Free Hollow Men by Sommer Marsden Page A

going to go…” I shook my head. What? What was I going to go do? “See what else we need,” I sighed. “I’ll be downstairs.”
    I went down and began by watching the external cameras. Nothing at all. No movement on the street. I took a deep breath and let myself relax for a moment. I sat on my bunk and caught my breath.
    “You should go up and say you’re sorry, Eleanor,” I told myself. “You should go apologize to him. Tell him the truth. You’re angry because you feel the same way. You’re angry because you’ve wasted—” My throat felt as if I could barely suck a breath down its narrow passage. A sob ripped out of me, and I shoved my fist in my mouth. “You’ve wasted all this time,” I finished.
    It might be too late. It felt too late.
    “El?”
    His voice was soft as it drifted down to the basement. I came out of the safe room and called up. “Coming.”
    I dabbed my eyes, caught my breath—put my game face on.
    Upstairs we ate our noodles and waited for dark.
    * * * *
    We’d gathered, without speaking much, a stockpile of guns and ammo in the kitchen. We were still working on the foodstuffs. I wasn’t even letting my mind consider the other stuff in my house. It had been hashed out we’d stock the kitchen overnight, sleep in there so we’d hear anything, should it happen. It would give us the option of making a break for the bus if we thought we could make it. We’d also leave the safe room open and ready for entry should we need it, of course.
    We had everything from a Glock to a sawed-off shotgun to some flash bombs. Evan was now sitting and considering food. I rooted around in the fridge for two beers. I popped the caps and gave him one.
    “You can take a break,” he said. His eyes found me, skittered over me, moved away. He was trying to not set me off. Which set me off. It made me feel as if I were a questionable explosive that needed to be handled properly.
    I didn’t need to be fucking handled.
    Maybe you do, dumbass…
    I pressed my lips together and shook my head. “I’m fine.”
    He smiled, opened the cabinet and began to unload some of the canned goods I kept there, checking the expiration dates as he went. “You sure? One more hot shower?” He chuckled. “God knows how long it will be till we can get another. Could be a day or two, could be a week or two.”
    I blinked. He was right. “Then you?”
    I figured if I took one and then he took one I would feel no guilt for wanting and having a hot shower.
    Evan nodded. “Fine by me. You don’t have to ask me twice, El.”
    I took my gun with me and stomped upstairs to the bathroom. All this stomping made me feel comparable to a temper tantrum-prone two year old.
    “Because you’re acting as if you are one.”
    I stripped and put a towel on top of the hamper and my weapon on top of the toilet tank where I could reach it. The bathroom had no windows so it was one of my favorite places to be. A small oasis in a world full of breaches.
    The water was hot, and I was thankful. We’d been without power blips for days. I pushed my face under the spray and tried to relax. The thought of leaving my home made me feel empty and angry even though I knew if my father were alive, he’d have declared we needed to leave too. He’d have insisted.
    A sob slipped out, and I snapped my mouth shut. I covered my lips, mortified at my weakness. I needed to shut it off, shut it up, remove it. I let my back hit the cool tile wall, and my fingers slid down my belly, over my mound, parted my lips. My fingertip found my clit, and I pressed in increasingly rough circles.
    The swell and burst of pleasure would help. The warm whirlpool of release would take me under so I could ignore my misery.
    I turned to press my face and breasts to the cool tile. My fingers delved deeper, and I ground my clit to the palm of my hand, fucking myself ten times harder than I’d wished any man to. It was nearly a punishment, this diversion.
    When I came, I felt