by Tempi Lark
Zero fucks…
That was all it took to bring the inner bitch out of her.
“Enough!” She jerked once, twice, trying to break free of my hold and failed.
My fingers tightened around the already sensitive flesh and I squeezed hard, bringing her to her knees. Her lips formed the shape of an O and tears pooled into her eyes, but she didn’t scream. The bravery she had displayed before was now gone and had been replaced with true fear. Good girl. Her chest rose and fell like she had run a marathon, her bloodshot eyes crippling as I slowly leaned forward and whispered into her ear, “I’m just getting started. This is my domain. Do you understand?” She gave a quick nod, but I wasn’t satisfied. “Answer me!”
“Your domain.” She whispered, not meeting my gaze.
“That’s right. My domain. If you have a fuckin’ problem, you take it up with the king. Not the servants. Understand?”
She nodded.
In the midst of my Braveheart moment, I took a deep breath to rein myself back in and wished I had suffocated. The sweet smell of roses was back and more potent than ever, repelling off of her neck like toxic fumes. Fuck. I was too close and having a hard time finding the willpower to stay away. Squeezing my eyes shut, I cursed. Her smell truly was intoxicating.
And then, something unexpected happened: she took a fistful of my black hoodie and pulled herself up, drawing me close, her body shivering against mine as she leaned her cheek on my chest and whispered, “Help me .”
“Humm..”
“Help me, please!”
My body turned to stone. I blinked.
Okay this is not…what is happening here? My eyes darted to the empty hallway, then back to her hair which was now tickling my neck. “What are you doing?” I whispered, frowning. “Get off of me, now.” Damn vixen.
Gambrielle released my hoodie, and for a split second I thought Braveheart was back and ready to fight to the death.
Well, make a few threats and maybe slap her ass around…
But no.
Completely ignoring my demands, the bitch wrapped her arms around my back and snuggled up to the hollow of my chest. My jaw dropped. What kind of witchcraft is this? After everything I had just done, she wanted to cuddle?
“You’re warm.” She whispered into my chest. “And you smell like wintergreen and charcoal.”
“I smoke.”
“Mmmm.” She hummed approvingly.
“It’s a mixture of the charcoal I use for my sketches, and cigarettes.” I explained.
My hands had fallen to my sides and taken cover in my pants pockets—where I prayed they remained. Feeling a bit confused about the sudden change of events, I started to pull away, but she tightened her grip around my waist and mumbled something that sounded like no.
Truth be told, part of me didn’t want her to let go. There was something strangely comforting in the way the stray held my waist and rocked side to side, as though we were dancing. It was like we were in our own little world, away from everything, and all of the problems that seemed so important only moments ago, vanished.
“You’re mommy’s little bumblebee. Mommy’s little bumblebee.” Gambrielle started humming a few verses and pushed onto her tiptoes, she whispered into my ear, “help me.”
My brows furrowed. “I can’t.” I whispered, breathless.
I had no idea what she needed help with, but whatever it was, the answer would have to be no. I could barely help myself, let alone a stranger. But this feels…what is the word? Content? No. Calm? Relaxed? Peaceful? I couldn’t figure it out. It felt good though, real good, her arms holding on to me for dear life. “My mother smelled like roses.” I whispered, resting my cheek on top of her head. I closed my eyes and gave in to it. “We had a garden in the front of our house and every Sunday she would pick a few and put one in my room.”
“Smelled like roses? As in past tense?”
“Mmm. She die—”
“—Lincoln.”
My eyes flew open at the sound of his voice—I glanced over my shoulder.
Well fuck…
Thorne was standing in Gambrielle’s doorway, muscular arms crossed, and an amused look on his face. Thrown over his shoulder was a Legends hoodie, which made the moment even more awkward and confusing for me. “We took a vote.” Thorne said, smirking at Gambrielle—who was mortified and quickly released me.
Shit. I held up my hands. “I didn’t touch her.”
Thorne snorted.
“The one time I am innocent and no one is going to believe me.” I said, rolling my eyes. I put some serious distance between me and the stray. Like ten feet. It would’ve been more, but beggars couldn’t be choosers in a twelve-by-twelve room. “What’s with the hoodie?”
“We took a vote.” Thorne said again. Jerking the hoodie off of his shoulder, he threw it to Gambrielle, who dodged it, and explained, “Varla showed Rey her tits and he became a democrat.”
Noooooo! For the third time that day, my mouth dropped in pure disbelief!
No.
Her joining our group sounded good coming from Dr. Young, BEFORE she decided to become Miss Cuddles and infringe upon my oxygen.
“Thank you, but… I’m going to have to decline the offer.” Gambrielle said, holding her head up high. It shocked the hell out of me and Thorne. “I don’t need any help, okay? All I want to do is get out of here and serve my own personal justice.” Her lips drew into a thin line as the same bravery from earlier reentered her soul. Turning to me, she said, “I’m sorry about the sketch, reporting it I mean. It was out of character for me and very rude.”
It was like someone had punched me in the face. Even the way she apologized somehow managed to come off insulting.
“Personal justice? What are you going to do? Kick someone out of your country club?” As if preparing for prayer, I clasped my hands together in front of my chest and gazed up at the white ceiling. “Oh God, please don’t! Don’t take away the Stepford Wives and macaroonsssss!” I proclaimed dramatically, drawling out the s. Pointing a sharp finger at the ceiling, I continued, “Take the damn Porsche, the kids, the Hampton Estate—but you leave my fuckin’ macaroons alone! Do you hear me?”
Thorne threw his head back and laughed.
But Gambrielle didn’t, which was the intended effect. She stood, mouth agape, cheeks flushed, probably feeling like an idiot when I shifted my attention back to her. “Oh I’m sorry, was that rude?” I asked, pouting. “Oops, that was out of character for me. Normally I’m not like that.”
Laces 1, Gambrielle 0.
After that, she wasted no time rushing to the door. She extended her arm and said, in a proper tone, “As much as I’ve enjoyed this conversation, I must retire.”
“This is 2020. Not the 1700s. That shit might’ve worked in Heathcliff’s day, but not here.” I said, stepping through the doorway and into the hall. Thorne followed behind, still snickering about the macaroons.
Gambrielle performed an awkward wave that resembled more of a salute. “Nice of you to drop in. Goodnight.”
And because I was, well, an asshole, and to further drive my point home, I held out my arms and bowed like a servant, “Until next time, milady.”
“There won’t be a next time.” She seethed.
Now in the hallway I stood straight, my dark hair catching in my eyes as I flashed a cocky grin. “We’ll see about that.”
Seven
Gambrielle
Day 1
A loud bang came at my door early the next morning, drawing me out of a deep sleep.
“Rise and shine! This is your thirty minute warning! If you want a shower ladies and gents you better get up!” The man’s voice was deep, loud, and full of authority. He banged on my door two more times before unlocking it and turning the lights on, “Up! Up! Up!”
He didn’t look like the typical security guard; he was short, maybe 5’3, with a balding head that was too big for his thin body. The blue security guard uniform practically swallowed him
whole. “My name is Winston and I’ll be looking after you for the remainder of your stay,” There was a brief pause, “did you hear me, Evans? It’s time to get up and greet the day! Come on girl, let’s move, move, move!” Each move ended with a clap.
I groaned and threw my arms over my face to shield my eyes from the light. “Go away!”
“Don’t make me drag your little butt out of that bed.” Winston sounded like he was joking now, but still. After the day I’d had yesterday, I didn’t think it was too much to ask for another hour of rest.
Not that I got it anyway.
The second my eyes started to drift shut, Winston was right beside me, jerking the covers off of the bed and tossing them across the room. CLAP. “Up.” Another clap. “Up!” A third clap. “Up!”
Twenty seconds later Winston was shouting again, except this time it wasn’t directed toward me. “It’s time to get up, Laces! Morning meds in thirty, my friend!” I rolled over on my side and cracked my eyes to see Winston flipping Laces’ light switch on-and-off several times. I was dog tired and drained of any feeling in my limbs, but even I couldn’t suppress the chuckle that passed through my lips at the sound of Laces fierce battle-cry, “Get. The. Fuck. Out!”
“Are you going to get up?” Winston demanded.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“When I damn well feel like it!” Laces bellowed, pulling the covers over his head. Winston remained at the side of his bed, hands on his hips. Laces, dull and tired grumbling obscenities emerged seconds later in the form of a threat, “If you don’t leave I’m going to tell Kline you sexually assaulted me in the ear.”
“You mean rear.”
Laces uncovered his head and glared up at Winston, “No, ear. That puny thing you call a dick would be a disgrace for any asshole.”
Sweet baby Jesus…
He didn’t know when to quit—and honestly, I’m not sure he even knew how. I had to give props to Winston; he took his mental beating better than I did. Even with his manhood being savagely ripped apart, Winston still continued his duty, behaving as if nothing was amiss. I, however, had succumbed to Laces’ attack and become another one of his victims. And in doing so Laces had gotten exactly what he wanted, a submissive. Stupid.
“I’m going to be back in five minutes.” Winston warned. “And when I return your ass best be out of this bed, or else.”
That was the moment my tail got a voice of its own and forced me out of my twin bed. Scrub pants and top in one hand, beige slip-ons in the other, I rushed out of my room before Winston could finish his final room checks.
“Did you call my mom? Is she dead?” A young man wailed as I approached the nurses’ station. Nurse Davis was holding his hand and trying to give him words of encouragement, but he was having none of it. He grabbed both of Nurse Davis’ arms and pulled her close, his bloodshot eyes full of panic, “I flipped the switch eighty times like the voices said! You need to call her! What if they didn’t keep their word?”
“Peter, shhh.”
Peter’s eyes flickered to me as I passed by, “Can you call my mom?”
Must find the showers quickly! I picked up my pace as Peter let out another wail of agony. Everyone was roaming the halls like zombies—bags under their eyes, arms held straight out, guiding them to wherever they were going. The showers were strategically placed near the cafeteria; some patients chit-chatted in the showers next to me, gossiping about this week’s solitary victims, the lunch menu, and the weekly movie that was being shown in the entertainment room later today.
I spent twenty minutes scrubbing my entire body. It seemed like no matter what I did, I couldn’t get clean enough. I wanted rid of Joe, of all the scars lining my arms and legs. The soap bubbles briefly covered the scars and for a few seconds I felt normal, like how I had felt before Joe came into our lives. Happy. Then it came time for me to rinse…and a familiar dread entered my stomach as the soap bubbles washed away and the scars reappeared.
“You must behave today, remember that.” I told myself while drying off.
Today was the beginning of my quest to get out of Hawthorne—my first full day at the asylum. If I could make it through today, unscathed, then I would have nine days to go.
After I finished my shower and got dressed, I pulled out the schedule Nurse Kline had given me the previous day.
7:00 am: Morning check.
7:15 am: Line-up at nurses’ station.
7:30 am: Breakfast.
8:30 am: Community group.
9:10 am: Meet with Psychiatrist Dr. Young. (Tuesday’s & Thursday’s)
12:30 pm: Lunch
1:00 pm: Vital signs taken.
2:00 pm: Recreational therapy
4:00 pm: Visitation hour. (Sundays only)
5:00 pm: Line-up for dinner.
8:00 pm: Closure group.
9:00 pm: Night Meds.
Recreational therapy? Community Group? Closure Group? There were a lot of group activities we were required to participate in, and a tiny ounce of fear shot through me at the thought of having to endure all of the groups with Laces.
I was staring at my pale, plain reflection in the bathroom mirror, trying to towel dry my hair, when I heard her perky voice: “Gambrielle, right?”
My eyes flickered over my shoulder, to where the blue-haired pixie girl from yesterday stood a few feet away; “He’s coming for you” replayed in my mind as she took the sink beside me and let out a kind smile. “Gambrielle?”
I forced a smile and nodded. “Yes.”
She pulled out her brush and started combing her wet, blue hair; her eyes never leaving mine as she said, “I’m Varla. Varla English.”
I put my towel down. “Gambrielle Evans.” I said in a low voice.
“Oh, I know who you are.” She cocked her head toward me and whispered, “I stole Nurse Kline’s phone for a few hours and youtube’d your trial.”
My eyes fell. “Oh.” I didn’t want to sound so disappointed, but I couldn’t help it. Like everyone else in this godforsaken town, she probably thought I was a lunatic for trying to take my stepfather, the freakin’ District Attorney, down.
Turning to face me, Varla leaned her hip on the sink and sighed. She was thin, too thin, and because of that her eyes were larger than normal. “I know you’re pissed that you’re here, and you’d rather suffer in silence, BUT…we’re going to be friends.” She proudly stated.
I had just gathered my clothes in my arms and my body came to a screeching halt. “You don’t know me.” I said awkwardly.
She gave me a pointed look, “Anyone that can stand in front of Judge Wexler and tell him to kiss her ass is pretty cool in my book. Plus, Thorne said you shot Laces down last night. Extra brownie points.”
Her words shouldn’t have cheered me up, but they did. “I’m not normally like that, but he kept interrupting me.” I explained, flushing. Everyone knew Judge Wexler was a bastard.
“Maybe that’s why his wife divorced him?” Varla offered. She’d turned back around to the mirror and was in the process of contouring her cheeks. “It was either that or his toupee.”
We chuckled.
“Five minute warning!” Winston called from outside the women’s shower room. “Hurry up and get in line for meds ladies! You know the drill!”
Varla closed her compact. “OMFG—can’t even take a piss around here without the police brigade standing guard!”
“I heard that!” Winston called back.
“I meant for you to!” Varla shouted. Grabbing a black hoodie out of her bag she threw it on, the word Legends proudly displayed on her chest. She showed me the hamper to dispose of my dirty laundry, then we set off to get in the med line.
Dr. Folton hadn’t spoken of meds during our short visit the previous day, so I didn’t know what I was getting into when I took my place at the end of the line. Varla stood behind me, and as the first meds were distributed to eagerly awaiting patients, she whispered into my ear, “do you want to take the m
eds…or no?”
Bewildered that she would even hint at what she was hinting at, I slowly peered over my shoulder and whispered, “Well yeah, that’s what they want us to do. I need to get a star.” I need to go home.
Varla made a sad face. “I understand, I do, but….” She lowered her voice to barely a whisper, “those meds make you a zombie. It’s just not worth it, ya know?”
“I’ll take my chances.” I said, looking forward. If getting a pass home meant sacrificing my dignity, I would do it in a heartbeat. Joe needed his big day in court and I was going to deliver it. Amen, amen.
Laces was near the front of the line in deep conversation with two other patients, both guys. The first guy was shorter than his friends, but taut, and had lean muscles that flexed with even the slightest movement and dark, silky brown hair.
Varla nonchalantly pointed at the first guy, “That is Reyes Park.”
And the second guy was…a beast. Period.
A monster.
He was like a blonde Tarzan. Long, blonde hair hung in a ponytail down his muscular back, except for a few light strands that had been tucked behind his ear. Outside of Hawthorne one would’ve thought he was a Marine, or at the very least a police officer. He had that look of authority, the look Winston was missing.
“And the one who looks like he could take down this entire floor is Thorne Walsh.” Varla said.
The blonde Tarzan listened to his friends, but didn’t converse with them. He seemed bored by the activity he was about to partake in and had zoned off into a crack in the tile floor. Reyes, on-the-other-hand, seemed to eat up everything Laces dished out and made it a point to maintain eye contact.
The first one to take meds was Reyes. The nurse slid a tray across the nurses’ station with a small cup of water and three pills. He picked up the first pill and glanced at Varla, who casually wiggled a few fingers in his direction. He winked, then tapped his finger against the water cup, twice, before tossing the pill into his mouth.