CHAPTER 9 #2
Brenner always made it sound like a choice: You don’t have to talk, but it might help.
As if opening up is some healing ritual, like bleeding in front of strangers makes you clean.
I sat in the metal chair, arms folded, foot tapping out a restless rhythm against the floor. The office walls decorated with endless framed certificates. Fucking show off.
The guy in front of me always wore a questionable sweater vest, pen permanently tucked behind his ear. The frame of his glasses were thick, and made his eyes look too big for his face. A name tag pinned to his chest read Dr Brenner, or as the guards called him, The Shrink.
I’d met men like him before, in social offices or during my countless trips to the hospital. Men who thought a clipboard could explain a kid like me, if you ticked the right boxes, that is.
I felt sorry for him, ending up in a place like this, trying to tease troubled thoughts out of the heads of broken kids.
“You seem closed off today, Tyler.” I leaned back further into the chair, rolling my eyes.
He paused for a moment, tilting his head to try and meet my gaze before trying again, “You’ve been here five months now, and I'm seeing a slight change in how our sessions used to go. Why is that?”
I shrugged, glancing towards his thoughtful expression. “And your sentence was extended due to fighting. Has something changed since our last session?”
My lips pressed together as I shook my head.
“And the girl?” he asked gently.
My eyes snapped to his, “What about her?” Deciding to play ignorant of his feeble attempt to get me to talk.
Pushing his glasses higher onto the bridge of his nose, he looked down at his scribbled handwriting. “Has something happened between you two that you wish to talk about?”
My eyes drift away from his as I let out a heavy breath.
“You stepped in when she was in trouble, didn’t you? Took the heat for it.”
I shrugged once again, muttering to myself, “Yeah, look where that got me.”
“You made the decision to intervene. Would you say she's important to you?”
My brows creased as I stared at a chip in the wall. He was beginning to push too deep, irritation building within me.
He continued rambling on as he flicked through my file, filled with countless documents which gave him the inside scoop on who I was. He paused for a moment before telling me how I should forgive myself and that my past shouldn’t define me.
Come off it, I wear this shit like a suit of armour. Protects me from fuckers like Danny, who I knew the moment I got out of this shit hole would be ready and waiting to ensure I continued to be ‘useful’.
He sat forward, leaning his elbows to his knees, “I think this is rooted deep within your experiences outside of these walls. You have adopted this volatile but protective role, mostly because you feel you were let down by the very people who were supposed to protect you.”
I scoffed, “Is this the part where you tell me it wasn’t my fault? Where you tell me that allowing my body to be used in ways I didn’t understand, to shielding my sister, wasn’t my fault?”
He pressed his lips together, allowing me to spill my thoughts freely.
“That it wasn’t my fault that I wanted to be swallowed by the numbness while necking the drugs I stole. Enjoying just for a moment, peace and fucking quiet. Save the speech for someone who gives a shit about what you think.”
I don’t think he really knew what to do at that point, as an awkward silence sat between us for a while before he placed his clipboard down upon the table. I couldn’t help but glance towards the page, seeing the words dissociation, emotional numbness, avoidance, and traumatic denial.
The words hit something broken, a dark place behind my ribs as I stood up from the chair, scraping the feet across the tiled floor.
“Tyler, what you’re doing right now,” Brenner continued, “Is trying to punish yourself for having been a child in an impossible position. You talk about ‘allowing’ your body to be used—like you had choices that didn’t come with consequences worse than the ones you picked.”
“Nice try, doc. Can I go now?”
He nodded, pressing his lips together in slight disappointment, “Of course. My door’s always open to you.” I walked out without another word.
Back to the yard. Back to the walls and the noise and the faces that didn’t know the whole of me. Just the edges. Misfit was sitting on the bench near the basketball court, her back to me. She didn’t look up; she was drawing patterns across her skin with a pen she’d taken from the rec room.
I had sat myself down leaning against the wall, fiddling with a small blade of grass in my fingers, when a shadow crossed my path.
“McCabe!” I didn’t answer right away, but the voice was too close to ignore.
I lifted my head, squinting against the sun. It was Grant, one of the guards, who didn’t talk much unless he had to. His voice, flat as the concrete.
“You’ve got visitation.”
I frowned, “I didn’t ask for one?”
He looked down at the clipboard, lifting the pages, “Does it matter? The girl says she’s your sister. So, move.”
“Squeeks?” I said, my tone laced with confusion.
He gave the slightest shrug, “Didn’t ask for a nickname. Just said her name’s Skylar.”
He led me through the corridors until we hit the visitation room. Fluorescents buzzed overhead, rows of plastic chairs bolted to the floor, scratched tables between them.
And there she was, nestled in the middle of other inmates.
At first, I almost didn’t recognise her.
She was taller, her face still round in the cheeks, but she seemed paler than I remembered.
Still sporting those bright green pigtails, messily put up like she did it half asleep.
But her eyes, her eyes hadn’t changed a bit, still the same warm hazel.
She stood when she saw me, her smile brightening, then hesitated in her movements, unsure if she should run or wait.
I walked over slowly, “Hey.” My voice cracking in the middle.
“Hey, yourself,” her face breaking into that cheeky smile that could get her out of anything. “You look… stacked bro.”
I scoffed, “You look… like you grew up,” she chuckled as we both sat ourselves down. She stared at me for a moment, like she was examining my features just in case I disappeared for good.
“I’ve missed you, you idiot.”
My lips pressed together as I looked at her, “Yeah, I’ve missed you too.” She reached across the table, clutching my hands in hers. They were cold and small. Still the same hands I used to hold when we tiptoed through that house, avoiding shadows.
And her nails were short, ragged, bitten down till they were raw. She must have picked up that habit from me.
“Is it bad here?” She asked quietly.
I shook my head, “Not as bad as you’d think.”
She nodded as her eyes welled up in the corners, “I’m living with a foster family now. They’re alright, I guess, Tessa makes soup like every night,” playfully rolling her eyes with a smile.
“Sounds delightful.” My eyebrow raised with a sarcastic smirk.
“You’d hate it. Too many vegetables.” We both laughed quickly and crookedly. But it was real. Then she leaned forward, “Chester’s the one who tracked me down. Showed up out of nowhere and said you’d want to know I was okay.” That name hit me like a punch to the chest. Why hadn’t he come to see me?
I nodded. “Yeah, I did wonder why I hadn’t seen you guys.”
Her eyes dropped from mine, “I’m sorry, I should have come sooner. Chesters' been pretty busy as well from the sounds of it.”
“It’s fine. I get it, not exactly Disneyland, is it?” She smiled, but I could see her fighting back her emotions. And I could also feel it, the lump forming in my throat as I looked at her.
Squeezing my hand, she looked at me, something unsaid sitting behind her eyes as her mouth dropped open.
“Everything ok?” I said, brows creasing towards her. I could see the resistance; Squeeks was never any good at keeping secrets.
“Um, yeah. Completely forgot what I was going to say.” Brushing me off with a false smile.
Time rushed by quicker than we both wanted it to, but before she left, she pulled something from her hoodie pocket—a folded piece of paper, slightly crumpled.
“I drew you something,” suddenly shy. “Just… y’know. In case you need some sunshine.”
I let out a deep breath as she wrapped her arms around me. She was my home, and I wanted desperately to follow her.
I opened it after she disappeared behind the barrier. It was a sketch of us, stick-figured, standing under a sky with a lopsided sun. But we were smiling—both of us.
Underneath, in her messy handwriting, she’d written: Don’t forget who you are.
I stared at that drawing for a long time before I tucked it into my chest pocket and headed for the door.
I’d barely made it two steps out of the visitation room when a thick hand slammed against my chest.
“Hold up McCabe.” It was the older guard, Taylor, the one with the faded knuckle tattoos and a permanent squint.
I looked up at him, confusion written on my face, “Something wrong, officer?”
He nodded at my chest pocket, “Hand it over.”
I blinked with surprise, “Hand what over?”
His eyes dropped to the front of my shirt, “You know what.” The paper. Her drawing.
“You can’t be serious?”
He crossed his arms, “No personal items without clearance. Especially from visitors. Rules are rules.”
I snapped, “It’s a picture!” his stance widened in front of me, almost in preparation for me to explode.
“A drawing. Not a shiv. You think I’m going to stab someone with a crayon sun?” his expression remained unchanged, holding out his hand palm side up.
“You think I make the rules?” he fired back, “Give it up, or you lose rec time all week.”
I swallowed hard, pressing my lips together as the anger quickly rushed through me.
“Come on,” I muttered. “She’s just a kid.”