CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“How long have you been having these nightmares?”
Dr. Rosewood leaned back in her chair, one leg crossed over the other as she eyed me over the top of her laptop. I had booked an appointment to discuss my mental health, something I never thought I would do, but after the night before, I’d grown concerned.
I hadn’t been able to determine what was real and what was a dream. And it frightened me. I did not want to turn out like my mother.
I hadn’t told Dr. Rosewood about the hallucinations out of fear I would immediately be sent for testing and assigned a psychiatrist. So, instead, to test the waters, I told her about my nightmares.
“I’ve had them for as long as I can remember,” I answered, gaze falling to the carpeted floor. “But I guess they got worse after everything that led to my mother leaving.”
Dr. Rosewood had been alarmed to hear the story of North Lane, but she’d done well to maintain professional curiosity and not press me for answers I was not willing to give. Though I feared if I evaded any more questions, she would give me a poor evaluation.
“I see.” Dr. Rosewood typed something briefly before returning her attention to me.
“Sometimes, after a particularly traumatic event, our brain holds onto the memories to relive them, often through dreams or nightmares. It is not uncommon to experience the same recurring nightmare or nightmares with recurring themes.”
“How do I stop it?” I asked. “I am losing sleep. I’m always exhausted. I don’t know how much longer I can continue like this.” My voice cracked. I hated how desperate I sounded.
“There is therapy,” Dr. Rosewood answered. “And there are also some medications that can assist you in having a more restful sleep.”
“I’d have to see a doctor for those, right?”
“I can refer you to a psychiatrist.”
“What? Why not a GP?”
“You may have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Augustus. A GP can give you medication for general sleep issues, but a psychiatrist will be able to prescribe you stronger medications, if necessary,” she explained.
“Will they do tests? Like scan my brain?”
“Most likely. There could be physiological causes for the nightmares and insomnia, and it is always important to rule them out.”
I suppose that made sense, but the fear of someone looking at my brain and finding the Devil was overwhelming. What if they discovered a chemical imbalance that led them to believe I had schizophrenia? This could completely alter my life.
“I don’t know…I might just get meds off a GP,” I said.
“It is your decision to make,” Dr. Rosewood said. “But I will write up the referral in case you change your mind.”
I nodded, hands fidgeting on my lap as I watched her move around her desk, type something on her computer and then print a piece of paper. She handed it to me with a soft smile. “Let me know how it goes.”
***
On my way to the library, I heard a word I hadn’t heard since high school. It was such a hateful word, one that made me pause, turning my head expecting to see Alexander hurtling it at his latest victim. It wasn’t Alexander, however, I wouldn’t have been surprised to see him.
What did surprise me, though, was who the word was directed at.
Nathaniel stood with his friends, lips turned down and his eyebrows furrowed, arms raised to placate the man who spat the word at him.
One of Nathaniel’s friends approached the man, but Nate pulled him back, mouthing 'it’s not worth it.'
The man repeated the three-letter word amidst other insults while Nathaniel’s friends dragged him away. I watched, in silence, my jaw clenched as I remembered the word being thrown at me when ‘Augustus the Gay’ became my infamous nickname.
The other man, voice slurred, stumbled away as though drunk. I didn’t care whether he was intoxicated or not, he knew better than to throw harmful words around. And for what? What could Nathaniel have done?
I followed the man, sticking to the shadows, my hands curling and uncurling at my sides. The urge to slam him to the ground, gouge out his eyes, and tear him limb from limb was so strong I had to draw in a sharp breath to wipe the grotesque imagery from my mind.
A hand on my shoulder ended my plan to confront him. I turned, slowly, and groaned at the sight of Nathaniel. His collar had been ruffled. The man had gotten physical with him, and the urge to end his life became even more powerful.
“You should punch him,” I blurted out.
“I’m not going to punch him,” Nathaniel sighed.
I shrugged and turned to follow the man. “Fine, I will.”
Nathaniel’s fingers wrapped around my wrist, holding me back. “You’re like an angry cat.”
“Excuse me?!”
“You know…when cats are angry, all claws and hisses, but they look really cute…” Nathaniel explained.
“You think I’m cute?” I asked, bewildered.
“Adorably so.” He released hold of my wrist and calmly pressed his shoulder to the tree beside him, arms folded over his chest as he studied me from head to toe, no doubt registering the dark circles under my eyes and the pale colour of my skin. “You okay?”
“What happened with that guy?” I asked instead.
Nathaniel’s small smile faded. “I met him last night while my friends and I were clubbing. We got around to talking and I thought we were having a nice time. I slipped him my number before I left but he must not have noticed it until I was already gone. And then when he saw me today…he blew up.”
I swallowed hard. “Because…you slipped him your number?”
“Guess so,” Nathaniel shrugged.
“I think you dodged a bullet there anyway,” I said. “He’s a jerk.”
Nathaniel let out a breathless chuckle. “Yeah, I think so too. Where are you headed? Do you have class?”
I shook my head.
“Want to entertain me for an hour, then?” he asked casually, though by the look in his eye, I could tell he didn’t want to be alone. “All my friends have class or are headed home. I don’t feel like studying now before my next class. Just…thought maybe I’d wander around campus or something.”
Under normal circumstances, I would have refused. I valued my alone time. But I knew Nathaniel could use the distraction, so I nodded and let him guide me through the old church grounds toward the field of grass where students liked to picnic on sunny days.
We found a small footbridge above a creek and sat down, legs swinging over the edge, our thighs brushing.
Nathaniel pulled out a cigar and offered me one. Although I’d never smoked before, I accepted, not sure what I was supposed to do with it.
“How did you know I was following that guy?” I asked once he’d lit both of our cigars.
“I turned around to make sure he was gone when I saw you,” he said.
“How did you know I wasn’t just…walking in the same direction?”
Nathaniel raised the cigar to his lips, releasing a puff of smoke before answering, “I don’t know…you looked tense.”
I coughed abruptly when I breathed in the smoke, throat and nostrils burning unpleasantly.
Nathaniel grinned, slapping me on the back to clear my airways. “First time?” he asked.
I lowered the cigar, no longer interested in smoking. “Yeah.”
“It’s a bad habit anyway,” he said, “best not to start.”
“Then why do you do it, Mr Med school?” I asked.
Nathaniel chuckled. “It’s the only thing that calms me down when I’m upset.”
A stab of guilt pierced into me. “I’m sorry for what that guy called you. It’s…an awful word.”
“Yeah, it is,” Nathaniel agreed, “but it’s okay. I’m used to it.”
“That doesn’t make it okay,” I said.
“Yeah.”
“Are you…okay?”
Nathaniel let out another breath of smoke as he nodded. “I’m fine. I just don’t want to think about it anymore.”
“What would you like to talk about instead?” I asked.
“You,” Nathaniel answered without hesitation.
I raised an eyebrow. “Me?”
“Mhm.” Nathaniel shifted his body to face me, one leg crossed while the other continued swinging off the edge of the bridge. “Tell me more about yourself.”
I chuckled nervously. “I don’t really like talking about myself.”
“Oh come on,” Nathaniel pouted. “If you tell me one thing about yourself, I’ll tell you one thing about me.”
I opened my mouth to make a sarcastic remark about how I didn’t really care to know more about him, but that was a lie. I did want to know more about Nathaniel Carrington—my rival.
“Fine,” I mumbled, “let me try and think of something to tell you.”
I must have been taking far too long, for Nathaniel leaned closer to whisper, “Would it be easier if we just asked each other questions?”
“Yeah,” I breathed out, “probably.”
“Okay,” Nathaniel grinned, “You work in a bookstore so…what’s your favourite book?”
I pinned him with a glare. “Just one?”
“Just one,” he confirmed before taking another drag.
I scowled. “Since I can only choose one, I’ll say Frankenstein by Mary Shelley.”
“Ah, I haven’t read that yet.”
“What?! It’s a classic. You must read it!”
“I will, definitely.” Nathaniel stubbed out his cigar and grinned. “Okay, okay, ask me something!”
“Why are you so excited?”
“Is that your question?”
I shook my head. “No, no, wait no!"
He laughed, dimpled cheeks glistening in the warm sunlight as I searched my brain for a question I wanted to know the answer to.
“Why Dawnridge?” I decided. “I know you…didn’t get into Oxford. But there’s Cambridge and Edinburgh…why Dawnridge?”
Nathaniel clicked his tongue. “Oh, that’s easy. I didn’t want to be too far away from my friends and family. A lot of my school friends enrolled here and it’s still a prestigious university, so I thought, why not? And I’m happy with my choice.”
“So it wasn’t out of fear that everyone at Cambridge would be smarter?” I teased.
Nathaniel gasped and poked my chest playfully. “Absolutely not! I would be at the top of every class there just as I am here!”
I grinned, feeling lightheaded from how easy it was to laugh with and tease Nathaniel. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, but everything just felt good. Easy.
We moved to the other side of the bridge, sheltering under the shade when the sun became too harsh for my pale skin.
“What’s your favourite colour?” he asked.
“Guess.”
Silence. And then, “Green!”
I didn’t have a favourite colour. But the moment he said green, his smile wide and his head thrown back, green was suddenly all I could think about.
The green of his tie, the green grass seeping through the rocks below our feet, the green vest he wore the first day I laid eyes on him. Everything was green.
“How did you know?!” I gasped playfully.
His laugh—a heavenly, euphoric sound—sent the butterflies in my stomach wild. “I was actually going to guess black,” he said, slowly turning his head to face me, gaze locking on mine, “but then I thought about the small specks of green in your eyes and I just knew.”
Heat crawled to my cheeks and I looked away, my mind screaming what the fuck while my heart did backflips and somersaults as though competing in a gymnastics competition.
Nathaniel was, quite possibly, the most beautiful human to ever walk upon this earth. And, I might add, the most infuriating. How could he say such things and then turn back around to face the water with a carefree smile while I was struggling to breathe?
I wanted to carve out his heart, bit by bit, and slice it into tiny pieces, scattering them like rose petals.
“What about you?” I cleared my throat. “What is your favourite colour?”
“Guess.”
I rolled my eyes playfully and cocked my head to the side in thought. “Yellow?”
Nathaniel pulled a face that resembled horror, disgust and offence all at once. “Yellow?! Yellow?! Why yellow?”
“Why not yellow? What have you got against yellow?”
“Do you promise not to laugh?”
I shook my head. “No.”
An elbow to the ribs was his response before he opened his mouth to speak, “When I was about eight or nine, I was painting outside with my brothers and the yellow paint I needed wouldn’t come out of the tube.
It was stuck. I really needed it, though.
So, being the clever problem solver I am, I bit down on the bottom of the tube in the hopes that it would send the paint up. Just like toothpaste.”
“Oh no,” I whispered.
“Oh yes,” Nathaniel sighed. “I bit down too hard and yellow paint splattered into my mouth. It was awful.”
I laughed. It was an unfamiliar sound, almost unnatural coming from my lips, but I couldn’t stop. “Let me get this straight…you hate the colour yellow, because you got yellow paint in your mouth?”
“Precisely.”
I laughed again, unable to help myself. “That is ridiculous.”
“Yeah, well, I’m book smart, not street smart.”
“That’s just a lack of common sense.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”
“Alright, alright, what is your favourite colour then?”
“Brown.”
“Brown?” I repeated, surprised. “Why brown?”
“It reminds me of autumn,” he said, “of cosy days reading under a tree, fallen leaves all around me.”
“And you look good in brown too,” I added, gaze falling to his brown trousers and brown coat. I had said it without thinking, and when Nathaniel whirled to look at me, I immediately looked away.
“Thank you,” he smiled.
“Is it…” I cleared my throat. “Is it almost time for your class?”
Nathaniel pulled out his phone and groaned. “Yes. Unfortunately.”
Relief and disappointment washed over me all at once. “I’ll walk you to class, then.”
“You’re not still worried about that guy, are you?” he mused as he slowly stood up.
Yes. “No.”
Nathaniel chuckled as if he sensed my lie. I rolled my eyes, swung my bag over my shoulder, and led him to his class. It was strange, but at that moment, the Devil had no influence on me at all. He remained in his cage. Nathaniel, it seemed, was the lock that kept him imprisoned.