Trey and me were lying on the cot in the Admin Core. I didn’t want to be there. It’s not him, I told myself. This isn’t some random hookup. I love him. It’s this rusty cot, the scratchy blanket, this stupid little room. I didn’t like doing it there. Didn’t like walking into the Admin Core, past the guard, with a wink and a nod. I almost said something then. I should have. I didn’t. ‘What did this used to be?’ I asked instead. ‘This building?’ Trey shrugged. ‘A government complex.’ ‘But it’s not, like, the mayor’s office or something. It’s not even in town.’ ‘Yeah.’ Trey tapped out a cigarette and offered it to me. I took it. Between the cigarettes and the dust, my throat was raw all the time, and my chest nearly always ached. ‘Well, it was a Baathist complex. You know? They had a company of Republican Guards garrisoned here, to keep the LNs in line.’ LNs = local nationals. Trey was hitting the acronyms pretty hard at the time. ‘Oh.’ I remember staring up at the ceiling, at the yellow waterspots and peeling paint.
