Future Threat

3

“My hero.” I take the bag from him, leaning close to give him a kiss. I mean it to be quick, but he slides a hand around my waist and pulls me closer, against his chest. With my free hand, I grip his shirt, clinging to him as our kiss grows deeper, and everything else fades away except this moment. The past can’t hurt me, not when I’m in his arms.

Adam is the third thing that makes the memories stop.

“I missed you,” he whispers as we pull apart.

I should say it back, but instead I reach up to grab a dark lock hanging down his forehead. “Your hair is wet.”

“I did some laps after class.”

Adam’s a swimmer, but like me with kickboxing, he doesn’t do it to stay in shape. He does it because he says it helps him think. Or, I suspect, to forget.

We each have our ways of coping with what happened to us. Adam swims laps for hours. I beat the s**t out of things.

He steps into the apartment, and his dark eyebrows jump up. “So did you get it?”

“Yeah.” I pull back my sleeve to show him the tattoo. My arm throbs with a dull, yet constant pain, similar to a bad sunburn, but the design looks good. The origami unicorn is just like the one he made for me when we first met, like the one his future self gave me as a clue.

“Wow. I can’t believe you did it.” He adjusts his glasses as he examines the tattoo but doesn’t touch the angry, inflamed skin lined with black ink. I can’t tell from his expression or voice whether he likes it or not.

“I have lots of tattoos.” I shrug and turn away, but my throat is tight with unsaid emotion. Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten it. I’m not sure what I was thinking, anyway. I’d do anything to forget what happened to us, and instead I got a reminder branded right on my skin. But Adam is one of the few things in my life worth remembering.

Once in the kitchen, I pull out some plates for the food, avoiding his eyes the entire time. Adam moves behind me as I unpack the plastic containers, sliding his arms around my waist. “It’s beautiful,” he says. “Like you.”

I close my eyes and lean back against him, relieved. He brushes my hair away and presses a kiss to my neck, his hands skimming up and down my sides. Adam is the first guy in a long time who can touch me without making me flinch. The only person I let get this close.

“I love it.” He spins me around to face him, and his eyes are intense as they search my face. “And I lo—”

Every muscle in my body tightens up, and I jerk away from him. “I’m starving,” I say, forcing a smile. “Getting tattooed always makes me hungry.”

His face falls, but he’s used to me pushing him away by now and he recovers quickly. “That’s probably an aftereffect from the endorphin rush of getting a tattoo. Your blood sugar—”

I place a finger on his lips. “I don’t need a science lecture, Dr. O’Neill.”

“I don’t have my PhD yet.”

“You will soon enough.”

“True,” he says, but his voice has shifted. He begins opening the plastic food containers, but his face is tight. Closed off. Because of me.

We serve ourselves and sit on the couch in silence with our plates. He’s ordered all of my favorite dishes without even having to ask. He’s the perfect boyfriend, and I can’t help but keep him at arm’s length. Especially when it seems like he might break out the L word.

As I eat, I notice he’s distracted, staring off into the distance with a frown, but I get the feeling it’s not only me he’s upset with. There’s something else on his mind.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

He blinks and then he’s back with me again, giving me a small smile. “Nothing. I told them not to put peas in the fried rice ’cause I know you hate them. But it’s just not the same.”

“Liar.”

“I’d never lie about Chinese food.”

“Not that.” I study him for a long moment. “Is your mom okay?”

“Yeah, she’s fine. She went to the doctor the other day, and he said the cancer has completely vanished from her system. The cure really worked.”

Despite his words, his frown has returned, and I lightly bump against his side. “Tell me what’s bothering you.”

He sets his plate on the coffee table, his food untouched, and scrubs his face with his hands. “I was volunteering at the hospital today, and another girl died. She was only eight.”

I almost drop my fork. Not this again. “Adam…”

“If I’d created the cure already, she’d still be alive.”

“It took your future self over ten years to create the cure,” I remind him for what feels like the hundredth time. “It’s only been six months. You haven’t even finished school yet!”

“My future self spent half his time trying to solve your murder, but I can focus solely on developing the cure, and I can get it done faster. I know I can.”

“After you get your PhD—”

“Over eight million people die every single year from cancer. In ten years, that’s almost a hundred million lives I could save. I have to do it sooner. I have to.” He runs a hand through his hair, his eyes tortured. “If only I’d kept some of the cure we brought back, I could have studied it. I could have—”

“Stop.” I rest my hand on his knee. “Some things can’t be rushed. Not if you want to do them right.”