Chapter 5 #2
“And I’m not offended, so I’ll still take you to go find food. Esther gave you the official tour, right?” He rolls his eyes as he asks, showing me exactly what he thinks of the orderly from earlier.
“Why don’t you like her?” I follow him as he turns, trudging down the stairs as our steps echo in the narrow stairwell. I have no idea where we’re going, obviously. And when Cairo pushes open a door at the bottom of the steps, I’m still not sure what part of the sanitarium we’re in.
He shrugs, gesturing for me to walk through. I do, once again taking a moment to study his face while he’s busy shutting the door just enough to look closed, but not quite. When I glance down, I see a piece of something at the bottom, creating just a bit of a barrier to stop it from locking.
Interesting .
When Cairo looks up, I do too, at precisely the right time for our eyes to meet.
His dark, emerald eyes are deep set in an angular face that speaks volumes of his shrewdness.
there’s a dark glint in his gaze telling me he sees more than I’d ever know.
If I had to guess an age, I’d say he’s maybe thirty, at most. Though I definitely can’t say for sure.
I’ve never been very good at judging ages. And considering the tired lines and dark circles under his eyes, I really could be pretty off the mark.
“It isn’t personal,” he says finally, leading me down a quiet hallway.
I hear talking behind some of the doors, but he doesn’t seem particularly bothered by it.
In fact, when he turns down another hallway, it’s just in time for me to see a woman push through a set of swinging double doors ahead of us.
Judging by the smell in the hallway, it has to be the kitchen.
Or a kitchen. This place is big enough that it could easily have more than one.
For a few moments, I follow him, surprised that he’s so quiet.
When we were still with Tyler, he seemed more talkative around me, making me wonder if that was bravado or to prove a point.
Hell, maybe he really just doesn’t like me either, for all that he doesn’t know me.
He pushes into the kitchen easily, without hesitation, and when I follow behind him, it’s with hunched shoulders.
I can’t imagine we’re just allowed to be in here.
“Hi Cairo!” The woman who just went in stops cutting vegetables, and looks up at him with a wide, friendly smile.
“You missed dinner last night. Again. Should I be concerned?” She doesn’t sound like she is, though.
She just seems friendly, and belatedly her eyes fall on me.
“You’re new here.” It’s not a question, and I bite my lip at the unexpected observation.
“I’m Fern,” I greet, and I lift a hand to give her a lame little wave. “Sorry. Uh, I haven’t eaten all day and Cairo said?—”
“Oh, it’s no problem!” The woman looks to be in her mid thirties, I decide as she bustles around the kitchen.
“Any allergies?” At my head shake, she goes to the fridge and opens it, grabbing things out to put in a bowl.
Then she snags a bottle of water from it and closes the large industrial appliance with her hip before turning on me again.
“I have a few leftovers from lunch. It’s not much, and definitely not a real meal, but it should keep your stomach from protesting too much.” I’m still in shock as she hands me a tray with a wrapped sandwich, the bottle of water, and a bowl of fruit on it.
This is definitely a better meal than I manage to fix for myself about fifty percent of the time. I look up at her, my first actual smile showing for the first time today. “Thank you so much,” I tell her, meaning every word. “Maybe now my stomach won’t eat my organs.”
That gets a snort from Cairo. “You can eat in the dining hall. If that’s okay?
” Though the suggestion is for me, he addresses the question to the woman, who nods her head and waves at us dismissively.
She already seems back in her little world when she starts cutting up vegetables again and only offers me one last smile as Cairo guides me out of another door in the small kitchen.
“She’s not the only one who works in there, right?” I ask, glancing back at her as the door swings closed behind me.
“This is the staff kitchen and dining hall. I usually eat here because I like to avoid…” he trails off. “Well, everyone I guess. So yeah, she’s the only one who works in this kitchen.”
Without hesitation, he sits across from me at a small table by the window, and I can’t help gazing outside, searching the trees for whatever I swear I saw before.
But I must take too long, because Cairo taps the tray pointedly, and when I look at him, he tilts his head to give me a rather unimpressed look.
“You’re supposed to be eating, remember?” he asks me, prompting me to roll my eyes.
“Yes, Father.” I crack open the water bottle, taking a drink as I study him. For a moment, I’m not sure where he’s looking, as his eyes are on the table between us, but when it hits me, I move to draw my other hand back, suddenly self-conscious of the bandage on my palm and the stitches underneath.
“Wait.” He reaches out quickly, too quickly for me to beat, and his fingers gently encircle my wrist, careful about where he touches. “Can I ask what happened?”
“Depends,” I challenge unintentionally. My fingers flex in his grip, and I make myself meet his gaze as I set the bottle back down. With only one hand, I can’t unwrap the sandwich, so I instead pick up the plastic fork and stab a piece of strawberry. “What will you tell me if I tell you?”
“What do you want to know?” A small, grudging smile flickers over his lips, and I realize he’s the master of micro-expressions. He never seems to react strongly to anything, and if I’m not watching, I’ll miss his reactions entirely.
“Why are you here?” It’s a bold question, and not one I feel like I should be asking. But that’s the equivalent of what he’s asking me, so it feels fair.
“Oh, we’re going straight for the kill, are we?” He lets go of my hand and I unwrap the half of a sandwich, noting with relief that it’s chicken salad instead of tuna.
God, I hate tuna.
I only shrug my shoulders and pick up the sandwich, biting into it cautiously in case there’s something that will have me spewing out the contents at Cairo and ruining our little budding, temporary friendship for good.
But it’s mild, not too wet, and with a crunch I identify as celery.
All I could really ask for if I was being picky are grapes or curry, but I’m more than happy with this.
So is my stomach, more importantly, meaning that my liver and kidneys will live to see another day instead of being feasted upon in tribute.
Cairo doesn’t answer. He sits back and just looks at me, with his head tilting one way, then another.
“Fine. You don’t have to tell me. I could guess, probably.
” His eyes flicker down to my hand, making me feel more than a little self-conscious.
“But I figure you’ll get tired of rehearsing the explanation you’ll give to the therapist, anyway.
I’ll save you the trouble. How about you tell me what you think of this place so far, Fern? ”
“It’s creepy,” I reply automatically, swallowing my food.
My sandwich is gone in four bites, though I’m too tired and over this to be embarrassed by looking like a starving, feral creature in front of this gorgeous stranger.
He’s probably not available anyway, I tell myself.
And even if he is, I don’t know enough about his particular brand of fucked up to know if I’d even be able to handle that.
“There was a girl when I got here—Hattie?—who was like, staring at the ceiling and muttering weird shit. It wasn’t the best introduction to a new place I’ve ever had. ”
Now that I’ve basically swallowed the sandwich whole, like a snake that can unhinge its jaw, I find I’m not nearly as hungry.
I roll the blueberries in the bowl around, instead of actually committing to eating them.
“Do you want some?” I ask, remembering what the kitchen manager said about Cairo skipping meals.
“Nah, I’m not really a fan of fruit.” Cairo is quick to brush off my offer.
But he’s not looking at me as he says it.
Instead, he’s studying the thick-paned window, much like I did earlier.
“What did she say?” he asks, mildly, as if he’s not very interested.
I study him in return, and for the life of me, I can’t decide if he’s faking it, or he really just doesn’t care that much.
“They’re coming,” I say, repeating her words. “And uh, they’re already here. I think. She was sort of mouthing the words, so I might be wrong. But that’s what it looked like.” I watch him for any reaction to my words, but Cairo doesn’t give me anything at all to figure out his intentions.
Maybe he really just isn’t that interested, and I’m thinking too much into this. “Can I ask you something, then?”
“Not if it’s about me.” His words are plain and honest, and he gives me another one of those tiny, soft smiles. “Otherwise, sure.”
“I’m over asking about you. You know the dog? The one that was tied up to a railing outside?”
His face hardens, and he goes right back to looking out the window. “Moro…” He sighs. “Yeah, I know her. Well, I know of her. Jeremy doesn’t let anyone touch her.”
“Is she…okay? Like, I don’t know, it just seemed…” I trail off, not sure how to really say what I mean.
“You’ll work yourself into a fit worrying about things you can’t change, Fern.
” He gets to his feet suddenly, startling me.
“Sorry. I want to make sure you know how to get to your therapist’s office.
Are you done?” He glances down at my food, which I haven’t touched in the past minute or so after I managed to eat a few more bites of fruit.
“Yeah.” I get up as well, but before I can take my tray, Cairo swipes it from the table.
I follow him to the trash, hands behind me and feeling like I’m just hovering awkwardly while he tosses my garbage and sets the tray on top of the counter.
“Thank you,” I offer, just as he moves to brush past me, aloof once more.
“You don’t need to thank me.” His eyes dart back to mine, and he looks so very tired. “I haven’t done anything to be thanked for.”
“What were you feeling?” Dr. Radley’s words are kind, and said in the same tone they’ve been all session. But that doesn’t really make me any less on edge. Sunk deep in my overstuffed leather armchair that sits across from hers, I glance up at her, a little confused.
“What was I…?” My fingers trail over the bandage on my palm, though I make an effort not to pick at it or pull at the ends of the adhesive like I really do need to be kept here for the long haul. “What do you mean?”
“You were standing in the bathroom and you didn’t know you were cutting yourself with the scissors.
Are you telling me you didn’t feel the pain?
” She sits in her chair like it’s a throne, with her legs crossed and her brown hair pulled into a tight bun.
Her black glasses only add to her appearance, making her look elegant and refined even in the casual slacks and shirt she’s wearing.
I wish I knew how to look half as good.
“I guess…I felt it a little. But I couldn’t break out of it.
I was just overstimulated. Sometimes I get that way.
It’s not like I was trying to kill myself, or actually hurt myself—” I can tell my words are getting faster from my anxiety, but now that I’m rambling, there’s no cure for it.
“I just get overwhelmed,” I say, trying to come at it from a different way. “I didn’t mean to?—”
“I’m not saying you meant to,” Dr. Radley cuts in patiently.
She offers me a reassuring smile and sets down her iPad on the small table beside her.
When I look up at the clock, I notice in surprise that it’s already been close to forty minutes.
I’m basically almost done with our ‘evaluation’ meeting.
“I know things can get hard. And you don’t seem like someone looking to end your life, from what I can tell.
I agree with the seventy-two hour temporary hold, unless something changes.
I’d like to see you daily while you’re here, and also I’d like you to participate in group therapy at least once. Does that seem agreeable to you?”
I don’t really have a choice, so I nod my head a few times, grateful. “Y-yeah. Thank you. I’m sorry.” The differing reactions come out quickly, and I sit back a little, sinking slightly deeper into my trap of a chair.
“You don’t have anything to be sorry for.
If nothing changes, you can go home on Sunday’s morning bus.
” With relief, I realize that’ll technically be a few hours short of seventy-two, and while it isn’t much, it still makes me damn relieved.
I hadn’t realized until now just how terrified I’d been that she would decide to keep me here, and the assurance that I’ll get to go home instead is enough to make me want to just go limp in this chair and fall asleep.
“Thank you. I’m glad you don’t think I’m…
something I’m not.” Not knowing how to express it more than that, but Dr. Radley just offers me that same kind smile she’s offered throughout the session.
I get up when she does, though much less gracefully, and follow her to the door.
She opens it, once again causing the heavy, intricate wood and glass to creak open on its hinges, making me wince.
“Sorry about that,” she says with a sigh, grimacing at the thing. “I can’t bring myself to let them replace it. It’s original to Bluebone Ridge, and I can admit I love so many of the things that still exist up here after all this time.”
“Oh, really?” I leave, glancing at the door and the different shades of wood that make it up, plus the stained glass panels. “It really is pretty.” And heavy. And creaky. “Most stuff up here is just sort of creepy.”
“Only because you don’t understand things up here,” Dr. Radley is quick to disagree, though she doesn’t look upset. “I can promise you, Fern. That if you were to spend time actually studying the history of this place and the relevance behind it, you’d find it just as interesting as I do.”
I can’t help but disagree, but I definitely won’t say that. Instead I laugh it off, trying to sound friendly and more importantly sane , before making my escape with the intent of going to my room and taking a sixty-four hour nap.