Chapter 57 Georgia Blue
My mind is racing. I wonder what kind of sedative Andrew gave me, blunting my body but not my brain.
Then I think maybe it’s that my brain knows something is wrong, knows I’m not safe, so despite the drug fighting to put it to sleep, it’s wide awake, trying to work out how to get away from these awful people.
Andrew slides his hands beneath my armpits, and Evelyn holds my ankles, her skin smooth and soft against mine.
I bet she uses expensive lotion that smells like roses made by some company that’s been around for a hundred years.
The sort of scent that would smell rotten if I tried it, clearly not meant for someone like me.
Andrew heaves like I’m an enormous burden he can’t wait to unload. I want to beg him to put me down, let me go, but he holds firm. Unlike Evelyn, his hands are rough and his grip hurts.
I feel the chill when we move outside. Through my barely open eyes, I see plumes of steam coming from their mouths, the stars overhead, snow flurries in the moonlight. My head lolls to one side and I see dead leaves crunching beneath Andrew’s feet, his brown boots, his long steps.
“This way,” Evelyn says firmly. She sounds sober now, determined. She has a plan, though she’s yet to say it aloud. Share it with the class, Evelyn.
I can feel Andrew resisting. He tries to pull me in the opposite direction, and it feels like they’re pulling me apart, wrenching my body in two.
“Andy,” Evelyn says, and for a moment, I hear how she must have sounded when he was a little kid. The nickname should be a sign of affection, but her tone is exasperated, impatient, weary. I can still hear my mother calling me Flo in exactly the same tone. “This way.”
What must it have been like to be raised by Evelyn, her unblinking eyes assessing every bad grade or broken curfew? Did she and her husband therapize their son at the dinner table? Or were they too busy with their patients to notice the little boy who wanted to be a star?
The air is getting saltier now. I can feel my hair growing knotty in the breeze, having long since fallen out of the messy bun I tied it in hours ago. I was going to sing. I was going to put on such a show.
“Now what?” Andrew asks, out of breath. His hands are growing slick with sweat despite the cold. He squeezes me tighter, like he thinks he might lose his grip.
Please, I think, lose your grip.
I imagine myself running away, then remember I can’t. Besides, Evelyn’s hands are still dry, her hold firm. I should’ve guessed she’d be the strong one between the two of them.
“Now we’re going home.” Evelyn lets go suddenly, and my legs hit the ground hard.
“Just like that?” Andrew asks. He sounds impressed.
“Just like that,” Evelyn says, and I can hear her smacking her hands together, like she’s brushing away all traces of me.
Andrew sets me down. He pulls my notebook from the waistband of my jeans.
I feel their absence when they leave me, the cold snaking its way to the places where their hot hands held me so tight.