Chapter 3 #2
What the hell did they have to be upset about?
With my hands clenched at my side, and my face twisted into an expression that felt as terrifying as it looked, I stalked toward them.
“What the hell was it all for? Huh? I submitted to every vile thing they did to me, all so I could avoid making an enemy of them. But now, nothing I did matters, because you decided to come here and paint a target on my back. So, no. I won’t be your witness.
I’m done submitting to other people’s desires. ”
I clenched my fists so hard that I felt my nails break through the skin of my palm.
They were already pretty scraped up from clinging to the side of the building earlier, and my entire hands were starting to hurt.
I wanted nothing more than to go to sleep and pretended this whole, stressful day never happened.
Without another word, I stormed past Clay and Logan and headed for the door leading back inside the building.
“Jordy, wait,” Logan called after me. He was smart enough not to touch me, and didn’t even try to block my path.
I could have easily ignored him, but something about the straightforward tone of his voice made me stop and listen. Logan was the one who’d brought me to the recovery center two years ago. I owed him this much, at least.
“You’re right,” Logan said, running one nervous hand through his dark hair.
“This isn’t fair to you, and I wish we didn’t need your help.
But we do. I can’t do anything about what you’ve suffered in the past, but with your help, we can at least make sure no one else has to suffer the same way in the future. ”
He was so sincere that I almost wanted to agree with him. Looking at the detective up close, I could see why Clay had fallen for the man. His presence was strong, but comforting at the same time, as if he were capable of solving all life’s problems.
But he wasn’t. That was the crux of the problem.
“You’re a detective, right?” I asked, though my question was clearly rhetorical. “I heard you were specifically put in charge of the bell ringer case. That kind of promotion must mean that you’re good at your job.”
My eyes met his only for a moment, before I had to look away again.
“So, go do your job. Solve the case on your own. I shouldn’t have to do your job for you.”
I wrenched open the door to the staircase, intending to disappear into the shelter of the building, when Logan’s hand suddenly blocked my path.
“Wait. Here. Take this.”
He held out a business card.
I blinked at it for a moment but refused to touch it.
“I’m not changing my mind.”
“I know,” he rushed to say before I could start arguing again. “But please just take this, in case you need anything. Someone’s already tried to kill you once. I’ll feel better if I know you have a way to contact us, just in case anything else happens.”
Sighing, I gave in and stuffed the card in my pocket. It was just a piece of paper and wasn’t worth fighting over.
I could always throw it away later.
Warmth washed over me as I descended the staircase. I hadn’t realized how cold I’d become out in the winter air. Feeling returned to my limbs with each step I took, and by the time I reached the main floor my blood was flowing normally again.
Unfortunately, along with the warmth came pain. My palms and fingers had been scraped bloody raw. The injury had been easy to ignore when everything was numb from the cold, but now they were starting to sting pretty badly.
Staring down at my abused hands, I debated what to do.
I could just go back to my graduation party and pretend like nothing happened. Eventually, these injuries would heal on their own, and then I could forget I’d ever seen Clay or Logan.
However, it looked like the party was already winding down. A handful of people still hung around the rec room to continue enjoying the decorations and finish off the last few pieces of cake, but the majority had already wandered off. Returning now would just feel depressing.
Not to mention, I couldn’t stand the sight of the “Congratulations” banner hanging over the door. Just seeing it made my stomach churn and stopped me from setting foot in the room.
I no longer felt so deserving of such praise.
In the end, I turned away from the remains of my party and headed to the nurse’s office. I told myself that it was just because my wounds needed treatment. The roof was an unsanitary place, and the scrapes on my hands could easily get infected if not treated right away.
But I knew it was a lie. I would have taken any excuse to avoid the remnants of my celebration.
There was always a nurse on staff at the facility. Even in the middle of the night, the lights remained on in the nurse’s office, and there was always at least one person to greet you.
So, I was surprised to find it open but empty.
Well, now what?
I stood in the empty nurse’s office, looking at the bare white cot and the multitude of locked medicine cabinets, wondering what to do next.
The nurse must have been called away for something. They would probably be back soon, since the nurse’s office was never left unmanned for long, but I didn’t want to wait. My hands were really starting to hurt.
Maybe I could find another member of staff to help me. After all, my injuries weren’t complicated. Anyone could apply some disinfectant and a bandage. Hell, I could easily do it myself, but the medical supplies were all locked up tight.
Leaving the nurse’s office behind, I looked up and down the hall for another room with a light on.
There. Not far away, the therapist’s office was brightly lit. Along with a nurse, there was almost always a therapist on shift at the facility as well. Considering the nature of the patients that stayed here, both were equally necessary.
Cradling my injured hands against my chest, I shouldered open the therapist’s door.
The first thing that met me was the familiar scent of bergamot and orange.
Candles and incense were prohibited in the recovery center for safety reasons, so instead the therapist brought a portable air-freshener with her to help provide an extra calming effect.
The scent of bergamot and orange was better than an “open” sign, letting me know the therapist was present.
My plea for help died on my lips the moment I stepped inside the room. The therapist was there, but she wasn’t alone. The girl I’d spoken to earlier sat in one of the comfortable armchairs scattered around the room, clutching her own arms as she hunched over herself.
I recognized that defensive pose. It was the same one I adopted every time I had a panic attack. Like I was trying to shield myself from the world and claw my own brain out at the same time.
“Jordy?” the therapist asked in surprise as she looked up at me from her own chair. “I thought I locked that door. Is something wrong?”
“Oh, no,” I declined automatically, before I even realized what I was saying. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were with anyone.”
“It was an emergency meeting. I’m sure you understand how stressful large gatherings can be, especially for new guests.”
After ensuring that the girl was okay, and comfortable to wait for a moment, the therapist joined me over by the door.
“Are you okay, Jordy? You look like you’ve been crying. Was the party too much for you?”
“Oh, no,” I shook my head, though I couldn’t seem to take my eyes away from the young girl practically curled up in her chair on the other side of the room. At the party, she’d been shy and nervous but otherwise fine. She’d even been brave enough to approach me on her own.
How had she gone from that to this terrified creature in such a short amount of time?
As soon as the question occurred to me, I instantly knew the answer.
I’d lived through it plenty of times myself.
One moment I’d be fine, and then someone would bump into my shoulder in just the wrong way, or say just the wrong word, and suddenly, I was thrown right back into my worst memories.
When I first arrived at the recovery center, panic attacks had been an almost daily occurrence for me.
It had taken two years to get the attacks under control, and while I hadn’t had an episode in several months, that fear wasn’t easily forgotten.
What was I doing?
The therapist needed to get back to the patient who was truly suffering, yet here I was distracting her.
“The party was fine. I, um...”
I had no idea how to explain what had happened on the roof, nor did I even want to try. I was content to pretend it never happened.
Instead, I held up my injured hands as their own explanation. “I just had a bit of an accident and wanted to get a bandage, but the nurse’s office was empty.”
Just as I’d thought, it was an easy fix. The therapist called the nurse, who showed up a minute later to treat my hands. The whole process took less than five minutes, and soon, I was bandaged up and allowed to return to my room.
Well, it wouldn’t be my room much longer. This was my last night sleeping here. Tomorrow, I would take a taxi to the new apartment that was waiting for me, and start the next chapter of my life. Most of my stuff was already packed into boxes, ready for the move.
I should have been happy. Getting this far was a big achievement. Yet, all I could think about was the girl who was probably sitting in the therapist’s office right that very moment.
She would be fine. The therapists employed by the facility knew what they were doing. They’d helped me heal, and they would help her, too. Soon enough, she’d be in my position and ready to move on with her life as well.
But then what?
I was leaving tomorrow, but my room wouldn’t stay empty. Another patient would move in. Then, when they were healed and finally left, another patient would follow them.
Restless energy coursed through me. I stood by the single window in my room, tapping one of my newly bandaged fingers on the glass as I stared out at the glittering lights of San Francisco.