by Sarah Noffke
“And you think this is how Zhuang gets into the Institute?”
“Yes.” Aiden grips his hair like he wants to pull it out. “And Trey won’t listen to me,” he says with a growl.
“But Bob and Steve once told me that Trey is usually right on these kinds of things because of his gift. Could he be right?”
“I don’t think so because I don’t think his intuition is guiding him here, it’s his bias toward Joseph. Zhuang will know to submerge in water to enter the Institute. If we just changed that to something he didn’t know then we could stop this whole thing.”
Aiden’s right. Instinctively I know he is. And it burns the blood in my veins to know Trey won’t listen to reason. That he’s taking it as an attack on Joseph. “Do you want me to say something?”
“No!” he says at once. “He’s too mad, he’d kill me if he knew I discussed any of this with anyone...especially you. Just...don’t even worry about it.”
All I want is to comfort him, wrap my arms around him, ease his pain, and that’s the last thing I can do.
“Really, I don’t want you to worry about this,” he repeats. “You have enough to think about.” He gives me the look visitors offer the animals who have been at the pound for too long, those animals that are no doubt lonely and bordering on insanity due to the confines they’ve been sentenced to.
“You think I’m a monster, don’t you?” I say, a searing pain spreading through my chest.
“No,” Aiden says, shaking his head furiously. “Not at all. You defended yourself and you purged this world of a disgusting person.”
“I’ve killed someone, marked my soul with their blood. It’s not like when Amber died. This time I actually performed the act that ended someone’s life.”
Aiden shuffles forward on the bed, leans headfirst, and presses his forehead against mine. It’s warm and his eyes are so close our eyelashes are almost touching. “Your soul is perfect. And if it’s even possible I love you more for what you’ve done. I love you for––”
“Please stop,” I choke out. Tears spill out of my eyes in a torrent, all of them racing to be the first to spill over my chin.
Aiden eases back, unbridled heartache in his eyes.
Pulling my hand from his, I wipe the tears away, but not faster than they are replaced by new ones. “You have to go––or otherwise Trey’s going to be even angrier with you. The longer you stay here the––”
“I don’t care, Roya,” Aiden says, wiping a tear off the side of my chin with his thumb and resting it against my jaw.
I pull back, angling my face so he’s no longer touching me. “I do,” I say, unable to look at the expression of disappointment I know he’s wearing right now. “I care what happens to you.”
“Then stop pulling away from me,” he says in a half whisper.
“No.” I lie back, pressing the side of my face into the pillow and staring as far away from Aiden as I can manage. “Trey could walk back in here at any minute. And he probably will if you don’t leave right now.”
“And he’d see me comforting the girl I––”
“And he’d have another reason to fire you,” I say, revolving my gaze to Aiden’s.
“Please stop worrying so much about me.”
“Fine, then leave so you stop giving me more to worry about.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
“Only ten sessions?” Samara says in disbelief. “I had double that when I killed Pearl.”
“Apparently you’re assigned fewer therapy sessions when you kill your arch nemesis versus a friend.” Self-consciously I rearrange my pillows, disliking so many eyes focused on me.
“I’ll remember that,” Samara says dully, her eyes working their way over to Joseph and climbing up to his face. “Joseph, I bet you were terrified when Allouette held the knife against your neck,” Samara says, her voice dripping with sympathy.
“Oh, only a little,” he says with a smile.
“Really,” I say. “Because you looked like you were about to pee in your pants.”
“And she cut you too,” Samara says, ignoring me, her fingertips touching the cut on his throat.
Beside Joseph, Trent looks a breath away from reaching out and slapping Samara’s hand.
“It didn’t hurt,” Joseph says coolly, giving Samara a long smile.
“Roya was stabbed in the shoulder, Samara,” Trent says, folding his arms. “Do you want to caress that too?”
Samara shoots Trent a dagger stare. “What’s your deal, Trent? Can’t you be a bit more sensitive about what these two have been through?” Her hand slides down Joseph’s arm and she hugs it to her. Samara once told me she had a thing for bad boys; I wish she knew that she had a thing for gay boys. Joseph has done an impeccable job of shielding that information from her.
Trent plops down on my bed, sending me bouncing slightly. Melodramatically he grabs my hand and strokes my arm. “Oh, Roya, Samara has brought to my attention how insensitive I’ve been. Please forgive me. Can I do anything for you? Paint your nails? Braid your hair? Rub your back?”
“No, no, and hell no,” I say, jerking my hand away from his with a smile. Over his shoulder I spy an amused look on George’s face. He knows the true nature of the behavior being displayed here and he looks to be enjoying the drama as much as I am. He hasn’t said a word since he arrived, has hardly made eye contact until now. We haven’t even seen each other since he broke things off. I want him to take Trent’s place so I can wrap my arms around him, but it wouldn’t be like before. It would be torture for both of us.
Joseph slips his arm from Samara’s clutches and comes to lean against my bed, giving Trent a curious look. “Hey, T, you better get off George’s girl,” Joseph says. He knows we broke things off, but he’s a master at deflecting. “He’s gonna get angry that you’re touching her.”
“I think George knows I’m harmless,” Trent says, glaring at Joseph.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, catching the uncomfortable look in George’s eye. “We aren’t together anymore.”
“I bet that now you’re all laid up needing comfort you wish you hadn’t dumped him,” Trent says.
“She didn’t dump him,” Joseph says in a gossipy tone.
Trent stands, turns, and gives George a nod. “Yep, that settles something I’ve suspected for a while. George, you’re a first class idiot.”
I busy my attention checking on the bandage around my calf, keeping my eyes low. “Well, I love all of you,” I say, faking a yawn. “That being said, would you all get the hell out of here? I need to sleep.”
“Yes, madam,” Trent says, hooking his elbow through Samara’s and pulling her away. She gives him a cold look. “Come on, girl, I’ll put dreads in your hair. I’m certain it will look dread-ful.” He laughs at his own joke.
Joseph kisses my forehead. “Sweet dreams, sis.”
“Thanks.”
Joseph slaps George on the shoulder as he passes him. He hasn’t moved, the brooding expression on his face taking up residence inside my chest.
“I’ve got something to tell you,” George says when the infirmary door closes. He’s more unshaven than I’ve seen him, his short beard flecked with tones of gold.
“I’m super tired. Can’t this wait?” I say, fidgeting with the sleeves of my periwinkle pajamas.
“I wish it could,” he says, taking three steps until he’s right beside my bed.
“Okay, well, at least sit down so I don’t have to crane my neck looking up at you. It hurts my shoulder.”
He tentatively peers at the space beside me where Trent had sat.
“You can pull up a chair if you want,” I say, hating this moment. Hating him more than he deserves. And strangely loving everything about how he looks right now.
He sighs and perches on the side of my bed, hands clasped between his legs. “Roya, all I want to do right now is be close to you, but this is just a recipe for disaster,” he says, chewing on his thumb. For some reason I’ve al
ways found his teeth attractive, maybe because I’ve grown accustomed to watching his pointy canine chew on his bottom lip. “I’ve been crazy ever since I found out what happened to you. I’ve had so many doubts.”
“George, I can’t discuss us right now. My brain is too full. My heart, too heavy.”
“This isn’t about us, it’s about me.” He stops and waits until I look directly into his eyes, a silent hopelessness in them. “I’m leaving the Institute.”
“What?” I sit up, feeling sideswiped, and seize his forearm. “Is Trey making you do this?”
He shakes his head, confused. “No.” He eyes my hand on his arm, but I don’t pull it away. “This is my choice. Why would he make me leave?”
“When we were together…” I say, the words catching in my mouth sharply.
“Yes?” he encourages.
“He’s just protective of me. Doesn’t want me to get distracted.”
“Oh.” George nods, digesting the idea easier than I would have liked. “Well, no, this is about something I’ve been thinking about for a while. I’m going to pursue a degree in psychology at Dartmouth. For some reason I think I’ll make a good therapist.”
“Oh,” I say, disappointment crashing around like a bumper car inside my body. “Yeah, you’d make a stellar therapist.” I realize my hand is still resting on his warm forearm. I slip it away but he seizes it before I’ve retreated too far.
“I’ve had my doubts, but I feel like this is the right thing to do,” he says, both of his hands holding mine, stroking my knuckles.
“How could you get into Dartmouth on such short notice? Don’t you have to apply and go through certain processes for that kind of thing?”
George releases a smile. “You should know that your father is a well-connected man. He can make things happen.”
“Yeah, he made a lot of things happen in my life.” Resentment saddling in my tone.
“It’s not like I’m ever really gone. I’m only a dream travel away.”
“I’ve been forbidden from dream traveling,” I say sullenly, pulling my hand free. Sitting all the way up I cross my legs under me, careful with my injured calf. We’re closer now.
The idea of the Institute without George in it feels wrong. He may not be mine anymore, but he’s still like an important fuse inside me. “Is there something I can do to make you stay?”
He rubs his lips together, an undeniable hope in his eyes.
Tell him you love him, my brain beseeches. Make him stay. My lips part. Mouth hangs open until my tongue is parched. “George…I…” I finally force out.
Earnest desire rings from his eyes.
“I don’t want you to leave,” I say in a rush. “I know we’re not together, but I still need you in my life. And that’s the most selfish thing I’ve ever said, but after everything I just don’t want to lose you. Your presence brings me such comfort.”
“Roya, I know you’re experiencing a lot of heightened emotions right now. More than anything in the world I want to be the one to help you through them. But I’m going to be selfish too because if I comfort you, then in the end I’ll break my own heart with possibilities that will never be fulfilled.”
“So there’s no way to change your mind?”
“Is there any way to change your heart?”
“Maybe…with time.”
“I’ll be here until Tuesday,” he says.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Sleep was not a companion to me during my stint in the infirmary. When my eyes closed Allouette’s face swam into my mind. Dozens of times her sharp cackle ripped through my head as I slipped into dreams. And the few times I successfully slept, I killed Allouette over and over again. The therapist, an older man with wiry gray hair and droopy eyelids, urged me not to run from the dreams or make them go away. But I couldn’t take the experience of feeling the knife in my hand plunge through her flesh and veins and bone and brain. So I didn’t sleep.
My room greets me oddly. It looks exactly the way it always does, with books neatly stacked in various places and the peacock headdress Bob and Steve gave me hanging unceremoniously from the lamp on the desk. The bedcovers have been changed, leaving no reminders of my blood that stained the sheets during the battle with Allouette. Somehow it feels like the room has been washed clean of that night and all its trauma. My eyes find the tablet of Bes leaning against the wall beside my bed.
“I’ve missed you, old friend,” I say to the empty room, eyes on the Egyptian god. “You’re what was absent in the infirmary.”
Sliding down on my bed, I’m suddenly sucked into the warmth that only a familiar space can provide. Somehow this room has taken on an energy. My energy. And now, feeling the comparison between it and the infirmary I can definitively say this space has a quality of home to it. Sleep, a welcomed friend, so soft and gentle, slips down on my consciousness. There are promises, as I visualize my green hill, that the dreams to come will be as mundane as sweeping a clean floor. My deprived body is instantly drawn in by the presence of sleep, yielding to its healing forces. This experience of sleep is almost melodious, lightly carrying me off like the notes of a breeze through the trees.
Knock…Knock. Knock. Knock.
“No,” I groan into my pillow.
Knock…Knock. Knock. Knock.
My calf doesn’t appreciate the roll I do to get out of bed. It will have to get over it. Sluggish as a manatee I drag myself to the door and miss the button twice before finally slamming my flat palm against it. “What!?” I growl.
The chipper look on Patrick’s face slides into one of disappointment. “Well, excuse me for living. Just thought you’d like your package, Sassy.” He pushes a small box into my hands, his mustache twitching slightly.
“I’m sorry, Patrick. I was just trying––”
“Don’t sweat it, sweetheart.” He tips his hat at me. “You’re allowed one or two of those.” He turns and whistles as he trots off.
Too tired to enjoy whatever thoughtful gift Bob and Steve have sent, I toss it on the bed and roll back onto my sheets. It takes only seconds for sleep to crash down on me, this time not gently, but more like a tsunami, quick and inescapable.
An hour and half later I’m roused by a sharp corner in my back. I roll over to find I’m lying on the small box. Although I probably could use more sleep, I’m half grateful to be awoken. It’s time I made an appearance in the main hall for dinner, since I suspect Joseph will be waiting to see me. And I hope George, since he leaves tomorrow. Groggily, I shake my hand, which is tingling with numbness since I spent most of my nap lying on it.
Feeling forty-six percent better than I did a couple of hours ago I pull the small package Patrick had given me on to my lap. The apple-sized box piques my curiosity due to its tininess. Bob and Steve usually send huge boxes which contain dozens of wonderful gifts. There’s only a small rustle when I shake the box next to my head. Pulling back the folds of the box I find a single piece of paper:
Dear Roya,
Since you can’t come to us, we decided to come to you. Surprise!
Love,
Bob and Steve
About a minute. That’s how long I stare at the piece of paper completely bewildered. Apparently I need more sleep. I read their note again, doubting my comprehension skills. On the third time through something clicks in my fuzzy brain. “Oh!” I squeal, jumping up too fast from my bed. Again my stupid calf complains. Again I ignore it and sprint for the entrance, sliding to a halt and slapping the button. When my door slides back the best surprise I could have hoped for is waiting for me. The faces of these two men can’t be a more welcome sight. Bob and Steve in the flesh. How long has it been? Since before I’d come to the Institute. Too long.
“Oh my God!” I shriek. “I’m so sorry! You’ve been out here waiting this whole time!” I throw my arms around each of their shoulders, pulling them in for a double hug. “I’m such an idiot. I’m so sorry. I fell asleep.”
Steve’s chest vibrates wi
th a chuckle. He’s smiling from one end of his face to the other when he pulls away, shaking his head. “From the sound of it, you really needed to sleep.”
“Don’t worry, honey.” Bob squeezes my arm gently and then grimaces. He eyes the bandages nervously. “I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you?”
“No, they don’t hurt really anymore. Mae’s a fantastic healer. She said she kept the bandages on to remind me to take it easy.” My voice is overflowing with a giddy excitement. “The one on my calf is being pretty stubborn though, but Mae says that’s to be expected when a large muscle is severed so deeply. You want to see it?” I joke.
“Maybe after we’ve eaten,” Bob says through a laugh that makes his face turn red.
“So you’re dealing with everything all right?” Steve says, his voice turning the conversation serious suddenly.
The show of a fake smile on my face tells more than my words. I try to make it sincere, but I know it’s laced with the trauma I can’t escape. “Yeah. Each day I feel better.”
“Oh, Roya,” Bob says, wrapping arms around me that I’ve only felt while dream traveling. They’re softer in the physical realm, even more welcoming. “No one should have to bear all that you have, but if anyone can, it’s you.” He pulls back, holding each of my arms, a tender ache in his eyes. “I hope you don’t mind, we’ve taken to calling you ‘Ms. Astonishing.’”
And just like that I become a victim to my emotions when a single tear escapes and rolls down my cheek. “I don’t mind,” I say in a croaky voice.
“We’ve had the opportunity to meet some of your friends while we waited,” Steve says, the sudden tenderness of the moment obviously making him uncomfortable.
“Who’d you chat up?” I say, pushing the tear away, hoping it won’t be followed by more.
“George,” Steve says. “He’s an awfully nice gentleman.”