by Tempi Lark
Or at least that was how it felt…
I sucked in a sharp breath between my teeth and clenched my fists. Nurse Kline had not been a part of the plan—she hadn’t even made it to the blueprint—but do you know what had? Survival. And behind the sterile white walls of Hawthorne a war raged on, and war was not without its casualties. Nurse Kline’s body was a necessary casualty to keep me marching day-in-and-day-out through the bloody trenches. I needed her.
And it was best Gambrielle knew that up front, just in case she got a wild hair up her ass and thought I was boyfriend material. No baby, uh-uh…
“Just so you know: I hurt for you.” Peering over my shoulder, I smirked at the sight of Reyes leaned against the wall, chewing on an apple. “Innocent, naïve, vulnerable—I get it. She’s like anime porn for nerds.”
“So why aren’t you trying to fuck her?”
Shooting me a stern look, Reyes’ kicked off of the wall and took his place beside me. “Because women like her don’t belong in our orbit. She belongs in some farmhouse with blue gingham curtains or something,” he paused, appearing to be in deep thought, “with the white picket fence, devoted husband, and kids that look like Gerber babies. You and I are entitled to three things.” He held up three fingers and began ticking them off, “1) a drug problem, 2) four ex-wives bleeding our bank accounts dry, and 3) a sultry mistress in the Hamptons.”
I raised a brow. “What if she gives me the drug problem?”
Reyes’s head fell back. He groaned. “Jesus, Laces—”
“If she gives me the drug problem, I am entitled to her, four ex-wives, and the mistress.” I pointed out, grinning wide. I didn’t believe for a second that Gambrielle would be the cause of my hypothetical drug problem, but it was worth saying just to see the aggravation creep across Reyes’ face. He was so serious all of the time and didn’t know when to let loose. Slapping my hand across his back, I said, “Relax. Stray isn’t even on my radar. She’s just something to play with.” The fact that she was something new went without saying.
“I know you.” Reyes said, running his hands through his hair. He gripped the ends and shot me a worried look, “Please, for the love of God, keep it in your pants.”
Hey, I’m praying for that too man, I wanted to say, but settled for a firm nod. There was no point in getting Reyes worked up over something that hadn’t even happened yet—and with the seed I’d just planted, probably wouldn’t anytime soon.
The days following my Nurse Kline confession were peculiar to say the least. It was the first time I’d ever blurted out that type of information to a stranger, and if I’m being honest with myself, it had me a little concerned. I wasn’t a blurter. No, I was the bastard shooting the go-fuck-yourself bullets at close range in the brain, and on occasion, the comedic relief. But a blurter?
I could’ve said anything else to drive Gambrielle away—like having a three inch cock or something,
I feel like it is imperative to mention, I didn’t have a three inch cock, but I knew that no sane woman would find the measurements remotely appealing, so…
The first day following the confession was difficult. Every time Gambrielle looked at me, I could feel the displeasure radiating from her body like a visceral shockwave. Her eyes burned holes through mine, her sharp nails tapped away at her desk like a knife cutting through a fresh piece of meat. Normally women—even those who knew I was a player and a grade-A douchebag—threw themselves at me. But not Gambrielle. She had gotten the hint and took my confession as gospel.
“I know we’re in a psych ward, but since we’re going to be friends, I feel the need to give you the lowdown on the men of this floor. It’ll save you a lot of time, honey, trust me.” Varla quipped to Gambrielle during lunch one afternoon . Her bright blue hair was neatly tucked behind her ears, showcasing the clown make-up she’d become notorious for. Today she’d slapped on bright shades of pink and purple. I wanted to take my napkin, lean across the table, and take a slow swipe across her small face to make a point. Stabbing her fork into a small piece of watermelon, Varla turned to Gambrielle and whispered, “The only man worth having is Thorne.”
Excuse—the-fuck-outta—me?
My fork fell to my plate with a clatter, and my lips parted slightly. I shouldn’t have been pissed off at Varla’s forwardness, but I was. What the fuck, Varla?! Even if I wasn’t worth someone’s time or effort, she should’ve upheld her loyalty and presented me as a black knight, a prince, or whatever bullshit the women fantasized over these days.
Clasping my hands together under my chin, I propped my elbows on the table and took a quick look at Reyes, who was seated on the other side of Varla. He didn’t look too pleased either, but continued to chow down on his spaghetti while shooting Varla his best fuck-me-eyes every chance he could. What a trooper…
And Thorne? He had his nose buried in a crossword puzzle, oblivious to everything going on around him.
Varla jerked her head to the left, where Reyes was seated. “He has commitment issues.” Her voice was barely audible.
Gambrielle smiled at her burger. “Too afraid to commit?” she said with a chuckle.
“No, he gets too committed.” Varla threw her head back, as did Gambrielle, and they both laughed like hyenas. And yeah, a snicker or two slipped through my own mouth because I’ll admit that shit was funny.
But then Varla’s eyes flickered to me, “Laces is the direct opposite. He doesn’t believe in commitment—and even if he did, his sketchbook wouldn’t allow it.”
My eyes briefly widened so as not to draw attention to myself. I wasn’t one to get embarrassed, but even I could feel the heat building up in my cheeks as Gambrielle slapped a hand over her mouth and snorted. Yep, I was going to kill Varla and donate her make-up supply to the nearest damn clown college!
Someone snorted. Reyes. With one kick to his shin I shut that shit down real quick. He hissed through his teeth and I sliced a hand across my throat. Shut-up asshole!
“Not that I can blame Laces, though.” Varla whispered in a hush-hush voice seconds later. “His girlfriend, Lexi—“
She didn’t even have her full name out and already the red alarms were going off in my head. “Enough, Varla!” I snapped, shoving my chair back. I rose to my feet, along with Reyes. Thorne had just found Lemons in his crossword puzzle and wasn’t abandoning it for anyone.
“Oh my God—I’m so sorry Laces!” Varla quickly jumped to her feet, “I got carried away.”
I held up my palm. “Thorne!” I snapped. The entire cafeteria was now staring at our table, including Lunch- Lady Halpert. But I didn’t give a damn. I kicked Thorne’s chair and his eyes shot to me. “Let’s go!”
“I just found Minnesota.” Thorne muttered.
“Find your balls and get up.” Reyes quipped.
Gambrielle’s eyes widened as Thorne slammed his puzzle book shut and shoved his seat back with a loud screech. Rising to his feet he saluted Varla, then Gambrielle, before stomping away with me and Reyes.
The second day of my “Gambrielle Embargo”, was equally as difficult. I had yet to make peace with Varla speaking of Lexi and was on edge. Sometimes, not often, I would speak of Lexi in therapy, but never in public. She was a part of my past life, a life that broke me, and hearing Varla dangle her name out there so freely hit a serious nerve in my black soul.
So I did what any man in my position would do.
“I need alcohol. Vodka, specifically. Lots of vodka.” I murmured to Nurse Kline before recreational therapy. She was busy filling out a release form and simply nodded from behind the nurses’ station. “Is that a yes?”
“No.” She hummed. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a tight bun with little wispy strands hanging every which way. It suited her. Peeking up from the form, she tilted her head to the left and raised a perfectly groomed brow, “What do I get in return?”
I smirked. “Me.”
“I already have you.” She cooed.
I leaned against the counter and
lowered my voice, “ANAL.” I had performed anal a few times in my life and the women loved it. It was usually reserved for special moments, like after getting a blow job for a solid hour straight. But this one time I was willing to make the sacrifice in exchange for getting shit-faced. Tit for tat.
Nurse Kline hummed her approval in a low groan. “As tempting as that is, I’m afraid you would tear me in two.” she said, pouting at me. “And Ken already takes care of that, so I’m going to have to pass. What else do you have to offer?”
Fuck.
Ken was her husband. At the start of our arrangement, he was going through a mid-life crisis, so things were pretty easy for us. She would suck me off, we’d have sex in the boiler room, and I would go down on her out of pity. The way I saw it a window had opened and opportunity was calling my name. That opportunity had served me well, at least until recently when Ken decided to get back in bed and ride his horse.
I sighed. “What do you need?”
Nurse Kline’s lips curved into a sadistic smile, one I knew all too well. Rising from her seat, she leaned over the counter until our faces were an inch apart. Her wintergreen tinged breath slammed into my lungs as her mischievous eyes held mine. “You’re friends with Evans, correct?”
I pulled back a little and studied her face. “Hmm?”
“Evans.” She mouthed, and leaned toward my ear and whispered, “The girl in the room across from you. Gambrielle Evans.”
The muscles in my back instantly went stiff. “What about her?” And what about my Vodka? I needed it, now!
With a sly grin, Nurse Kline fell back into her seat and began digging through a filing cabinet. A couple of patients strolled by, but didn’t bother stopping. Finding a manila folder buried in the back, Nurse Kline said, “I’ll be right back” and walked to Dr. Folton’s office to make a copy. She returned a few minutes later with a smug look on her face and slid the new copy across the counter. I didn’t look down.
“Aren’t you the least bit curious about what I want?” she asked coquettishly, batting her long lashes.
“I’m sure you’re going to tell me.” You always do, I thought wryly.
She flexed two fingers and I followed her to the janitor’s room ten feet away. It was humid in there, uncomfortably so, but I settled on an old table and folded my arms, waiting to hear her out.
“You know she is DA Evans' stepdaughter?”
I shrugged. And what did this have to do with my alcohol?
“He has agreed to fund a fourth floor for Hawthorne, but he won’t write the check until Evans has been transferred to Floor C.”
Floor C. The Suicide Floor. Everyone up there had given up on life and/or wanted to die. Most wore straitjackets and ate via feeding tubes. I’d never been up there, but I’d heard a few stories in passing.
“I want you to drive her crazy, do you understand?” Nurse Kline said. Her eyes surveyed my entire body from top to bottom. “I need you to get her put on Floor C. You do that and I’ll give you whatever you want.”
“But I need alcohol NOW.” I pointed out. “Getting her transferred to another floor could take months.”
“I’ll supply you with some vodka upfront.” she said.
I blinked. If it had been anyone else I wouldn’t have thought twice, and I think Nurse Kline knew it too. Flopping down in a dusty seat nearby, she smiled up at me. “I give you full permission to fuck her and do whatever you need to do in order to secure the deal.” She added, and yet I still didn’t leap. What was wrong with my dark soul? Turning away, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I’d done a lot of fucked-up things in my life, but I’d never driven anyone crazy just to do it. In the bedroom, yes, but in an asylum? Even I wasn’t that fucked-up.
When I didn’t immediately leap at Nurse Kline’s offer she cleared her throat and said, “If you don’t want to do it I could always ask Reyes or Thorne.”
“I didn’t say no.”
“You didn’t say yes, either though.” Nurse Kline innocently said. Rising to her feet, she seductively cornered me alongside the boiler and whispered into my ear, all breathy, “You’re supposed to be my crazy boy, hmm? Thorne’s my devil, the one always telling me no. Not you.”
I squeezed my eyes shut and pursed my lips. Shit.
“Don’t make me bring a fourth guy into the mix.” Nurse Kline warned. “You, Reyes, and Thorne have it easy. You guys fuck me whenever you need something, and in return I give you orgasms and whatever your heart’s desire.”
Shit…shit, shit fuck!
“I don’t…know if I can.” I slowly said, cracking my eyes. The corners of her lips quirked up. “She hates me.” She needed to know upfront the battle I would be facing with that one. Gambrielle and I couldn’t say much without stirring up an argument, and as confident as I was about my ability to seduce a woman and drive her crazy, even I questioned my level of expertise where Gambrielle was involved.
“I hated you when I first met you and look at us now.” Nurse Kline whispered, smiling up at me. “Make her fall in love with you and rip her heart out.”
“I have a tight schedule.” I mused.
“According to her chart she is a virgin.” Nurse Kline went on, just packing in on and on. “Don’t you have a thing for virgins? Or is that Reyes?”
I sighed. “How long?”
She pressed her cheek to my chest. “So is that a yes?”
Was it?
“How long?” I repeated.
“Three months, max.”
“Holy shit—”
“—It’ll fly by so quick.” Nurse Kline assured me.
Bullshit.
B-U-L-L-S-H-I-T.
Pushing her off of me I shook my head. “I don’t know what love is—you need to go to Reyes.” It killed me to pass the buck along, but I didn’t want to fail her. She was my survival at Hawthorne. I needed to keep her happy, and failure wouldn’t do me any favors in that department.
“No.” she said from behind as I reached for the door. Her words caught me off guard and I froze midway. “I want you to do it. Reyes would take it too personally,” she paused, “and Thorne would drive himself crazy in the process. You’re the only one I can count on to keep it purely professional.”
Eleven
Gambrielle
I had been at Hawthorne for less than a week when the rumors started. Varla said it came with the territory, that everyone at Hawthorne had their day to endure their walk of shame. “It’s a rite of passage.” She had explained during lunch. “Just keep your head down and pay no attention to what they say.”
“I can’t believe she lied.”
“I can. Look at her! Just another pissed-off southern belle who didn’t get what she wanted.”
“No.”
“Uh-yesss. I did my research yesterday during rec therapy. The big three—National Enquirer, The Sun, The Times—all have eyewitness accounts that say Evans lost it after her step-daddy wouldn’t pay for a super slutty dress.”
Oh now that is not true!
I would never.
The only time I had ever gotten upset about anything materialistic was at junior prom; the dress—a tight, sparkly number—had ripped going down the spiral staircase of our five bedroom estate. I had become upset, but in the end held it together and fixed the situation with safety pins.
Pursing my lips, I slumped down in my desk and glared at the gossip patrol in front of me. Both were hunched over their desks, whispering to the other patients in front of them. It was like watching a cyclone come together, every student was sucked in.
Miss Maroon was scribbling a few sentences on the blackboard and every few seconds would glance over her shoulder to see the commotion. The chitchat didn’t stop, even after she’d threatened to remove day points, so she gave up and ignored them.
Just like high school…
“Don’t just sit there.” I heard Laces whisper. He was seated on the right side of me, elbow propped on the desk, his black unruly hair tucked back with
his hand. This was the first time he had spoken to me in three days so I was a bit unprepared for his bluntness.
“I’m sorry, are you talking to me?” I asked in a prissy tone.
His bright blue eyes were glued to the blackboard. “Don’t be a pussy, stray.”
I scoffed. “I’m not a—”I lowered my voice, flushing, “PUSSYYY!! It’s called picking your battles.”
“Sounds like surrendering to me.” Laces murmured through the corner of his tempting lips. It amazed me that even dressed in nothing more than a black hoodie and scrub garb he still managed to pull off looking like a Greek God, and secretly I hated him for it…
“I wouldn’t expect someone like you to understand my actions.” I said, turning my attention back to Miss Maroon. She was in the middle of an animated tale involving herself, drugs, and a rollercoaster. Very heavy stuff apparently.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Laces’ voice, normally low and raw, was deeper now. More serious.
My brows shot up. Until that moment I didn’t know he possessed a serious bone in his body. I played it cool, pretending to jot down some notes as the first of several kicks came to the leg of my chair. I’d hit a nerve, clearly, and made a mental note of it for future occasions. “What does that mean?” Laces repeated; another kick. “I can keep doing this all day…”
“What is your real name?” I asked, attempting to change the subject. There wasn’t enough time to go neck deep into the conversation he was demanding us to have.
“None of your damn business,” Laces said, “and what did you mean by someone like you?”
A sweet smile spread across my lips. “Sorry, my attorney told me to never give out any information for free. Come back with an adequate form of payment and we’ll talk.”
Flipping a curly, brown strand over my shoulder, I let out a happy sigh and flipped to the next page of my journal. Laces’ sexual endeavors—COUGHS, his confession of bedding Nurse Kline—would make for an interesting entry.