Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 127712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
The next day is the same. But when I replay yesterday’s work, I end up changing my mind about the pathways I had mapped and so by the end of day three, I’ve made it to nine minutes even.
The days continue like that. More of the same, and then more of the same.
By the end of my first full week I can’t even remember why Mercer was warning me about triggers.
When I take breaks, I read through the other files just to get an idea of what’s coming next. And nothing these assholes say triggers me.
I just feel sorry for them.
It’s sad, actually. There are interviews, pre- and post-, with each of the volunteers. And they are so excited when they come out of the experience. They know it’s fake. They all say this in the post-interview, but they are still excited as they think back and report on their favorite parts.
When I realize that they are happy—that they feel… fortunate—well. Then I’m just kinda pissed off about the whole thing. I feel like this drug should be reserved for better people. Dying children, or something.
And I don’t like that. I hate it, actually. That I resent them. That I maybe would prefer them to suffer. Because what does that say about me?
The days pass in a blur. I have been so busy working that when I step out to grab lunch at the dining hall on day twenty-two, I suddenly realize that I haven’t seen the sun in almost a week. And despite Olsen’s promise of nightly knocks to check up on me, I am never home before one AM to see if he’s actually living up to his end of the agreement. We bumped into each other a couple days ago, but I was at the bottom of the Trapp building stairs and didn’t have time to linger. So he just reminded me that next week, we have a dinner planned.
My monthly check-in.
I stop in the Square and just look up. The sun is high and it’s actually very hot out. I hadn’t even noticed that we’d slipped into July until Olsen asked me what I had planned for the Fourth.
When I told him nothing, he said, “Good. You’re spending it with me. We’ll kill two birds. Monthly check-in and freedom holiday.”
So I guess I’m spending it with him.
Which is good. I need a break. I’ve almost been here a month and all I’ve done is work.
Work? It’s not work, Nova. It’s life.
And it is. I love it. And while this is not where I pictured myself when I was doing all that work for my PhD for the last several years, it is where I see myself now.
Forever, maybe.
Because the way Mercer tells it, the job will be mine one day.
I open my eyes and squint through the sunshine, spy the coffee cart and almost head that way, when a question pops into my mind.
Where will he go, Nova? When you take over?
It’s… her. My semi-British internal monologue. She has been quiet lately. But that’s because I haven’t been making any crazy decisions or acting on any sketchy impulses.
It’s a good question, though. Because I can’t really picture myself here without Mercer. I know it’s only been a few weeks, but we clicked. It feels very team-y in the lab. We even have a routine. He always has coffee waiting for me in the mornings. So I haven’t even been to the coffee cart since that first day when I was wandering around aimlessly. And we usually walk to the dining hall together for lunch. Most of the time we work through dinner and end up in the dining hall after hours, picking through the day’s leftover muffins, getting more coffee, and scarfing down bowls of bulk cereal.
It feels a lot like undergrad, actually.
Today Mercer is in some meeting on the mainland, so I’m on my own.
But this is nice too.
Nova Ryan… are you feeling… complete?
Maybe I am. And that’s not my name.
It’s just Ryan.
I snicker to myself, then stop abruptly. Because that’s when I spy him.
The guy.
He’s been missing since the first day. Well, maybe I’ve been missing. He’s never in the dining hall, and, of course, he’s not in the lab. And those are the only two places I go, so…
He smiles at me and my whole body goes tingly with the memory of what we did in the woods.
I stop walking and just stare. He’s leaning against a tree and immediately I see him the way he was that first day. He’s wearing something very similar—sweat shorts and a shirt tucked into his waistband.
He must jog a lot.
He signals to me with a single finger. Not a wagging finger, but a point. Almost like he’s beckoning a waitress. I do a half-hearted wave back and turn to the coffee cart.