My lecture to myself didn’t make me feel any better but it did make me feel a little stronger. I pointed the remote at the screen and clicked it on, ready to watch.
“Wait,” Salt said, as a scene of the two of us entering the room at the Institute came on the screen.
“What?” I paused the image for a moment and looked at him.
“I think it would be mistake to erase all images of the two of us.” He gestured at the screen. “Would be better to keep some of the less…embarrassing ones.”
“Right. Makes sense to avoid suspicion,” I acknowledged. “So I think we can agree that this one stays?” It was just the two of us getting comfortable in the room and looking around. It must have been the first night we were there.
“Yes.” Salt nodded.
I picked up a yellow legal pad and pen I’d placed on the arm of the loveseat earlier for just this purpose and made a note.
“All right. Moving on.” I fast forwarded the image and saw the two of us sitting on the couch together. Then I saw Salt pulling my feet into his lap and taking off my shoes and socks. I couldn’t help remember how wonderful his big warm hands felt when he massaged me.
“Do you wish to leave this part or not?” Salt asked me.
I cleared my throat. “Well, it is kind of awkward but not, you know, obscene.”
“Nothing we did was obscene,” he said quietly.
“Oh no? You pretending to be my ‘Papa’ and me pretending to be your ‘Babygirl’ wasn’t obscene?” I snapped.
“No,” he said simply.
“Right.” I didn’t believe him a bit. I had heard how he really felt about what went on in the Institute loud and clear when he’d told Berkley that it was sick and he was disgusted by it. Disgusted by you, don’t you mean, Andi? whispered a little voice in my head. Yes—that was exactly what I meant. I forced myself to look at the TV again and tried not to think about it.
On screen, the foot massage was finally over. There was vid feed from the bathroom too but the camera in there had been focused on the tub so you couldn’t see either Salt or I showering or doing anything else—for which I was grateful.
Salt and I went about our nightly routine—well except for the part where I examined his back which made me uncomfortable to watch because I remembered the past pain he had revealed to me. At last, I went to bed. The camera angle switched to the bedroom—did they have some kind of motion sensors so the cameras only clicked on when someone was in the room? Or did whoever was watching just assume the action would be wherever I was?
I thought the scene would be normal but I had forgotten about my nightmare that first night. There was no sound and only minimal light but I saw my small shape huddled under the covers and watched as I sat up, clearly agitated. Then the bedroom door burst open and Salt’s tall frame was silhouetted by the light shining behind him. He came to the bed and gathered me into his arms. Tenderly, he cradled me to his chest and sat down in the large rocking chair to rock me like a child.
I felt a wave of longing as I watched the scene and then an equal wave of shame raced over me. I was a grown woman, for God’s sake—why was I wishing to be rocked and comforted like a little girl? It was stupid and weak and it made me angry with myself and with Salt too for acting the way he had.
“Look at this,” I complained, pointing at the TV. “Why did you have to do that instead of just waking me up and telling me I was having a bad dream? Now we don’t have anything even remotely normal to leave in the video.”
“I wanted to take care of you,” Salt said in a low voice.
“Oh, you took care of me all right,” I muttered. “You son of a bitch.”
“Andi—”
“No. Don’t start.” I held up a hand to stop him. “You do not get to feel better about being a complete shit by trying to explain it away. Just keep your mouth shut and let’s get through this.”
“How am I being ‘complete shit?’” he asked, his voice a low, angry growl. “I am giving you what you should want.”