Bend - Bromberg K. - Страница 65

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“It’s all right. Nothing really happened. You know. Closed casket from the accident. She didn’t zombie.” I raised my arm and curled it at the wrist, making an ugly zombie face, because what better way to pretend I didn’t give a shit?

“I heard about the party after,” Karen said.

“Yeah.” I cleared my throat. “Wow. Days. It was the best sendoff I could have given her.” I felt bad scooping food into my face in front of someone who was obviously anorexic, but I was hungry. “We had a line of limos up the hill. Man, there was so much flake.”

I stopped chewing and pushed my tray away. The flake had been the problem. At that point, Deacon didn’t care that I’d had multiple partners. He cared that he didn’t know them. He cared that there had been drugs on Maundy Street, where he wanted things quiet and unimpeachable, and he cared that I’d taken them. He wouldn’t knot me until it was out of my system and then some. That week had been torture. Amanda’s death had weighed on me fully, and Deacon withheld every coping mechanism I had.

“I spent a week in the corner drooling after that,” I said as if it was a joke.

But it hadn’t been. I’d felt like the bottom was going to fall out of me until Deacon picked me up and knotted me from the ceiling. Things had changed after Amanda died. It was as if we needed each other, he and I. As if it pained him to see me take such poor care of myself. It wasn’t too long after that we decided to own each other.

“Hey,” Warren said, sitting across from me. “Rain just stopped. Creek’s flooding up to the bench.”

“There’s a creek?”

Warren and Karen glanced at each other.

She pushed her tray forward and shot a look at Mark before standing. “Let’s give Fiona a tour. Our tour.”

Warren looked me up and down, as if seeing my body through the light blue cotton uniform. “Can I trust you?”

“You can take your tour and stick it.”

“You want this tour,” Karen said. “It’s worth it. Almost as good as freedom.”

“I don’t need to prove I’m trustworthy. I ate you out in Ojai, and you”—I turned to Warren—“licked flake off my tits. That was my coke, and you never gave me shit in return but numb nipples.”

“Point taken,” Warren said as he guided me out the door.

The outside had been designed, manicured, and planted to the teeth. The verdant garden was dotted with wood benches—places to reflect on your mental sickness, eat yourself with regret, and chew on your shortcomings. Jack crouched over a bed of wildflowers, rubbing the yellow petals.

“Hey, Jack,” Warren said as he slapped the not totally unfuckable nerd so hard on the ass he nearly fell over.

“Ow!”

“Not cool, Warren,” I said, helping Jack up. “You all right?”

“I’m fine.” He glared at Warren.

I brushed Jack’s shoulders even though there was nothing there.

“Sorry, man.” Warren made a fist as if to punch Jack in the arm.

Jack flinched. I liked Warren less and less with each passing second.

“We’re checking out the holes. You coming?” Warren asked.

“Nah. I’m good.”

“Can we go?” Karen asked, walking backward toward the gardens. “I have a session in fifteen minutes.” She indicated the clock on the highest part of the common building.

Our personal effects had been taken, including watches. The clocks dotting the facility were the only way we had to keep time.

“Me too,” I said.

Warren jogged ahead of us and spread his arms. He looked handsome in the deep foliage, like a Greek god of abundance. “There are cameras everywhere.” He pointed upward.

I didn’t look directly, but with a sidelong glance, I saw the shiny glass at the crook of a tree branch.

“But there are some corners they don’t get to. Holes in their vision matrix.” Even in his silly mental ward uniform, Warren carried himself as if he was entitled to the known universe. He stood with his back to an old oak. “Like here. Hole. Right here. They might find you if they’re walking around, but the cameras can’t see shit until they prune this shit back. Follow me.” Like the docent of sneaky spaces, he pointed out three more places where a patient couldn’t be seen by the cameras.

“But they know where the holes are, too,” Karen interjected. “If they see you go out of range, and don’t see you come out, they come and check.”

“If they’re paying attention,” Warren said. “Which is a crap shoot. Let’s go to the creek.”

We walked down a winding path. I heard cars speeding somewhere past a hedge, but it didn’t sound like a major road. The sound of moving water added to the white noise, and past a line of trees, we came to a swelling creek. A chain-link fence separated us from it.

“Is that PCH?” I asked, referring to the water. I followed them along the fence to a hole cut into it.

“Not even close.” Warren pulled the cut fence open. “We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

We crept through. Karen put her journal on a fallen tree trunk and kicked off her shoes. She rolled up her pants.

“Go on, sweetheart,” Warren said as Karen stepped into the water. “I’m sitting this out.”

“Why?” I followed Karen’s lead, rolling up my pants.

“The thing with my kid brother.”

“What thing?” I put my toe in. The water was ice cold, even in the sun, and the bed was made up of small, rounded rocks.

“I waterboarded him.” He said it as if he’d helped the kid color or taught him how to play a video game. “They catch me in water, and my dad’s gonna kill me.”

“If it’s morning, they can’t see much once you’re in the water. The lenses get condensation on them, and the cameras get wet. If it’s just rained, the leaves are heavy and block the cameras.” Karen held her hands out and put her face to the sky. “I love the holes.”

“If you’re ever looking for Karen,” Warren called from the edge, “check the holes.”

There was something freeing about not being seen by the hospital staff, but with Warren’s eyes on me, I didn’t feel safe.

“What are you looking at?” I said.

“You got Chapman?”

“Yeah.”

Warren craned his neck to see the clock at the top of the common building. “Next set of sessions starts in five.”

Fuck. I hopped out of the water and got my cold feet back into my shoes.

“You know how to get back?” Karen shouted, but I was already past the chain link.

Doctor Chapman looked tired as he closed the blinds against the sun.

“Why did you stop me last time?” My feet ached from the cold water, and I was trying to hide that I was winded from the run over. “There was a good part coming up.”

“The session was over.” He glanced out the window and back at me so quickly, I might have missed it if the Adderall hadn’t made me hyper vigilant.

“Really?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because we had five minutes of small talk after that. So, you know, I kind of left thinking about what happened after. In Deacon’s car.”

“You can tell me.” He rubbed his upper lip again.

I saw his watch peek past his cuff, hanging on his wrist. He had nice wrists, angled and wide. Masculine. I narrowed my eyes, willing his cuff back so I could see more.

“I don’t want to tell you now. Your loss,” I said.

“Your parents came to visit last night. How did that go?”

I shrugged.

“Your father’s an interesting guy.”

“How so?”

“He married your mother quite young.”

I sat ramrod straight, and I felt my hand want to go up, as if fending him off. That was sacred territory. He could psychoanalyze me all he wanted, but my family was off limits. “They’re still married eight children later. I don’t see the problem.”

He said nothing. As much as I wanted to scrape his pretty little face off for it, I wanted to prove myself even more.

“You going to hypnotize me again?” I asked.

“If you found it helpful last time.”

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