by Tempi Lark
I could feel his harsh gaze on me; feel the tapping of his foot against my chair for the next ten minutes. Neither of us spoke or acknowledged each other’s presence. Typical. I didn’t know how to give an inch and he always wanted a mile.
Toward the end of group therapy the kicking abruptly stopped and I felt him lean toward me. His musky scent was lethal, practically intoxicating as he whispered, “Alright, I’ll tell you my real name. But I want to know what you meant.”
I kept my eyes zeroed in on my journal. “You first.”
A chuckle rumbled through his chest. “Hell no.”
“I can’t trust you to come through with your end of the deal.” I said demurely. Through the corner of my eye I could see his lips twitching. “What’s so funny?”
He nodded at me. “You.”
“What about me?”
“Your paranoia—it’s cute.”
Cuteeee. Flushing, I turned away.
“Yes, cute. It’s a compliment, a term of endearment?”
“I know what it is.” Putting my pencil down, I closed my notebook and propped my elbows on the desk. I was the picture perfect image of a secretary scorned, minus the hideous black scrubs. “You want to know what I meant by someone like you? Fine. You don’t see people for who they are, but rather what they can give you. People are objects to you, chess pieces for you to play with.” I gestured towards the gossip brigade a few rows forward, “At any time you could’ve stopped them from running their mouths about me, but you didn’t because it wouldn’t benefit you. And calling me cute right now? It’s nothing more than a desperate ploy to get what you want,” I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, “cute might work on the blonde bimbos you wait in line with for nightly meds, but not on me. I don’t care one iota about your bad boy demeanor and indifference toward life.”
His lips broke into a million dollar smile that damn near knocked the breath right out of me. “You’ve been checking up on me.”
“Hardly.”
“Then how would you know who I associate with during my off time?”
I held up my palm. “Oh please. It’s practically impossible not to notice your little fangirls squealing.”
“Lincoln Caster.”
“Hum?”
“You wanted to know what my real name was. It’s Lincoln Caster.” His eyes dropped to my lips and—I don’t know why but the Gods decided to forsake me then and there. There was a desire in his eyes, so possessive and fierce, like he wanted to make a four course meal out of me in group therapy. He reached forward and tucked a loose strand behind my ear; his finger brushed across my skin, sending a jolt of electricity coursing through my body. “I’m going to say this because I don’t want there to be any gray areas between us.”
Oh?
I was under his spell and sat a little taller. “Yes?”
“I don’t want anything from you but friendship.” He gestured between us, “We can keep this charade up all day, every day, or we can put away our swords and try to make the best of this hellhole.”
I was floored. “That’s the most adult thing I’ve heard come out of your mouth.” It really was.
Miss Maroon dismissed us shortly thereafter, and Laces jumped to his feet, bowing like an 1800’s servant. He offered his hand,“Milady.”
My lips twitched and as much as I didn’t want to, I smiled. “Why thank you, kind sir.” I said, accepting his gallant gesture. The same electric current attacked my skin as he helped me to my feet.
“See, now was that so hard?” Laces asked once I was standing in front of him.
Somewhat embarrassed, it took everything in me to mumble a pathetic “no”, and I could tell by the amusement swirling around in his blue orbs that he knew it too. Why the sudden change? Had my honesty gotten to him? Had he woken up and decided I was worthy of his friendship? Or maybe worthy of his bed? Maybe this was his way of trying to get in my cotton panties.
I shook the thoughts off and continued to smile as I followed him out of group therapy and into the main hallway.
We were in a psych ward, and aside from Varla, I had no one. I wasn’t exactly in a position to pass-up kindness, even if that kindness came from Laces. Out in the pristine hallway he gestured for me to follow him to a group of patients that had formed near his room. The slut brigade.
“I know you’re a country girl, stray, and you want to be civil, but in here that shit won’t fly. You’ll get pushed over.” he said over his shoulder. The group of five or so girls parted like the Red Sea as we got closer. I noticed the two girls that had been gossiping standing in the far back, closest to Laces door. Stopping in front of the group Laces clasped his hands behind his back and said, “Which of you bitches is talking shit?”
There was no introduction.
No “hi, how are you doing?”
Nothing.
His words begged for anyone to test him.
I’d stopped a foot behind and whispered, “I wasn’t asking you to help me. I was using it as an example. You don’t have to do this.”
“Oh, but I do.” Laces said, grinning back at me. He turned to face his slut brigade. None of them were owning up to anything. They all looked like scared rats ready to flee a sinking ship. “SHE IS MINE.” And it was the way he said it, all cryptic, that left me and everyone else floored. He pointed a tan finger in my direction, “You don’t touch what’s mine; you don’t speak about what’s mine. Because if you do I’ll make my sketches a reality and gut you in your sleep.”
“Hey!” I whispered with a hiss. His narrow eyes peeked over his shoulder. “I’m not yours! And don’t joke like that. We’re in a psych ward, remember? They could report us.”
Laces licked his thick lips in that way that bad boys do and chuckled. “What makes you think I was joking?”
My stomach dropped. “Huh? What if this gets around to your um—Nurse Kline! I can’t afford to lose any points.” Or my life… I wasn’t sure how involved they were, but I wasn’t willing to chance it because he wanted to be some badass.
“Don’t worry about it. Let me take care of it.” He turned back to the girls. All of their eyes were wide, their faces ghostly pale. One of the girls had tightly crossed her legs and I couldn’t help but wonder if her bodily functions down below had failed her somehow. “This is your only warning. Understand? Next time I’ll be mailing body parts to your mother.”
Hannibal Sketcher….
Journal Entry #4
If anyone’s body parts go missing I had nothing to do with it, LINCOLN CASTER is the culprit.
Varla and I are becoming fast friends. I’m not really big on make-up, but it’s fun to watch her create different designs. We share a love for country music/Taylor Swift. She gave me some tic-tacs and I’ve been taking them during morning meds. It’s pretty easy to get away with. When a nurse sees something white in your mouth they automatically assume its medication and don’t look into it.
My mother hasn’t tried to get in touch with me. No letters or phone calls.
I did receive a get well card from my attorney, Malcolm, along with an unpaid bill of $58,488 dollars…I don’t know how I’m going to come up with that money. During lunch Laces suggested setting up shop on the corner, but later in the commons room, when we were alone, he said he would see what he could do.
Star count: 6.
4 more stars and I get a weekend pass to go home!
“You’re not to see him again, cunt.” Joe’s words spit into Elizabeth’s face. “And where do you think you’re going dressed like that? Not out of this house.”
I’d hidden in the closet of her bedroom. There was a small crack from where the door hadn’t shut completely which allowed me to see what was going on. Elizabeth was sitting at the edge of her bed, legs crossed, with a black miniskirt barely covering her upper thighs. I’d warned her to leave before Joe got home, but she adamantly refused. She wanted to look her best for Jaguar. “You can’t keep me from seeing him.” she said, sounding unmoved.
“Then I’ll move in with Jaguar.”
This angered Joe even more. He grabbed her cell phone from the bed and proudly held it up for her to see. “Good luck getting ahold of him. You’ll get your phone back when you start treating me with some damn respect.”
Unlike me, Elizabeth knew no boundaries when it came to Joe. Everything he said went into one ear and out the other. Seeing Joe tuck her phone into his back pocket, she shrugged. “He’ll stop by when I don’t answer.” she said, smiling up at him. “And if you don’t let him in he’ll go over your head and claim to be doing a welfare check.”
Joe was still posturing in front of her like an ape. “Your cop better stay in his fuckin’ lane, do you hear me?” he shouted. His face was blood red and sweat had begun to accumulate on his brows. Without warning, he smacked her across the face and she cried out. He rose to his feet, muttering the same words over and over as he headed for the door, “you’re not to see him ever again!”
Elizabeth covered her red cheek with her hand and glared up at him. He was three times her size, but she held her own. Reaching under her bed she pulled out her softball bat and got into position. “You piece of shit.”
Joe stopped at the doorway. His harsh breathing sent fear ricocheting throughout my entire body as he turned to face her. I’d never seen him so upset.
The corner of Elizabeth’s lips tugged up. “I’m not weak like my mother, Joe. And if you think I am, come on over here and let’s see how weak I can be.” She snarled.
He took a step forward and she tightened her grip on the bat. For a minute I thought there was going to be serious bloodshed all over her pastel colored room.
“I’m going to beat your ass.” Joe said, as though it were everyday conversation. He stopped a foot away from her and taunted, “It’s you or Gambrielle. Someone’s going to pay for my troubles…”
Elizabeth didn’t bow. “You touch me or Gam again, and I’ll let Jaguar have you.” She threatened.
“You can’t hide behind that boyfriend forever. One day you’ll be alone and…”
Feeling a warm finger tracing over the branding on my wrist, I cracked my eyes. My scrubs were soaked in sweat and I could hear my heart pounding through my ears. It was late, far past the time for lights out, but I could still make out his lean silhouette as he released my wrist and moved toward the door.
“Laces.” I whispered.
He was halfway to the door and stilled. “Hmm?”
“I didn’t do it to myself if that’s what you’re thinking.” I said, referring to the branding.
He said nothing.
I didn’t bother offering up an explanation, nor did I ask the why’s and how’s of how he was there to begin with. I couldn’t believe it, but his presence that night was somehow comforting.
“Can you stay until I fall back asleep?”
I had expected him to say no and sling a smartass comment my way, but he surprised me that night. Sketchpad and pencil in one hand, he crawled into my bed without saying a word. Oh my God…what about your points! Stupid traitorous thoughts. Laces didn’t lay down beside me; instead he chose to lean his back against the cool wall so he could draw with his sketchpad propped up in his lap.
What kind of punishment would we get for this anyway? I briefly wondered that as I took a calming breath and closed my eyes. The warmth that radiated from his skin underneath the covers was unbelievable. Our bodies were an inch apart, but I could still feel the heat from his leg as if it was tangled in mine.
I was halfway asleep when I heard his voice whisper soft ask, “What kind of books do you read?”
“What makes you think I read?”
I could hear his pencil stop. “Your wrists.”
I yawned. “What about them?”
There was a long pause. “Scars like that make you want to escape the world.”
Too tired to air any dirty laundry, I cuddled up to my pillow and sighed. “I love Wordsworth, Shakespeare, Emily Bronte, Jane Austen…all of the oldies.” I smiled into my pillow. “You’re a fan of Emily Bronte.”
I could hear him grinning as his pencil moved across the paper in smooth strokes. “Am I?”
“Mmm. You’ve mentioned Heathcliff before.”
He barely tapped me with his foot. “Go to sleep.”
“Nuh-uh. Not until you admit it.” I teased. “I want to hear Hawthorne’s bad boy admit that he is a Bronte fan.”
Too set in his bad boy image, he refused, of course—and like the fainting spell he held over my head, I made a silent vow to hold Emily Bronte over his for the rest of eternity.
Twelve
Gambrielle
“So…I gave Reyes a blowjob last night.” Varla confessed the next morning in front of the bathroom mirror. “Don’t look at me like that. It was an even exchange. Both parties left satisfied.”
I spit my toothpaste into the sink. “I thought you said Thorne was the only guy worthy around here.”
Varla proceeded to apply some mascara to her lashes. “Worthy, yes. Blowjob, no.” She shrugged and did her left side. “My options were limited. I had to take what I could get.”
I rinsed my toothbrush and stuck it back in the travel bag the ward provided for my hygiene products. “I wouldn’t know anything about that.” I admitted, flushing. “I’ve never been on an actual date or you know…” Had sex…
Varla capped her mascara and studied me via her reflection. Her blue hair was in high pigtails and when she chuckled they lightly bounced. “I’d like to say that I’m surprised by your confession, but I’m not. Strict parents?”
I nodded. “I don’t think I actually spoke to a boy until my 5th grade project.”
Varla laughed. “Were they afraid he would impregnate you with his crayons?” She shook her head and grabbed her travel bag. “Don’t worry. You’re not missing out on anything. Most men our age don’t know how to use their equipment, and the ones that do can’t find the right hole if they had Google Maps giving them directions .”
Something I’d learned in the short time I’d known her was she could always be counted on to liven up the conversation, and that included making me feel better about my sexual inexperience.
On the way to morning meds I thought about the previous night, about waking up to an empty bed that Laces had occupied with me; his warm legs sometimes touching my own as he shifted to get comfortable. I didn’t want to like it—the friction I felt every time his body collided with mine—but it was hard to ignore. I’d never felt that sensation with anyone else. It was like my body was on fire, with nothing in sight to help extinguish the flames.
Did he tell anyone?
Was there really anything to tell? I found it odd that one of my greatest fears at Hawthorne had become my source of comfort.
Okay, don’t look at him. Pay attention to the board, I thought to myself as Miss Maroon began her daily speech about the importance of goals. I’ll bet he plays footsie with Nurse Kline every night after they have—
“Pssst.”
What’s this? I pried my eyes away from the goal list I started for the day—which included a few possible places my sister, Elizabeth, would hide her diary—and looked at Varla. Her hand was going strong on her notebook, a hint of pride crossing through her eyes as she scribbled what I could only imagine was a play-by-play of her and Reyes getting down to business in the janitor’s closet….
There was a kick on the leg of my desk. Ah, so he’s the culprit…propping my hand on my cheek, I turned to look at Laces—who was slumped down in his desk, biting the cap of his pen.
“What?” I whispered.
His lips spread into the biggest grin. “You hogged the bed.”
My heart stopped with a loud thump and all of the color drained from my face. Mayday! Mayday! Could anyone hear this?
“I don’t mind, b
ut I figured you should know in case you ever decided to buy a bed.” The cap of the pen tapped against his pearly whites almost rhythmically as his blue eyes dropped to my lips. No! Not here. A line needed to be drawn!
Blinking once, twice—I tore my eyes away from his bedroom eyes and attacked my journal with my pencil.
Another kick at the leg of my desk. I didn’t look up this time, but I could feel his body moving closer. “If we’re going to make this a regular thing, you’re going to have to shave those legs.” His smooth and seductive voice hung in the air as I flipped the page in my journal and started to write preparations for my funeral. Gambrielle Evans was a brave soul…
I felt like I was naked before a crowd of thousands of people.
What dignity I had was gone. Poof!
Another kick. Oh God…
“Please don’t.” I groaned. I was already embarrassed enough.
“Tonight’s movie night. Rec room. 8 o’clock.” There was a hint of warning in his tone. “Don’t forget to bring the entertainment with you.”
Entertainment?
Luckily, I didn’t have to wait long to figure out what he was referring to. A few minutes later, Varla tossed a note onto my desk, which explained everything for me.
ENTERTAINMENT=Your video monologue. A.K.A, clips from your trial. Nancy Grace interviews etc.
I quickly sent word back.
Why are we doing this? What’s the point?
Varla rolled her eyes, scribbled something down, and passed the note back.
Trust me, it's fun! You’ll die when you see Thorne’s! He put Simpson’s car chase to shame!
I turned to her and hissed. “I don’t have a video, Varla.” These weren’t exactly memories I wanted to rehash.
“YouTube.” Varla insisted.
I snorted. “I highly doubt anyone wants to watch the mascara running down my face.”
“I do.” Laces said from behind my shoulder, and I squeezed my eyes shut. He would…
“Think of it as initiation, okay?” Varla said in a chirpy voice. She closed her notebook and rose to her feet. “Everyone in the group has to go through this.”