5. Chapter 5 #2
Together we stand before the doors, where she avoids my reflection for a few seconds before they slide open.
The inside is bathed in the same color scheme, with a floor so shiny it refracts the light onto the slight bit of bare skin between her sneakers and leggings.
Settling in, we both stare at the door, riding up in painful silence.
“Your pops told me they’re going to Michigan. Before you come for my throat, I know you’ll be fine. I’ll be around if you need anything.”
Sadie doesn’t respond, though I see her shoulders relax. Poor girl has abandonment issues like her mom—just a different kind. Nadia’s mom left her then went off and killed herself. Kace was declared dead before Sadie took her first breath. Nadia was then forced to give Sadie up for adoption.
Her uncle was the only one who came for her, and didn’t willingly leave.
It took Kace and I delivering him to Carnifex to get that deranged piece of shit to disappear.
It shouldn’t have bothered Sadie that much, but he was the only one who instantly recognized her crazy and accepted it for what it was. But, in a way, he abandoned her too.
Now, any time she knows she’s going to be alone, she spirals. Takes one extra pill to prevent going down the rabbit hole, and it never works—thus her blown pupils. She’s preparing, and already failing.
“Thank you,” she grinds out, as if showing gratitude will strip her of control.
Rather than harp on it, we step out of the elevator and head down the short hall to her apartment.
It sits on the far left. At the opposite end of the hall is another unit that mirrors hers, with three on one side of the hall, and two more on the opposite, flanking the elevator.
The building is blocky with minimal emergency routes or fire escapes.
This place, regardless of its style and luxury, wouldn’t have been my last choice, never mind my first.
The second her lease is up here, she’s moving.
“Thanks for the escort. I’m good from here.”
“I’m sure. Open the door,” I order as we come up to it, where she fumbles with her awful bundle of keys and bulky charms.
“Elias, seriously, fuck off.”
“Open. The. Door.” My voice grows sharper and less forgiving.
“Fine!” she snaps, jamming the key into its slot and wrenching it to the right. The door pops free and I push it open—sure enough, every fucking light is on.
Little Trace Adkins over here.
Resting my hand at the small of her back, I urge her forward and follow her inside. I’ve been here more than enough times to know where everything’s located, and her style of organization that gives the illusion of stability.
“Shoes off at the door.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
As I was told, I crouch and unlace my boots first, yank the tongue, then pull them off. Sadie, however, uses the toe of her shoes to drag down the heel and kicks them into the coat closet. I had to swallow a chuckle when she flung her gym bag inside before she slammed it shut and marched away.
Placing mine by the door, I walk down the entry hall that brings you to the open concept. Every corner of her kitchen and den can be viewed from anywhere you stand. The bedrooms, office, and patio are the only things separated from this space, with her bedroom at the opposite corner.
Sadie’s stare follows me when I flick off lights and switch on her smaller lamps. On top of her passengers, it’s no wonder she doesn’t sleep. All this light is keeping her brain awake. One after another, the apartment dims into something less abrasive and more soothing with a dull yellow glow.
In the kitchen, she yanks her school bag around, unpacks the contents and sets up for what she calls a cram-sesh. She doesn’t need it, woman knows that, won’t argue with her about it, though.
Before she can get ahead of herself, I join her and push everything out of reach.
“Food, study, shower, bed. That’s the order, Sunshine. Don’t deviate.”
“How in the hell do you know that?”
“My Defcon fifteen sniper rifle x-ray scope, of course.” I throw her words back at her. “Eat.”
“Why does it matter to you? Maybe I changed my routine, did you ever think of that?”
“There’s not a damn thing on this rock you can do that I won’t know of. You eat, study, then shower.”
“And I’m the psycho.” Her eyes roll.
Popping open the fridge with more force than necessary, she pulls out a single food container to heat. A delicious aroma wafts through the kitchen as it warms in the microwave and she sets up her dinner space on the island.
“What are you studying tonight?” Gathering a chair, I sit in the middle of four stools so she has an escape route if she needs it.
A joint or two protests when I settle in, which I actively ignore.
Leaning onto my elbows, the marble countertop presses against the tougher skin there as my fingers steeple in front of my mouth.
“Child and adolescent psychological development.”
“Mouthful.”
“Yeah, it’s a delicate area in life. Everyone’s affected during it—from hormonal and chemical imbalances, to respect given or taken from people a child sees as a guardian or authoritative figure.”
The microwave beeps, perforating up her explanation into more manageable chunks, but she doesn’t miss a beat—seeing her show passion for something is promising.
Without interruption, I wait for her to continue.
When I touch on her favorite topics, she gives me a full thesis and more—showing me a bit more of the woman beneath the demons.
“The professor wants us to pick a behavioral disorder and put together a literary review. I have to point out positive correlations between behavior discovery, treatment, and outcomes. Negative, too. I’m going to conclude it by mentioning the effects on individuals later in life to make sure it’s well rounded. ”
She’s eating now, her fork moving back and forth between the glass container and her mouth with each bite. Not once does she look my way. If she does it will distract her, and she refuses to let me have any sort of hold on her.
“How far in life are you thinking? New adult, middle aged, geriatric?”
“Middle age. Once a patient reaches geriatrics, the brain is already deteriorating and not as affected by adolescence.”
“Any way I can help?”
She takes a bite, shoving the food into her cheek to answer before chewing.
“Didn’t I just say geriatrics are already deteriorating? What good would you be?”
A laugh starts deep in my chest, right around my diaphragm, before it rises up and rumbles past my lips. Shaking my head, my arms cross and rest on the counter top now.
“Yeah, you can have that one. Walked into it like a blind man.”
She’s quiet, happy with herself, because she’s trying to stave off her own laugher—at least she’s smiling now. If getting a jab in brings this much light to her face, then I think I’ll manage.
Never stop smiling, Sunshine—chase away my shadows.