Chapter 30 – Rule
“The mall,” Bianca stated as she tried to remove a Jenga block without knocking down the tower.
She and Rule had talked about anything and everything over the past few weeks, exhausting conversation topic options.
He knew about the deaths of her grandmother and mother, her strained relationship with her father stemming from her stepmother’s dislike of her, the creep she had for a stepbrother, her dabbling with drugs, her suicide attempt, and so on and so forth.
Likewise, she knew about his religious psychosis, the bullying Ryan had subjected him to, his animal sacrifices, and his attempt on his mother and sister’s lives.
Bianca had always been an open book. As Rule began to increasingly trust her, he realized she never judged him no matter what he told her, and that eased his mind.
At one time, Rebel hadn’t judged him either, then she’d started teasing him and calling him names, further isolating him.
“Lolly’s gumbo,” Rule said when it was his turn to remove a block.
Giggling, Bianca blew toward the tower. Despite her best efforts, it remained standing.
He grinned. “Cheat.”
Mischief lit her eyes. “No, I’m just a strategist.”
With their pasts and most essential facts about one another known to each other, Bianca suggested a simple game of Jenga. Each time they successfully removed a block, they’d reveal things they missed the most outside the mental hospital.
Rule ignored the way his stomach fluttered at the sight of her smile.
They were just friends. It was a true connection, innocent on her part.
How he looked at Bianca differed from his attraction to the club girls.
That’d been superficial, based on a desire for their flesh.
He hadn’t—didn’t—respect those women. As much progress as he made, he still thought of them as desperate whores, and he doubted that’d ever change.
But with Bianca, they shared mutual respect. Nor did it hurt that he found her so very pretty. Bianca’s honey-brown eyes and olive skin reminded him of Harley. Bianca had pinned up her black curls today, allowing thick strands to frame her face.
They sat at a table in the lounge area on their floor with a rare bit of free time. He hadn’t been called in for group, nor had his tutor arrived. Freya told him to relax because he had a day off.
He’d waited for her to say Mom was visiting again, but she hadn’t and, instead, directed him to where he was now.
His cast had been off since Friday, and he’d wanted to put on a song, and dance he’d been so relieved. The idea had startled him—it had been so long since he’d wanted to even listen to secular music.
“Where have you wandered off to?”
Bianca’s voice broke into Rule’s meanderings. He smiled at her. “Just wondering at all the free time. I thought maybe my mom was visiting.” And Rebel, although he hated to admit that. They kept in contact, but he was still so ashamed of what he’d done to her. “I guess I just lucked out.”
“Probably,” Bianca said, sighing. “Although that isn’t a bad thing. I’m going to be called away for group soon.”
Then it was a very bad thing if Bianca couldn’t keep him company.
He’d never risk his and Bianca’s friendship by confessing to his crush—something his psychiatrist and Freya helped him realize—but he couldn’t help but admire her.
Maybe, if going their separate ways wasn’t inevitable, he’d speak up.
More than likely, she’d be released before him.
Though she’d remain in LA, they both knew her father wouldn’t allow her to visit.
Even though he wouldn’t leave for a while, once he did, he’d go back to Washington, so their friendship was doomed.
He frowned at the sad thought. Bianca immediately noticed and her own smile slipped away.
“What’s up?” she asked, tilting her head to the side as she often did when she had a question.
It was a cute habit, one that made the churning in his stomach all the worse.
“Just…thinking about when we get out,” he confessed, pulling another block from the tower. “I’ll miss seeing you daily.”
“Ditto, but this amazing thing called cell phones exist, so—”
“Yeah, smartass, I know,” he said, chuckling. “Texting won’t be the same, though.”
“Dude, we could do phone and video calls, too. Our friendship will be fine.”
Friendship.
It took everything in him to keep his face neutral.
Already he knew he wouldn’t be satisfied with only being friends with Bianca.
Outside those related to him, she was the coolest girl he’d ever met.
Maybe if they were older and free to travel as they pleased, he’d take balls in hand and confess.
Now, he could do nothing but content himself with being buddy-buddy with her, platonically.
As if she’d ever want more with you.
He jerked, the words stinging his brain, startling in their volume. Yanking his hair and gritting his teeth, he glanced around, wondering if Bianca saw into his head and spoke the words to him. Actually, he would’ve preferred that. He enjoyed feeling normal.
Even though Bianca hadn’t judged him when she learned his history, she wouldn’t want him—a psychotic Jesus Boy—as a romantic partner.
Maniacal laughter echoed in his head. He trembled.
Bianca’s dark brows furrowed in concern. “Are you okay, Rule? Do you need me to get someone?”
“No, I’m good,” he said, snappier than intended.
Since learning the full story, Biaca had become hyperprotective of him.
On the upside, that meant she gave shit to anyone who gave Rule shit.
On the downside, it meant she coddled him like he was a little kid, not a teenager three years from eighteen.
The first sign of trouble, and she wanted to run to get an attendant or Freya.
“Really, don’t worry about it,” he continued, calmer this time.
He drew in a deep breath and released it slowly, waiting.
Sweating. Afraid. But nothing. The voice was quiet again.
He tried to reset and return to their original conversation.
“Uh, we don’t have to worry about…about…
uh…not seeing each other any time soon,” he said, floundering for a moment, then remembering the depressing topic and forcing a smile.
Instead of returning it, she frowned and shifted.
She wore the bright yellow sundress that made her look even prettier.
Rule had noticed she didn’t have a big selection of clothes.
Every time he thought about asking Mom or Rebel to send her something, he chickened out.
He couldn’t imagine what either of the three of them would say.
Nor did he want to insult Bianca. He could always pass it off as a friendship gift and…
The frown on her face registered and he swallowed. “What?”
She dropped her gaze, then turned her head and studied the painting of a sunset over an ocean, one of several in the lounge. The green and white color scheme bored Rule. He knew the muted colors were supposed to soothe the mentally disturbed but it made him long for home—his room.
Bianca still hadn’t spoken.
“You’re scaring me,” he said. “What’s wrong?”
Squirming, Bianca finally looked at him again. “Actually, uh, my doctor says I might be released within the month.”
“Within the month?” he echoed on a whisper.
She nodded. “Yes. If I continue improving.”
Rule deflated, the news disheartening him.
Selfish prick.
No, she’s a selfish cunt.
Rule felt as if his muscles had atrophied. His body wouldn’t even respond to the taunting voices. “Oh,” was all he could say.
Biting her lip, Bianca’s shoulders slumped. “I want you to be happy for…” She swallowed and her lower lip trembled. “I don’t want to leave yet, especially to go back to…him.”
We hate her.
Rule reached across the table and grabbed Bianca’s slim hand. “Why didn’t you tell me before now?”
He tried not to feel hurt or betrayed, but he couldn’t help it.
“I’ve been meaning to, but I didn’t want to bum you out until it was set in stone.”
“That’s good news,” he said, something he recognized, even though he didn’t like it. “I’m happy for you.”
“I’m not,” she grumbled, resuming their game and taking a block out of the increasingly wobbly tower. She shuddered. “Angela is a bitch, my Dad is a strict simp, and George is a pervert. I’m still not over him stealing my panties.”
Gripping the edge of the table, Rule bit his tongue to stop himself from saying something he shouldn’t.
It didn’t stop anger and jealousy from swirling within him.
Anger, because how dare anyone make Bianca’s life difficult?
She was his ray of sunshine and deserved nothing but the best. And jealousy, because how dare anyone else have something so intimate of hers?
“Give her their heads as gift,” that voice hissed. It was unwanted; the words were not.
Dread swelled within him. He was supposed to report any incidents with his…
former friends, but he wasn’t looking forward to admitting that he was regressing again.
While he was undeniably better, his progress hadn’t been linear, unlike Bianca’s.
He’d had a handful of setbacks, and it seemed another one was on the horizon.
Dr. Patricks wanted to increase his meds because Rule told him about random incidents where his friends visited, but Father Wilkins convinced the psychiatrist to change his prescriptions.
It wasn’t working out as well. Rule realized his nightmares were returning, too.
He hated to disappoint the priest, who swore Rule could still follow in his footsteps.
His growing feelings for Bianca warred with his loyalty to Father Wilkins and the dreams Rule once had. Dr. Patricks gave him coping techniques but Father Wilkins suggested Rule meditate and pray.
Bianca picked up her Scooby Doo jacket from where she’d thrown it on the empty chair and put it on. “I don’t want to leave. And I’ll really fucking miss you. All my friends ditched me when my mom died. I was lost in grief, and they moved on.”