"It's not illness!" Paige cried, her voice strangled with hoarseness. She sat up boldly from her cradled position, lip trembling as much as her hands. "It's not... it's you. Just... leave me alone," tears spilled down her cheeks in slow motion. Jase knew she must have hated his helping her, but there was little he could do about that.

"Paige, you're sick-" he began, a slow dawn of realisation creeping across him as he watched her shake.

"Please!" She shrieked in desperation, her stormy blue eyes wild with panic. "Get away from me!" She buried her face in her arm, gripping the back of her head as she curled herself into a quivering ball.

"It's you."

This was his doing. All this time living with and around one another, and he knew she hated him. He knew she didn't trust him. He knew she was afraid of him, and that he walked through her nightmares each night provoking the slumbered pleads of 'no'. But this... he knew this. He'd seen it. Hell, he'd even felt it before. PTSD flashbacks were so torturously vivid, so sickeningly real the same scents filled your nostrils, the same sounds filled your ears. And the horrifying part, the bit that jabbed him in the chest and took the wind out of him as he took several steps back away from the couch, was that her trigger wasn't the pain. It wasn't the concern of a needle, or the fear of restraint. It was his care, his gentleness. It was the feel of his hand against her skin, his tenderly spoken words and careful treatment. When he treated her like a brute he hated himself, watching the frustration and futile anger glitter behind her eyes. But this was her true nightmare, the paradox of himself that spiralled her into the waking terror of memories.

He felt the urge to do something... anything... he needed to throw something, launch it across the room and watch it shatter into hundreds of fragments. Or beat someone, pound his fists into their skull until their jaw shattered and the bones caved in, blood gurgling. If the opportunity presented itself in this moment he doubted he would be able to restrain himself. If he started driving his fists, he wouldn't be able to stop. He rested against the kitchen island, feeling a strange tremor in his fingers as he glared at Paige's huddled body on the couch, heaving with shaky breaths she was trying to control.

You've fucked this girl up for life. This is what you've reduced her to.

It had been the gross violation of trust that had made him the perfect person to torture her, he'd known that. After all, hadn't he been aware what mental anguish it would inflict? The humiliation, the confusion, the fear... he had known all of that. It was in part why he'd volunteered himself for the job. He knew the sick betrayal of her confidence; turning from protector to captor, was torment enough to satisfy the agency. You knew it all, you knew exactly what it would do to her... He'd seen it instantly on her face the minute he had first approached her with the question of whether she'd seen anything useful. He had placed himself on the opposing side to her care and recovery, and she could sense it. The terror in her eyes as he treated her with unexpected care whilst he tortured her haunted him every day. He saw himself reflected in them, a monstrous figure, unyielding and tormenting.

He had chosen all those little extra touches, hadn't he? He was under no illusions what they would do to her, what panic they would inflict. They were part of the game, part of the camera sport. And he'd been well aware of their effects, it was why he'd chosen and performed them so well. He'd played with her mind expertly, toying with her as he caressed her gently after the agony of the torture he'd inflicted began to subside. He knew what he was doing when he spoke to her softly. He knew what he was doing when he humiliated her, wiping her vomit across her cheek. He knew what he was doing when he filled his eyes with compassion and connected them with hers, offering her hope only to drag it away mercilessly. He flipped between pain and gentle care continuously until the two became synonymous, which was exactly what he'd wanted, wasn't it? It wasn't part of his plan back then that he would be here now, realising the after effects of the games he'd played. He wasn't meant to be here with her, continuing the cycle of mental anguish for her every single day.

Jase steadied his hands, drumming his fingers thunderously on the counter in anger restrained by a thread. There was nothing he could do, he couldn't save her from this. He was the source of this, he was her trigger. With a rage that burned more intensely than Jase understood, he craved blood, the need to inflict harm. Uselessly he knew the only person who deserved to be on the receiving end of it, was him.

*

I woke up with a lurch, the ghost of Jas etched in my mind, her features contorted in humiliation. The sickly clamour to my skin had subsided, I was no longer drenched in sweat and tossing between shivering cold and prickling heat. Only a pounding headache remained, more than likely due to hunger and the stifled sobbing that had seen me well into the night. I felt... mortified. Humiliated that I had let Jase see me in the intense vulnerability of that state, and that I had admitted to him that he was the source of the pain.

The gnaw in my stomach coaxed me up, I had to eat something. Crackers, or cereal... something. It wasn't even six am, the morning light beginning to creep through cracks in the curtains. If I ate now I had the chance Jase would still be sleeping, and I could resist the urge to... what did I want to do? I imagined, as I had done before, finding his gun and aiming it at his chest, unfolding rounds in him and watching the blood seep out. In my daydream he stood statue still, confused, reaching his hands to the bullet holes in his flesh and fingering the blood, gazing at it with a frown before he staggered back. Would I feel better then? If he were dead? The answer was complicated, and I didn't really know if I could say yes with absolute certainty.

The living area was abandoned when I crept in, keeping my feet light as I padded across the tiles. Jase had the hearing of a bat, so there was little chance of executing the whole trip without his interrupting. With the tremble of fever behind me I felt stronger, strong enough to cope with his presence. More importantly I no longer needed his help. I opened the cupboard and carefully retrieved two slices of bread; Nutella on toast would do the trick, substantial enough to fill me up, with a generous lashing of sugar content to replenish my energy. I had barely slotted the bread into the toaster before Jase appeared by the kitchen, a sudden lurch in my chest sending the lid of the jar clattering to the counter. He cleared his throat awkwardly, fully clothed and appearing downcast. He hadn't slept at all by the look of it.

"How are you feeling?" He asked stiffly.

"Better," I responded, watching the wafts of warm air rising from the toaster.

"Good." He nodded and began to turn away, stroking the back of his head. He'd cut his hair, shaved it down again like it was in Jordan. It suited his features much more, but it was all too familiar. "I'm sorry," he said suddenly, his voice low.

Sorry?

"What am I meant to do with that?" I asked with an affronted expression, anger fuelling my boldness.

"Nothing," he turned back slightly to glance towards me, not meeting my eyes. "I know it means nothing to you." He paced back to his bedroom slowly, a weariness in his step I wasn't used to seeing. Was it possible he was understanding his actions had consequences? Had he buried his conscience so far down that it took something like the humiliating display of raw emotion I'd revealed to jolt him into realisation?

Whatever it was it didn't matter. He was right, it meant nothing to me. The hollowness of his words was so wholly inadequate, it was laughable. I sat on the barstool and ate my toast quietly, the sensation of food filling my stomach a relief. What do you do now? The tension with Jase made everything seem oddly unstable. This had always been my greatest fear; all the while I loathed living with him, being commanded by him, but inevitably I'd grown to rely on Jase too. Now I had forced him to acknowledge the results of the pain and suffering he'd caused, and with his recognition it was possible, just possible, he would change how he treated me. Wasn't that what I had wanted? Hadn't I yearned for him to disappear suddenly? If that was the case then why did I feel so anxious? He had said ten words, and hadn't met my eyes with any of them. It was a symptom of an unnerving change of character for him, and I didn't like it.

Hours passed slowly as the true morning dawned. I showered and dressed, straightening my hair and applying light makeup to cement my recovery. Rob and Ant were back, and along with sending a few pictures of the two of them in varying states of intoxication he'd said we should all meet for drinks. He'd texted again checking up- Jase had tried to put a kibosh on the plan as I'd been ill, but I decided to message and confirm the arrangement, anything to avoid being stuck with Jase in the apartment all evening.

I wandered out into the kitchen, flicking the kettle on before it was time to leave.

"You have a blood test at eleven," Jase had changed his clothes, so the ones he'd emerged in earlier he had slept in overnight, if he'd slept at all. I nodded in response.

"I know."

"And therapy at two," his voice held none of the false cheeriness he sometimes tried to inject.

"I know," I repeated. "I replied to Ant, about the drinks later."

"I told him no," Jase pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I told him yes. Just on base, we'll meet at half four."

"Yeah, I won't be going," he restrained himself against the obvious anger provoked by my rebellion, dropping his arms and frowning slightly. He looked exhausted, the vacant glassiness to his eyes unfamiliar and unsettling.

"Okay," I replied snappily. I knew he meant I wouldn't be going either, but with Rob and Ant around later I could try to overturn his reluctance and with any luck he'd find other buddies on base to drink with whilst I tried to enjoy myself, and forget he was anywhere near me.