Lost in Purgatory

Chapter 15

Felicity let the hot water wash over her, feeling the grime of the last few days peeling off her in layers.

She immediately corrected herself. Not grime, not really. The floor of the parking garage had definitely ruined her suit, though. Then there'd been the various exertions with Oliver. She blushed as she conditioned her hair, remembering what he felt like in her hand, inside her.

She'd left him in a restless doze, pretty sure he was dreaming – not about anything good. But he'd warned her never to wake him up out of a nightmare, and she'd agreed instantly. Not that she was afraid of him, though she still occasionally had flashes of him advancing on her, a thin wire stretched between his clenched fists. She closed her eyes and shook the memory off, determined to remember other, better examples of his strength and agility. The way he'd picked her up on the island, climbing up the wall of her apartment, getting up in spite of being tied to a chair, the look on his face murderous- no! She had to get over this.

In the shower she had the irrational thought that when she went out, he'd be gone, so she rinsed off and dried herself quickly, using the towel as a sort of sarong. But when she emerged in her bedroom, he was gone, and she bit her lip, trying to suppress the panic. When she cracked the door open, and peeped out, he was sitting in front of her computer, frowning. He'd gotten dressed, she thought, strangely disappointed, then blushed. Again. They'd just spent hours . . . fucking, and she was horny again! What the hell was wrong with her? She was going to tiptoe back into her bedroom, when a thought struck her.

This was her apartment! With that in mind, she swung the door open and strode confidently up to him, realising too late that she was only wearing a towel. Not that he hadn't seen it all, though. When she looked up, he was smiling at her. She caught a glimpse of what he was reading – something about Thea Queen being busted for drug use – and winced. He followed her eyes and nodded sadly.

"It's kind of weird to think of my baby sister doing drugs." He rubbed his fingers together in a nervous tic she was starting to recognize.

"Things change. Kids grow up," she offered, not really sure what to say.

He quirked a half-smile and grabbed her hand, pulling her on his lap, stroking her shoulder, and nuzzling her neck. He seemed to be heading for her towel, before he stopped, his eyes far away. She looked up at him, puzzled.

"I never asked you about the island, Felicity. How you got away." Oliver chewed on his lower lip. "From . . . from Conklin."

Ah. She shivered involuntarily, and snuggled up to him in reflex. It was easier to tell him about it when not looking at him, so she kept her eyes down as she spoke, her voice halting, at first. About halfway through, she got annoyed at herself. Why was she making this such a big deal? Asshole attacked her, asshole got dead. The end. She raised her head, determined.

"And then I popped a cap in his ass!" Oliver looked down at her, his eyes kind.

"Popped a cap?" His lips twitched.

"In his ass!" She repeated the words with a certain relish. Yeah, that's right, bitch. "Gangsta style," she added, making a sideways finger-gun. "Not really, though," she said quickly. "I used it like you showed me." Though the dry-firing hadn't really prepared her for the gun jerking in her hand like a living thing, and all the blood. So much blood.

"Hey." She looked up, blinking rapidly, and Oliver's eyes were worried. "If you need to talk about it, Felicity . . . you don't need to play it down . . . for me."

She shrugged. "Maybe I need to play it down for me." She gave him a watery smile. "I still have nightmares . . . about him." Something occurred to her. "You were having a bad dream, I think."