Chapter 16
Vero
According to my phone, I slept for fourteen hours, though that is not unusual after an episode.
Lying here, I take a second to check the inside of my head; the noise is quieter, but it’s not gone.
It’s never fully gone, but it is now turned down to a level that I think I should be okay to function, and that is enough for now.
Even though I know the three assholes who I live with will mother-hen me for the next few days.
To the outside world, our friendship may seem dysfunctional, but we all need and accept each other.
If anyone messes with me, I know the three of them have my back no matter what.
It’s unconventional, but I love them like they are my own brothers.
Though maybe not Brawley, because fucking your brother would be frowned upon, so thank fuck he isn’t mine by blood.
I sit up to find Brawley sprawled in the chair by the window, watching me as he always does when I get this way. He never leaves my side, and I hate feeling like a burden. He deserves so much better, yet he stays. For whatever illogical reason, his need for violence calms my noise.
He pushes up from the chair and comes over to the bed, takes a quick look at my head, then reaches out and runs his hand over it. “How do you feel?”
“Fine,” I say, and I mean it—mostly. I can feel the noise creeping around the edges of my mind, and a light itch lingers under my skin. Those are signs I’m not all the way back, but I know my limits and I will be fine given time.
He flashes me a look that tells me he knows I am not telling the whole truth, but he won’t call me out on it just yet. He will keep a watch on me.
“After you went to sleep, I spoke to Kayla.”
Panic claws its way inside, as after what she witnessed, I wouldn’t be surprised if she walked away.
So many people in my life say they can handle it, but they can’t.
It’s why I left home. I know my family loves me, but they just don’t know what to do with me.
My brother goes on and on about being medicated, but we tried that and I was a zombie.
I hated feeling that way, and when I came here, everything changed.
Everyone’s brain here is wired differently.
No one judges me; they all just want to help.
Though we have support in place, everyone’s looks different.
When Vesper loses it, Brawley is the only one who can approach her.
Cave, well, with him, tranquilizer darts are our best friend.
That guy would probably kill everyone and not even blink.
We occasionally question if he is kid-friendly, but even though the crazy bastard scares the life out of them, he actually loves kids and would never hurt them—I would bet my life on it.
“What did you tell her?” I ask, needing to brace myself in case he tells me she is gone for good.
“How it works, what to do and not to do. What it looks like when it is coming and passing, and she asked lots of questions.” I know that he knows the question burning inside me. “You didn’t scare her. If anything, I did by dragging you into the cage.”
I smirk at that and reach up and touch the bridge of my nose. “Still hurts, asshole. Is she still here?”
He shakes his head. “She needed to go to work, so Clay dropped her off at home. She will come and see you tomorrow.”
“Okay,” I say, trying not to sound disappointed.
“I’m going to get you something to eat. I want you to at least have something small in case this isn’t over yet.”
I nod, knowing if I argue, he will just sit on me and force me to eat. As fun as that usually is, right now I need to sort through my own head and make sure I’m strong enough for when my paper-cut princess comes back. I hate that she saw me in a moment of weakness.
He gets my food, and I eat it sitting on the bed.
Ares comes by at some point and leans in the doorway, looking at me.
I stare back, though neither of us says anything about last night, which is fine—we will get to it in time.
Clay appears behind him and nods at me from the hall and disappears again.
That is more than enough from Clay and I appreciate it.
By the time I have eaten, I feel almost like myself again, except for the itch, which I am trying really hard not to think about.
I pick up my phone, needing to send Kayla a message, maybe to thank her for what she did.
I know she is working, even if Brawley hadn’t told me.
She works the same shifts every week, and I have them memorized.
It wasn’t intentional, but when I decide someone is important to me, my brain collects every detail and locks it away safe.
I open our messages.
Vero: Are you alive?
Her response comes back fast.
Kayla: Barely. Rogue made me come in early. I have been here since four.
Vero: That is a crime. I would report her, but I don’t know who you report bar owners to. The bar police? Do they exist? I feel like they should
Kayla: How are you feeling?
I smile at my phone. She doesn’t make it a thing; she just asks, which I like.
Vero: Better. Slept all day like a very lazy cat
Kayla: You needed it. Brawley told me you sometimes sleep for a whole day afterwards
Vero: He is correct. My brain uses a lot of power. It needs to recharge
Kayla: How is your nose feeling? I don’t think it was broken, but the cut was nasty
Vero: I can barely feel it. Send me something. I’m bored and the guys are all doing their own thing
A few minutes pass, then a picture comes through.
It’s a photo of her behind the bar, her smile lighting up the screen. I really needed to see her, and the bar looks busy in the background. She seems tired, but is smiling, so my brain doesn’t spiral again the way it would if she looked like shit because of me.
I zoom in—I can’t help it. I want to see only her face. I move the frame around the image, seeing a close-up of her face, the bar behind her, the people sitting at the bar top, and the bottles stacked on the shelf.
Then my eye catches something, and I stop.
In the mirrored panel behind the bar, there is a reflection of a man.
He is sitting at the bar, and his face is turned toward her, and he is watching her.
Even through the reflective surface, I can see he is staring at her.
I zoom in further, then put my phone down on the bed.
I need to breathe and tell myself that men in bars normally look at women; she is at work and is completely fine.
My self-control is lacking, and I pick the phone back up. Zooming back in on him, I don’t like the way his eyes are focused on her. I don’t like knowing no one there will be able to help her the way I could. If I wasn’t like this, Clay would probably be there with her now.
This is all my fault.
Jumping out of bed, I don’t make the decision; rather, my body arrives at the conclusion. We need to help her—I need to help her. To make sure she is safe.
I don’t know how I reach the back door, but I am already pulling on my shoes, and as I look down at myself, I realize I’m in my orange costume with no recollection of even having changed. I could have sworn I was shirtless last night.
I grab my mask that is hanging on the hook; I might have to scare the fucker, so he never goes back. Thankfully, no one has seen me yet, and I sneak outside into the garage where my bike is kept. The key is still inside the ignition, like always—no one on the island is stealing my stuff.
The ride to the bar is a blur. I don’t fully remember leaving, or even how I got here, beyond the fact that I’m now sitting on my bike and staring at the bar. This isn’t good—I should leave, but I can’t. All I can see is his face as it looks at her.
After getting off the bike, I’m met with stares as I walk across the street.
I ignore them and focus on what I need to do, pushing through the doors to find the bar isn’t as crowded as when she sent the picture.
I scan the room and find the man in seconds; he is in the same seat and still watching her.
My vision narrows and blurs at the same time.
I cross the bar and jump onto it in one movement. The ambient noise shifts as people notice.
My paper-cut princess spins around and looks up at me and hisses, “Vero, get down.”
“In a minute,” I reply.
“Now,” she says, and holds her hand out to me.
Another bartender signals for the security guard and I laugh.
“You really think he could stop me?” I hear how it sounds coming out—the edge to my voice doesn’t sound right.
Looking at him, I see the fear in his eyes.
I am not your regular drunk he has to deal with, and he is smart enough to sense the danger.
Kayla says my name again, but by now I am skipping along the top of the bar toward the man. When I reach him, I crouch down so we are close to eye level, my elbows on my knees as I look at him. He stares back at me, and it seems as if his brain is catching up with what his eyes are seeing.
“You really think you can look at what’s mine?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, man. I think you need some help.”
Manic laughter leaves my lips. “I saw you,” I tell him. “In the glass, I zoomed in and I have very good eyes, and a very good phone. I saw what you were doing. I can’t have you looking at her like that. She is mine, and you can’t look at her like that.”
“Vero, come on, please.” Kayla’s voice rings out behind me, but this fucker has to understand, and the way he is looking at me right now tells me he doesn’t.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” I tell him, which is what I believe in the moment. “I am just trying to explain the situation, then you can leave and go home, and everything will be okay.”
He stands, but something about his movement or his size hits me wrong, and I kick him in the face. It all happens so fast; I didn’t plan it. My brain is running so fast, and my body can’t keep up. The noise is back; it’s so loud. He goes sideways, and the noise is so loud.