucking bad for what they did to you,” he whispers in my ear.
“We don't have to numb the pain,” the man says quickly. “It's okay, but you have to stay still. How much pain can you take?”
“A lot,” I stammer. “No more needles,” I finish in a whisper.
“Alright. It's just a small incision, just a little one, and then we'll suit you up, okay? She probably won't even need a suture—just a butterfly bandage will do.”
Oh god. I can't look. My teeth are clamped together. “Get it out.”
“It’s okay,” Torin says, then he does the last thing I expect. He turns my head and tucks it against his shoulder. He smells good. He's warm and strong, and he feels like a safeguard right now.
He puts his fingers in my hair and slowly runs them down the back of my neck, over and over. “I'll tell you something to distract you while it happens.” He begins to recite something in Gaelic, word for word, his voice low and steady. I can’t understand a word he says, yet I want him to keep saying it forever.
“Ami gaeth i mmuir
Ami tond trethain
