Free Soulprint by Megan Miranda

instantly it is my new favorite sound. It’s surprisingly fast, and real, and his eyes narrow like he can’t control the rest of his face. I smile back at him without even thinking. “You have no idea how much I would’ve loved to see that,” he says. Then he holds up the needle he must’ve just threaded. “Ready?”
    â€œYes,” I say. This time, at least, I don’t have to lie on the floor. He sits me on the counter, and I lean back against the mirror to give him more access. I hold up my shirt, and his hand shakes as he nears my skin.
    â€œSorry,” he says. “I’m cold.”
    But he doesn’t try to warm them up. He takes a deep breath to steady himself, and then he pushes the needle through myskin, over and over, as if I were a piece of fabric. I should’ve taken the pill. I know it. He knows it. But he doesn’t say anything as I choke on my cries, or as I tense with each new stitch, and he doesn’t mention the fact that there are tears rolling down my cheeks. He pretends not to notice that I’m gripping on to his shoulders in a way that must hurt, but he doesn’t flinch.
    When he finishes, before he looks up at my face, he moves the side of his hand across my cheeks in a quick motion, and he smiles to himself. “Not too bad,” he says, “for my first time.”
    â€œYou were practicing on my rib cage?” I ask, feeling a pull each time I breathe in.
    â€œI was,” he says, trying not to smile. He dabs some sort of ointment over the top. “There. Done.”
    And then we’re stuck there, with nothing more to do. It’s just him and me, inches apart, my bare skin on display in front of him. He must notice at the same time, because his hand reaches for the bottom of my shirt, still held over my ribs, and he pulls it down and backs away.
    I make him nervous.
    I’m not entirely sure why.
    He’s still watching me, but I guess that’s his job. “Look—” But Cameron’s gaze quickly shifts to the wall—to somewhere beyond the wall—where I hear a faint beep. He opens the bathroom door and holds his breath. I hear Dominic whispering in the house. I hear Dominic whispering
to someone
in the house, and so does Cameron, who runs out of the bathroom into the dark.
    I hop off the counter and stand in the doorway. Cameron already has Casey in his arms, and his shoulders are shaking asif he’s laughing, and Casey is pushing him away saying, “Yeah, yeah, oh ye of little faith.” Then he picks her up and spins her once, and I want to run to her, too. I’m overwhelmed with that same feeling. Of relief. Of happiness. Of wanting to go to her.
    But I stay in the doorway to the bathroom, watching them instead.
    Then Casey starts laughing, and even Dominic Ellis is smiling. Casey spots me over Cameron’s shoulder, her eyes twinkling, her face smiling as her chin rests on Cameron’s shoulder. She is contagious. I am laughing with her. With them. “We made it,” Casey says.
    â€œOf course we made it,” Cameron says.
    â€œShh,” Dominic says, but he is smiling, too. And his steps are the loudest of us all. His gaze shifts to me, but his smile never falters—crooked and personal. In the dark, with only the light from the bathroom, he nods at me once, coming closer. I force my spine straighter, taller. I force my smile to remain, to reach my eyes.
    I force myself to act as if I don’t understand that he is smiling at me like a man who has already won.

Chapter 7
    After the rest of them take turns in the shower, we shut off all the lights again and head down to the basement. There’s only a single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling, and there’s a small television in the corner, which Dominic turns on but keeps the volume so low he has to lean forward to hear it. There are mattresses along the floor and a stash of food, and I don’t wait for