Chapter Twelve #2
I close my eyes as Tim talks, as other people in the group talk; though their words are like white noise.
Everything sounds funny; like I’m underwater.
Heat flushes through me, and I pinch the spot between my eyes.
Black spots appear in my vision, and suddenly I feel like I’m sliding backwards, like the world is moving too fast and another memory pushes through. Just like last time…
“How much longer?” I ask, rubbing my eyes. It’s dark. The dark-haired girl beside me is asleep on the seat, and I realize Mama’s friend is sitting up front with her, and we’re in a car…
“Not much longer, baby,” the woman—Mama’s friend—says as she turns around and smiles at me. She has dark hair, too. Ruby red lips. But her eyes look different than the little girl’s. They aren’t green.
My stomach growls. “I’m hungry.”
“We’ll get you something in a bit,” Mama says, her voice wiggling too much. “After we get your new friend home.”
Friend? I don’t have any friends…
I look at the girl beside me, at her long, dark hair. Shadows fall over her as we pass the streetlights, and I think for a moment it looks like prison. Like the moon’s holding us hostage.
“You just need to be patient,” Mama’s friend says. “Good things come to those who wait patiently.”
“That’s right,” Mama says in agreement.
I grumble as I try to get comfortable in the backseat, but everything's achy and sore and every time I move the leather squeaks. This isn’t our car.
Why is Mama driving someone else’s car?
“I don’t want to wait,” I mutter as the little girl next to me shifts, her small foot kicking me in the stomach, but not hard enough to hurt. In fact, it’s oddly soft, and I find myself curling up closer to her. She smells like soap. But it’s not a bad smell.
Her eyes flutter as she looks up at me.
“What are we waiting for?” she asks sleepily.
“Go back to sleep, baby,” Mama’s friend says. “We’ll be home soon.”
The girl mumbles something I don’t understand. Something like “I thought we were home.” But that doesn’t make sense. If they were home, why did they leave?
Did we go somewhere? I can’t remember.
There’s a warmth between us, from the proximity of our bodies, and it’s strangely comforting. I close my eyes. The car is silent save for the rumble of the engine and the faint hum of the radio.
Some woman sings along to a guitar, her voice soothing and haunting at the same time. The soft guitars are like a lullaby as she smoothly serenades us.
“Thank you,” Mama’s friend says.
“You can thank me later,” Mama says, her voice low, but it doesn’t shake.
“After that bastard is locked up for good.”
“Kane?”
I blink, realizing it’s Tim.
“Yeah?”
“Do you have anything you’d like to share today?”
I shake my head. “Nope. Maybe if my head wasn’t splitting, I would though.”
Tim hums out a sound of agreement, and moves on from me, which I’m thankful for. “Maybe next time.”
“I have something to share,” Carter says, as I try to steady my breath. Remain calm.
Because there’s no way that wasn’t real. But why am I remembering this now? What triggered it? And who the hell is the little girl? I don’t remember her, but it can’t be sheer coincidence that she’s resurfaced twice now. That has to mean something.
Does it have to do with my mother’s death? With that night?
Should I call Margie? Am I having, like… a psychotic break or something?
No.
I’m pretty sure when you snap, you don’t know that you’ve snapped.
At least that’s what Margie says when I tell her I think I’m going crazy.
I try to focus on Carter’s story, but I can’t stop thinking about that little girl. Or Mama’s friend; her words that I don’t think I was supposed to hear.
You can thank me after that bastard’s locked up for good.
She had to have meant my dad. There’s no way she could be talking about anyone else, not even Jasper, even though I know now that she was plotting to leave my dad for Jasper in the first place.
Jasper never talked much about what happened between him and my mother.
I only know what I do because it’s public record.
Every time I tried to talk to him about her, he’d just tell me the conversation was over.
If I wanted to talk about my mom, I could do it in therapy.
Still. there’s something about the words, about that memory that feels important. I’m just not sure what that is.
When group ends, I don’t hesitate to get up and put my coat on. Carter approaches me.
“You sure everything’s okay?” he asks. “You were gone awhile.”
I don’t miss the look of concern on his face.
“Fine. Just… been getting these nasty headaches lately.”
It’s all I can give him right now.
“Maybe you should see a doctor about that.”
I shake my head. “I said I’m fine.” I take a heavy step forward, shoving my hands in my pockets and making a beeline for the door.
Carter catches up to me, but he doesn’t say anything. The tension between us can be felt like a living, breathing thing.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
Carter presses the button for the elevator.
“It’s okay,” he says, and the doors open.
I freeze, reality hitting me and I swear I can still see Ryder crammed in the corner, looking up at me with kiss-swollen lips and heavy-lidded eyes, his cock throbbing beneath me.
I don’t want to wait.
I tense and take a step back.
“You know what, I think I’m going to take the stairs today.”
Carter shrugs as he steps into the car.
“See you next week, then,” he says, and I force a smile, so he doesn’t worry too much. When the doors close, I let out a sigh of relief and head for the stairs.
By the time I get to my house, it’s nearing eleven thirty and I feel like shit. Mentally and physically.
I fumble with my keys, when I hear a rustling sound and tense. I’m sure it’s nothing, but I can’t help the panic I get over the dumbest things.
Thanks, trauma.
I shake off the sound as I slip my key in the lock and then I hear a soft cry.
One I’d know anywhere.
“Pumpkin, is that you?” I call out.
I watch as familiar blue eyes and orange fur round the corner, looking a little worse for wear.
I sigh as he comes up to me, circling my leg and purring up a storm.
“Pumpkin…” I scoop him up and don’t bother trying to wake Mrs. Burnside. My fingers brush something hard and metal.
“Well would you look at that,” I say. “Looks like you’re official now.”
Pumpkin meows, but it’s sad. He buries his face in my coat.
“I know,” I say. “Change is hard.”
I let us into the house and close the door, but I don’t set him down.
This is becoming a frequent problem. I’m starting to get worried, not about Pumpkin, but about Mrs. Burnside.
She’s usually better at keeping track of her cats.
I make a point to talk to her about it tomorrow.
If she needs help, I can help her, even if it’s just to make sure certain fluffy heathens don’t run wild.
I take off my coat, kick off my boots, and drop onto the couch.
The house is quiet, like it always is, but something is off.
“You’re being paranoid,” I tell myself, running a hand over my face. “Everything is fine. You’re just freaking out over nothing.”
Pumpkin curls up on the pillow next to me, flicking his tail as he gets comfortable.
I pull my phone out, glancing at the number I texted to myself. Ryder’s number.
Should I apologize? Say something? Or should I just wait until next week to see if I’ve been banned from the cafe for the foreseeable future?
I glance at Pumpkin.
“What would you do?” I ask, even though I know he doesn’t have the answer. He’s a cat.
I’m asking a fucking cat for advice.
Maybe Margie’s wrong. Maybe I am losing my mind.
I twist my lips as I stare at the number. It’s almost midnight.
I look back at Pumpkin. “You’re right. It’s late.”
Pumpkin yawns, exposing all his tiny teeth and then starts promptly licking himself. On my pillow.
I roll my eyes. “I guess I could take a shower. Probably not a bad idea.”
Pumpkin keeps licking away, ignoring me, so I get up and do just that.
It doesn’t take me long to get the water turned to the right temperature, and soon enough the bathroom is billowing with steam. I slowly remove my clothes, stepping into the spray.
The minute the hot water hits me, I feel like a spool of thread unraveling.
“Fuck,” I muter as I brace one hand against the tile. I hang my head, letting the hot water run through my hair, down my face.
I close my eyes and let out a low breath.
My mind races; fractured memories spliced with sapphires. I look up, catching my reflection in the shimmering tile and for a moment I swear, it’s almost like I can see Ryder in the reflection, same as I could in those steel walls.
My mind wanders to earlier; to what happened in that elevator, and my body responds of its own accord.
I shouldn’t do this to myself. I really shouldn’t. And if anything, I shouldn’t do it to Ryder.
I told him to wait, so what kind of hypocrite would I be if I didn’t lead by example?