“Thanks, Mom,” I whispered. I couldn’t go in there now!
I groaned as my limbs became numb and my mouth went dust dry.
She said the name. How could she have said the name? We’ve talked about this!
Somehow, I managed to call the school and leave a message saying that I’d gotten sick over the morning and wouldn’t be able to make it for my next class. As I hung up, I saw students hurrying across campus.
Quickly, so no one would see me, I ran around to the back of the building—and caught Sam North taking the last drag off a cigarette before he crushed it into a small steel container.
“Hey, Jolie!” he said brightly.
I promptly dropped to my knees and puked up the yogurt and diet soda I’d had for my lunch.
It was too much! I couldn’t turn it off now! The screams were getting louder and the fire was burning hotter. I felt as if my entire body shook in a frenzy. I went into my brain’s auto-mantra … Do whatever it takes to make it stop.
Just make it stop … breathe in, breathe out.
I tried desperately to open the hinges of my briefcase but failed miserably. My hands wouldn’t work right, they were trembling so hard. I cursed.
“Let me help you with that.”
“Med … i … cine.” I choked out. “Brief …”
“I got it.” Sam got down next to me and quickly emptied the contents of my briefcase into the grass. I saw his fingers close around the little plastic bottle that had become my lifeline. “Ativan?” he asked, concerned.
I nodded. It was all I could do. The scene around me started to spin, literally roll over itself. The vertigo sucked and I knew it was another symptom … another flashback.
We flipped over and over again, vaulting through the air until the sudden impact. I tasted the blood erupt in my mouth, again.
But this time the scene was interrupted when I felt a strong hand grip the back of my head and hold it still. Then fingers pushed the little white pill between my lips. It dissolved quickly on my tongue.
I concentrated on breathing as my head was pressed up against something firm, and I knew someone was holding me—or was it part of the attack? I couldn’t tell. Had arms scooped me up before?
“You’re going to be okay, Catherine.” The unfamiliar voice said it with such faith, I wanted to believe it. I tried to believe it.
A moment later, the brick building that was More Hall came back into focus. Strong arms were around me, and I realized Sam North held me firmly against his chest, keeping me still.
“I’m okay,” I lied and tried to push away, but my attempt was feeble. I hadn’t had an attack like that in public for over three months, since I’d left home. Damn my mom’s phone call!
“Let me get you home,” he said.
“No, no … I’ll get myself home,” I assured him.
It had been so long, I thought I’d beaten it. And in my panic I’d taken a whole pill, not half. How was I even going to get to the bus and not pass out on it?
I’d figure it out. I had no choice but to figure it out—on my own.
I pulled myself up to stand, but if not for Sam North’s steadying arms, I would have fallen down on my ass.
“Come on, my car is in the parking lot, let me give you a ride home,” he suggested.
“No! No car!” I shouted, panicked. When I realized how I sounded, I dropped my voice and looked around us. No one had passed by … yet. “Just help me to the bus stop. I can get home from there,” I insisted.
“Yeah, um, you’re not in any condition to be left alone on a bus,” he reasoned. “You know, maybe I should call 911.”
God, no! They’d shove me in another psych ward, I’d lose my job and my mother would tattoo Told you so on her forehead. “I don’t need that kind of help,” I told him firmly.
“Then let me see your phone, I can dial a friend or boyfriend for you?”
I gathered up what pathetic strength I could muster, pressed my hands against his chest and feebly pushed him away from me. “Leave me alone then … I can take it from here.” Great way to show gratitude, Kate, I sneered inwardly.
“KATE! KATE!” The screaming started up in my head again.
“Just”—I grabbed Sam North’s black leather jacket—“bring me to the bus stop, please. I’ll get home from there.”
He looked at me hesitantly but finally said, “Okay.”
Like a couple on a Sunday stroll, he tucked his arm behind my back, assisting me as I walked. He kept us behind the buildings and away from the students.
“Please talk about something, anything except this,” I pleaded.
“My gig went great that night. Right after we met. I kept thinking maybe you’d show, but you never did.”
“Really?” I panted. “Guilt is what you thought of first?”
“Okay, how about that lecture you gave the other day about wind turbines?”
“You suck at this.”
“My very good friend, who’s like a brother really, his name is Nate, fell hard for my younger sister. He’s all kinds of messed up.” He said it laughing a little, as if he were amused. That was good. Distracting.
“Yeah? Tell me more.”
“Okay, my hometown is Williston, North Dakota. My parents own most of the western side of the state, along with sections of Montana, Alberta and Saskatchewan. My dad is a successful rancher turned even more successful oil company owner.”
“Bakken Oil Field?” I’d heard quite a lot about it.
“Yeah. Anyway, when Nate was a kid he went to school with my older brothers, Jake and Caleb, and soon enough became a fixture in our household. His mom ran out on his family when he was young and his dad would bust him up a lot. I grew up with him around. He learned my dad’s business. Oh, and he rides bulls. Well, he was totally in love with my younger sister. So in July, during the rodeos up in Edmonton, the two finally admitted they were in love and ran off on a … I don’t know, pre-honeymoon. In August they were married.”
“It’s a good story.” I smiled. It felt foreign, but it was real.
The bus pulled to the curb. Sam took my arm and helped me up the steps and put me in a seat near a window. He went back to the front and dropped in a coin, came back over and sat in the seat next to me.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Making sure you get home,” he said, point blank.
“I told you—”
He broke in, “Anyway, you should’ve seen the rock he put on her finger! It was bigger than her hand!”
I gave in. “Did your parents approve?” I wondered aloud.
“Oh, yeah, they love Nate like their own kid,” Sam said.
The lull of the bus was making me want to close my eyes. I felt my head touch down on Sam’s shoulder.
“Where’s your place, Jolie?”
“Queen Anne Apartments. First Avenue.”
Before I knew it, I was being jostled. “We’re here.” Sam helped me to my feet, and I wondered if people thought I was drunk.
When the doorman saw us he leaped to his feet. “Ms. Jolie, are you alright?”
“I’m good, Max. This is my friend Sam. I had an accident earlier … a nasty fall. He’s just making sure I get in safely.”
Max nodded and moved ahead of Sam to hit the elevator button.
“Thanks,” Sam said.
“Of course. If you need anything let me know.”
The elevator doors opened.
“Second floor. Apartment 201.” I was feeling more myself now, and with that came the embarrassment. “I’m really okay from here. You’ve done so much already.”
“I’m not going to bring you all this way to leave you at the door. You have to invite me in for something to drink. At least a glass of water ’cause I’m thirsty as hell.”
He was funny and gracious. I liked him. The fleeting thought that I could use a friend rocketed through my mind. I slammed it down fast.
We walked into my studio apartment. I had my footing
now, but was seriously exhausted. The fatigue seemed to squeeze every bit of energy out of my muscles like wrung out damp towels crumpled on the floor. I wanted my bed.
My apartment was set up perfectly for me. It had a full sized bed against the wall on one side and an overstuffed loveseat on the other. My treadmill faced the terrace’s glass paned doors, so I had a nice view of the sound.
Sam had gone straight to the kitchen as if he lived here and came back with two glasses of water from the spring water cooler.
“Thanks,” I said gratefully as he handed me a glass and looked out through the opening between rooms.
“This is a great place,” he remarked.
I sipped my water and set it on the bedside table. “I like it.” I sat down on my bed.
“Want some music?” Somehow he had acquired my iPhone. “Linkin Park, ‘Castle of Glass.’ Great song.”
I started to say I didn’t listen to it anymore, but no sound came out.
I was fading fast. God, Sam was still here, after everything.
Son of a bitch was going to get that coffee.
Chapter Four
“Lost in You”
Three Days Grace
Sam
Sitting on the loveseat on the opposite side of Ms. Jolie’s studio apartment, watching her while she slept in her bed; I couldn’t even imagine what must have happened to her. In a moment I’d watched her simultaneously shatter apart and hold herself together. In class she was always brass tacks and had her shit together. I hadn’t pushed her to tell me anything and she hadn’t offered any explanation, but whatever had happened, her strength was remarkable. She’d looked terrified and was so pale and colorless that I thought for sure she was going to pass out. I still wasn’t satisfied that she didn’t need to be in a hospital, but she was so adamant about not going. Damn it, she could hardly stand when she tried to push me away from her. I couldn’t force her, and I hoped it was the right thing.
I had a feeling any pity would only infuriate her, so I’d just tried to be her friend. It seemed to work, to a degree at least. I got her into her apartment, but she passed out immediately. I’d checked on her several times to make certain she was still breathing.
Then I played snoop. I certainly didn’t know a thing about her, and anything could be going on. What if she had a serious condition? On the bus I saw she wasn’t wearing a medical alert bracelet, and once she went to sleep I even checked her wrists and ankles for the tattoo—nothing. If she had Ativan what else did she have? Did she overdose? I pawed through her bag and found some more medications—antidepressants and anxiety meds mostly, but none looked close to empty and I wasn’t even sure you could overdose on those.
I got back up and checked her. She was sleeping soundly and I watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest. I sighed in relief. It had been an hour and fifteen minutes since our run-in behind More Hall. Since the bus trip, I’d put my wristwatch on timer mode. I felt like I was playing Russian roulette with her, and if she got worse I would need to have exact times for the paramedics.
Now I picked up her phone. I’d have to get in touch with someone who knew her. I went through her contact list.
“What the fuck? How’s that possible?” I whispered. There were only four contacts total: Mom, Dad, U of W Faculty Office, and Soul-sucking Headshrink.
I glanced over the phone at her. She was incredibly beautiful and ridiculously intelligent, how was it that she had no friends?
Looking back at the numbers, I analyzed them. I had no idea where the area code for her parents was from, but it definitely wasn’t for the state of Washington. Soul-sucking Headshrink was a Seattle number. If the situation hadn’t been so serious I’d probably laugh at such a name.
I held her phone against my lips, thinking. I certainly didn’t want to piss her off by calling anyone. I also knew that if she took a turn in the wrong direction, I’d be carting her ass to the hospital no matter what kind of fight she put up.
Breathing deeply, I let myself sit back down. Her apartment was impeccable. Not a speck of dust, very simple: a loveseat, a bed, a desk and a small dining table with only one chair. Everything was in earth tones. Something wasn’t right, though, but I couldn’t quite grasp what. I considered going through the drawers beside her bed, but thought better of it. I didn’t want to wake her up and make her think I was a dick or a thief. What kind of guy helps a woman out then goes through her shit?
My stomach growled, and I hoped Ms. Freak-Me-Right-the-Fuck-Out had something good to eat because I had already made up my mind that I was going to stay until I was satisfied that she was alright. I kicked off my Vans, making myself at home, and walked into the small kitchen space.
“Damn.” The air rushed through my cotton shirt as I walked, and I remembered her depositing the contents of her stomach onto me. I stripped out of my vomit dried shirt and looked under the kitchen sink for a bucket. Sure enough. I filled it with cold water and dropped my shirt in to soak then washed my hands and searched for sustenance.
“Of course you have no food in the house. You’re probably a fucking robot.” She had nothing in her refrigerator except for bottles of orange juice, milk and diet coke.
Rummaging through the cabinets I found half a box of plain graham crackers and Cheerios.
“Dinner.” I poured a bowl of cereal and milk and took that and my side order of crackers back to the love seat.
While I chewed, I studied the room. No television, no stereo system or docking station. There weren’t any magazines on the end table or books on the shelf.
“Personality.” I put my finger on what I had been trying to grasp before. The room had no personality or character whatsoever. There were no photographs or paintings or posters hanging anywhere on the walls or the fridge. No magnets or clocks, no trinkets or stuffed animals. The furniture could have been rented from a showroom; it all matched perfectly and had zero personal touches.
Quietly, I went back into the kitchen, rinsed my bowl and decided to check out the bathroom. A dark green towel set hung from a wooden dowel. A plastic bottle of Burt’s Bees soap sat at the edge of the sink. I opened the medicine cabinet: Band-Aids, a tube of Bacitracin ointment and cough syrup.
I chewed on the inside of my bottom lip before I said, “Fuck it,” and began opening the three small drawers on the side of the sink. The bottom two were empty while the top held a nail file, pair of scissors, tweezers and deodorant.
“What the fuck? How does she live with nothing?” None of it made sense.
I heard her cough and raced back to the bed. She spoke something unintelligible and shifted to her side.
I tried to tell myself she was alright, that I could leave now, but I didn’t believe it. And besides that, a part of me didn’t want to leave; I wanted to know why she lived like this. What had happened today? Why she was taking this crap-ass medicine and who the hell was Soul-sucking Headshrink?
Careful not to disrupt her, I covered her with the brown and white bed quilt and then settled myself back onto the loveseat and put a movie on my phone to watch. I had a feeling it was going to be a long night if she didn’t wake up and kick my ass out.
Chapter Five
“Use Somebody”
Kings of Leon
Catherine
Shadow in the blackest night
False hope is all I’ve got
There is no such thing as light
And now I am so lost
This wasn’t always me
I buried that one six feet under
So you could never see
Where I’ve hidden all that hunger
I’m not here (I’m shattered in a million pieces)
Scattered in the wind (My soul is filled with graveyard places)
I’m not here
You think you see me
But I’m far away from here
Snowfall covered trees
Veins too frozen now to bleed
Waiting in the dark
Maybe n
ow I want someone to see
The final hour is coming
When the pain just might drown
And win the battle finally
If I am not found
“Hey.” Sam’s voice floated across the room, cutting through my thoughts.
I closed my poetry book and set it and my pen in my bedside table drawer. “Hey back at ya,” I said softly. I had woken up hours ago and had been startled to see him asleep on the loveseat. Everything that happened had come rushing back; the phone call, the panic attack, puking in front of Sam North. I’d had plenty of time to work through the embarrassment, now I was just grateful.
“You look a lot better.” He sat up and ran his long fingers through his hair, raking his bangs off his eyes. “I didn’t know who to call and I was worried about leaving you alone. I hope you don’t mind that I commandeered your couch.”
“No. I don’t mind. I might still be behind the building if you hadn’t been there.” Or worse, someone would have called an ambulance and it would’ve started all over again.
“Nice place you’ve got here.”
I was glad he changed the subject. “Yeah it was a lucky find,” I agreed. “I made some coffee.” I pulled myself off my already made bed. I had showered and was now in a pair of drawstring shorts and a U of W sweatshirt. “How do you take it?”
“Black is fine.”
I brought him the mug and set it on the coffee table in front of him. “Thanks for what you did.”
He had no idea how hard it was for me to have a normal conversation. I had closed myself off for so long. I didn’t know what to say or even how to act. There was no “being myself,” because I didn’t know who that was.
Sam sipped at his coffee. “Zoka?”
“You know your coffees.” He made me want to smile, but even the idea of it made me feel guilty and sad, so I fought it.
He needed to leave.
“I’d offer you breakfast, but I don’t keep much food in the place,” I admitted.
“Yeah, I noticed that. But it’s a good excuse to ask you out for breakfast,” he said assuredly.
True North Book 3 - Finding Now Kate and Sam Page 4