by Mila Ferrera
Except I’m Katie’s brother.
“Katie,” I say to her. “Are you okay?” I try to get closer, but Jude pulls her away. My fists clench. “That’s my sister.”
“You locked me out,” Katie says, her eyes red.
“You took your keys,” I say slowly, calmly, not wanting the accusation in her voice to turn into screaming as it so often does. “You were holding them as you walked out the door.” You hit me with them.
“You’re lying!” She sniffles. “Dr. Lancaster is going to take me to the hospital.”
“Dr. Lancaster doesn’t exist,” I snap, my confusion wearing me thin. “I checked.”
“My last name’s Lancaster,” Jude says quietly.
My mouth drops open as the pieces slowly fall into place. Jude and Romy are classmates. Romy said she has some kind of internship where she does therapy with people, so probably Jude does the same thing. His last name is Lancaster, and he’s no doctor, but … “Katie, is this Dr. Lancaster?” I ask her, relief crashing over me.
“Yeah,” she says.
I run my hand through my hair, then pull back as I realize it’s still covered in turpentine. I chuckle. “Okay. That’s good.” I turn to Jude. “I can take her home. I just have to go inside and get my keys. You can—”
His arm tightens over her shoulders. I look back at Romy, expecting her to explain, because that’s what she does so well, but she stares at me like I have two heads. “What the hell is going on?”
Jude ignores me and turns to Katie. “Do you want me to drive you to the hospital?”
Like I’m not even here. “Jude, man, thanks for your help. But I can take her.”
He still doesn’t look up. “This is your call, Catherine,” he murmurs, calling her by her full name.
I move to Katie’s side and try to catch his eye. “What did she say to you?” I ask him. “Did she tell you where she’s been?”
He finally raises his head, and his jaw is set. “I’m not at liberty to share her private health information with you.”
I blink at him. He’s talking to me like I’m the enemy. I look at my sister.
If she’s his only source of information, of course he thinks I’m the villain.
My relief is gone now, replaced by a sickening, churning nausea. And one more look at Romy completes the entire picture. “What did you tell him, Katie?” I whisper. What have you done?
“It’s none of your business,” she snaps.
“What did you tell him?” I shout.
Romy is in front of me in a second, anger flashing in her eyes. “You’re going to scare her. He’s her therapist, and she can tell him whatever she needs to. You don’t have the right to know.”
“I don’t have the right to know what she’s saying about me?” My eyes burn. I want to punch something. Because— “And I bet Jude told you all about it, right? So you have the right to know and I don’t?”
I take a few steps back from Romy, because rage and panic and frustration are twisting together so tightly in my chest that I’m about to explode. And I can’t. I need to calm down and concentrate. I clap my hands over my face and immediately get lightheaded from the turpentine fumes. “Katie, if you need to go to the hospital, I can take you. Or if you want to go with Jude, fine. I’ll call your psychiatrist. I’ll let him know he needs to meet you there.”
“You have my insurance card,” she says.
I rip my wallet from my back pocket and fish out her card. “How are you going to keep track of it?” I don’t want to give it to her. She loses them every time. “Let me bring it to the hospital. If you’re not going to ride with me, I’ll meet you there.”
“I don’t want you there!” she screams.
“What happened, Katie? Did that guy Evan hurt you?”
She starts to sink to the sidewalk, sobbing, and Jude puts both arms around her, holding her up. I want to grab her, hug her, carry her somewhere safe, but Jude and Romy are looking at me like I’m the one who did this to her.
Gritting my teeth, I offer Jude the insurance card. “Her psychiatrist is Dr. Prihadi. She takes Wellbutrin, a hundred milligrams in the morning and at night. Risperdal one milligram in the morning. Seroquel three hundred milligrams at night. She’s only been on that one a few weeks,” I say. “She didn’t take her meds with her when she ran off. She hasn’t taken anything since yesterday morning, but I’m pretty sure she took them then.”
Jude is staring at me like I’m speaking a foreign language, and it makes me want to shove him. “Did you get that?” I ask, on the verge of shouting again. “Do you need me to write it down for you?”
“I got it,” he says, then cuts a puzzled glance at Romy. “Thanks.”
I swallow hard and keep my voice really low. “Listen, if they need to do a rape kit at the hospital, she’s going to freak out. She’ll need someone—”
“I don’t need that!” Katie shrieks. “Stop talking to him. Let’s go.”
Jude seems conflicted and scared. He looks nervously at Romy, like she’s going to save the fucking day. And I want to shake him, because he’s Katie’s lifeline now, and she needs him to be strong. Romy puts her hand on his arm, but when she speaks, it’s to my sister. “We can both take you,” she says softly. “If you want another girl around for some support.”
And though everything’s going to hell, I want to fall to my knees and thank her. Katie nods. “Okay,” she says, sounding like she’s a child.
It tears through me, that voice, ringing in my memory in a thousand different ways. “If you call and let me know what’s happening, I’ll make sure you can get into the apartment.” I clear my throat because it’s so tight that I can barely get the words out. “And if you get admitted, I’ll bring you your clothes. I know you don’t like to wear those gowns.”
For a moment, Katie’s gray eyes meet mine, and I see understanding there. She knows I love her. She knows. But she can’t forgive me.
“Let’s go, Jude,” Romy says. “She needs to get her arms looked at.”
I stand back as Romy and Jude put Katie into his car. Romy climbs in the backseat. Before she turns away, I see something etched into her expression, sadness, maybe, or anger. Or disgust. Jude starts the car, and Katie pulls on her seatbelt. Romy faces the front. She’s saying something to Jude, but I can’t read lips.
Look at me, I think as they pull away from the curb. Please look at me, Romy. Please see me.
She doesn’t.
Chapter Seventeen: Romy
I watch the nurse wheel Catherine up the hall, toward the unit. They stitched up two of the cuts on her arms, but the rest didn’t need anything more than some antiseptic and bandages. She insisted a rape kit wasn’t necessary, but she admitted she had a bad argument with her boyfriend. She cut herself after they fought, and then she didn’t know where to go because she couldn’t get into her apartment.
The apartment she shares with Caleb. Her brother.
Jude comes out of the exam room with Dr. Greer. We called him for support and he came straight to the hospital. It was such a relief to have someone here who knew what he was doing, to make sure we weren’t crashing and burning and, most importantly, making things worse for Catherine.
Jude looks like he’s about to fall over, but Dr. Greer’s eyes are on me. “Catherine is being admitted for observation,” he says. “Jude told me a little about what happened tonight. We need to talk.”
The three of us get coffee in the sad, sterile hospital cafeteria and settle ourselves at a table. I’m so wrecked that I barely know what day it is. The last few hours are just confusing images and moments. Nothing makes sense. It’s like this morning happened a hundred years ago.
“Romy, we’ve been talking about this case a lot in group supervision over the last month,” says Dr. Greer.
I nod, hoping the ripples on the surface of my coffee will hypnotize me into numbness, because everything hurts. Caleb is the abusive brother I’ve been hearing about. He’s the one. The monster.
No sense. It makes no sense.
“Jude has informed me that you have a personal relationship with Caleb McCallum. The client’s brother.”
Bile rises into my throat and I swallow hard. “Yes, though I haven’t known him long.”
“But it is an intimate relationship,” he says softly.
I glare at Jude, and he gives me an apologetic look. “I’m looking out for you.”
“Yes,” I say to Dr. Greer, sitting up a little straighter. “It was.” There’s a pang in my chest as I use the past tense. But I shouldn’t be sad. I should be relieved, right? That I discovered the truth before he turned on me?
Do you really believe he would have?
I blink as my doubts find their voice. “So what happens now?”
“We won’t be in the painting class anymore, obviously,” says Jude.
Dr. Greer tilts his head. “You’re in different positions here. Jude, you’re Catherine’s therapist, so you have responsibilities with regard to your relationship with her. You want to avoid any overlap between your personal life and your professional duties to her. So I agree that it makes sense for you to stop going to that class, since her brother is teaching it.”
“But Romy—”
“Romy isn’t Catherine’s therapist.”
I meet Dr. Greer’s steady gaze. “But I’ve been involved in those supervisions.”
“Her case cannot be discussed in those group supervisions any longer,” he replies. “Jude and I will do individual supervision.” He leans toward me. “What you have to decide is how to take care of yourself.”
I wrap my arms over my middle. Jude scoots his chair closer, once again wanting to protect me. I put my hand on his shoulder to keep him at bay. “What do you want me to do?”
Dr. Greer’s eyes linger on my hand, holding my best friend at a distance. “Jude, would you mind if I talked to Romy alone for a few minutes?”
Jude looks surprised, but then he nods. “I’ll be in the lobby.”
Dr. Greer murmurs his thanks. When Jude has disappeared into the hall, he says, “After what you experienced last year, I’m concerned about the effect this will have on you, Romy. Can I ask how Caleb treated you?”
I close my eyes as a flood of sensation washes over me. Him inside me, me holding him down. I want you to be in control of this, he whispered to me. “Well,” I say. Better than well.
“Well? He’s been described as controlling. As having a temper.”
“I’ve never seen that …” I trail off. I have seen it. “I-I mean, he was really angry and upset the other night, but he calmed down quickly.”
“He hasn’t frightened you? Tried to coerce you?”
The only thing that’s frightened me is how much I feel for him. “No. He’s been the opposite of all of that.”
His brow furrows. “I’m afraid that without all the information, I can’t give you proper guidance on this. It’s one of those tangled situations where simple ethics rules are hard to apply, so we have to do our best to cover all the bases. Clearly, you cannot be privy to any of Catherine’s case details from this point forward. You and Jude may not discuss her case privately, either, and I’ll have to trust you both on that. And if you speak with Mr. McCallum again, you should not share any of what you know about Catherine’s treatment with him. Maintain those boundaries and leave that to Jude, though professional channels.”
“I understand.”
“I will be reaching out to Mr. McCallum to offer him free therapeutic services as well. Regardless of what he’s done to his sister, we have some responsibility for his well-being, or at least to ensure that we’ve done no harm.”
I grimace as I think of Caleb’s expression as he handed Jude his sister’s insurance card. He was miserable and scared for Katie. He rattled off her prescriptions like he knew them by heart. He told her that he would bring her clothes if she got admitted. Then he let us take her and didn’t even try to stop us. Was that all an act to cover up his controlling abusiveness?
If so, he deserves a freaking Oscar.
“I’d like you to re-enter therapy as well,” Dr. Greer continues. “This can only have been triggering for you, and I’m sure you want to move on in a healthy way. I can’t tell you to suspend your participation in his classes, but I strongly recommend you do exactly that.”
My eyes are stinging. I take a sip of my coffee and pretend to be fascinated by the surface of the table. “I’ll call my therapist tomorrow morning.”
“I won’t lie, Romy. I’ve been disturbed by what I’ve heard about his behavior. Again, I don’t know everything, but you need to be careful.”
“I will,” I whisper.
He pats my arm. “Excellent. I’ll see you tomorrow in supervision, then.”
Jude parks in front of my apartment complex and sags in his seat. The crescent moon hangs like a sickle over the building. “What a night.”
“Yeah. Thanks for the ride.”
He stares through the windshield. “I’m not sure I’m cut out for this stuff, Romy.”
“What?”
“I was so scared tonight. I mean, you handled it like a champ, but I was a mess. If you hadn’t been there—”
“If I hadn’t been there, you would have managed.”
“I thought Caleb was going to hit me.”
I turn to him. “Why?”
“He looked pretty mad.”
“He was mad, Jude.” His handsome face was creased with frustration. I could see the helpless rage burning in his eyes. “But he didn’t make any threatening moves toward you. Or her. Being angry isn’t the same thing as being dangerous.”
“Are you defending him?” Jude snaps.
I unfasten my seatbelt. “I don’t know. I’m just stating facts, I think.”
He sighs. “You can really pick ‘em, girl. I’ll give you that.”
A chill passes through me. “What did you say?”
“Just stating facts, I think,” he says with a chuckle, then rubs his hand over his face. “Never mind. I’m so tired.” He turns his head. “I love you. You know that. And I can stay if you want, but—”
“I don’t need you to stay. I’m fine.” I can tell he thinks I don’t know what’s good for me, and it fills me with shame and pisses me off. But he’s had a shitty night and I’m not going to make it worse for either of us by ending it with a fight.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says. “Call if you need something?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
I get out of the car and watch him drive away, my muscles quivering with tension. My best friend thinks I’m messed up, that I have terrible taste in guys, that I’m an accident waiting to happen. My supervisor thinks I’m a traumatized victim, in need of therapy.
And … no one knows both sides of the story.
It hits me square in the chest. Everything any of us believe about Caleb is based on what Catherine has told Jude. Except … none of it jibes with my experience of Caleb himself. I’ve seen him in anguish. I’ve seen him sad. I’ve felt his tenderness and I’ve been as close to him as a person can be. I trusted him last night, and he didn’t do anything to violate that.
I owe it to him to get the full story.
My feet are in motion before I complete the thought. I march down the street toward the Academy Hills complex, pulling my jacket tight around me. I need to hear what Caleb has to say, and then I’ll decide what to do.
I tromp up the stairs of the C building and stride down the hall. I reach 224 and knock.
Nothing.
I knock again.
The door swings open. It wasn’t locked or latched properly. My palms sweating with unease, I poke my head in. Caleb is sprawled on his couch, a half empty bottle of vodka on the floor next to his dangling fingers. Oddly, an overturned can of WD-40 is lying next to it. Fear streaks through me. He wouldn’t have tried to poison himself, would he?
I rush forward, kicking the door shut and moving quickly to Caleb’s side. I brush his hair aw
ay from his face, and he moans. “Caleb, I need you to talk to me.”
His muscles tense at the sound of my voice. I say his name a few times, and one bloodshot eye cracks open. “Are you really here?”
Relief makes me sag all the way to the floor. “I’m here. What have you done to yourself?” I hold up the can of WD-40. “You didn’t drink any of this, did you?”
He snorts, and then groans and squeezes his eyes shut again. “Do you think I’m stupid?”
I glance at the vodka. “I don’t know what to think.”
“How did you get in here?”
“You left the door open.”
He’s still for a moment, then raises his head and squints toward the door. “I wanted Katie to be able to get in if she needed to.” The sadness in his voice is overwhelming.
I know I’m not supposed to give him information about Katie, but looking at him now, so worried for her … I can’t help it. Surely he deserves to know something? “She was admitted to the hospital for observation and stabilization. But physically she’s okay. She did need a few stitches, but really, all things considered, she’s in decent shape.”
He lays his forehead on the edge of the couch. “Thank you.”
I stand up and go to his kitchen. There’s a huge black spot on the ceiling above the stove, like someone’s cooking experiment went seriously wrong. I open a few cabinets, noticing plastic plates and cups, nothing made of glass, nothing ceramic. One cabinet has a lock on it. I fill a cup and take it back to the couch. I touch his back. “Do you want some water?”
With some effort, he turns over, and I sigh as I gaze at his face. So perfect it almost hurts. My fingertips touch the bruise on his cheek. “She did that, didn’t she?”
He gives me a cautious look as he takes the water from me. “She was pretty upset.”
I kneel next to him. “You don’t have to tell me tonight, but I came here because I wanted to hear what you have to say.”
He takes a sip of water. “You didn’t seem too interested earlier,” he says, slurring a little. He finishes off the water and I take the cup from him. His eyes are on mine, and in them I see both challenge and fear.