Joy was right—despite it having been five years, I found myself remembering more than I’d anticipated. Before long, I became lost in my work, tracing lines and planes across the canvas. I got so lost in what I was doing, time ceased to exist around me. It wasn’t until my shoulders and back began to hurt that I lowered my arm. Dropping my brush among the others I’d used into the water cup, I stretched, using my left hand to massage my sore right shoulder. A smile spread across my face as I observed the work I’d done. It was nowhere near finished, but I would had plenty of time to work on it in the coming weeks.
Taking a look around the room, I discovered that I was alone. The clock hanging on the far wall read eight o’clock, and even Joy had left for the night. Yet, the noise still emanated from the sculpture room. Despite being tired and hungry, with paint staining my fingertips and palms, I let curiosity get the best of me. Edging toward the door, I leaned forward, hoping to see inside without the person inside seeing me.
I was shocked to find Royce. The noise was being caused by a strange piece of machinery in his hand, causing small sparks to fly up off a piece of metal in his gloved hands. He wore a pair of work goggles and a leather apron over his jeans and T-shirt. From where I stood, I could see that some sort of metal sculpture was taking form—probably a work in progress he’d been putting together for months. It was hard to determine what it might be from this angle, but I didn’t want to disturb him by coming into the room.
As it turned out, I didn’t need to worry about bothering him. Seeming to sense he wasn’t alone, he paused, switching off his equipment and causing the grating noise to cease. Glancing up at me, he straightened and removed the goggles.
“Hey,” he said, his expression sheepish. “Sorry, was I making too much noise?”
I shrugged. “Doesn’t matter, everyone’s gone.”
His eyebrows raised, and he glanced down at his watch. “Damn … didn’t realize I’d been here that long.”
I leaned against the doorframe. “What are you doing here? I don’t know too many people who spend their free time at work.”
Setting his goggles aside, Royce went about removing the apron. “I’m in the process of putting together my own workroom at home, but Joy has some tools that I don’t. So, she lets me use them whenever I want, and in exchange, I teach welding and sculpting to anyone who wants to learn it.”
Moving to join me near the door, he paused to retrieve his backpack from a nearby chair. Before he zipped it closed, I spied a bunch of notebooks and files, one of which I felt certain had my name on it.
“What about you?” he asked. “Why are you here so late?”
Backing up to get some space—because he smelled too damn good to be standing so close—I exited the little workroom.
“I was painting and lost track of time. Before I knew it, we were the only two left.”
Smiling, he followed me out and closed the workroom door. “Painting, huh? I gotta say, I didn’t think of you as the artsy type. Which one’s yours?”
Pointing toward my easel, I grimaced, realizing that while I had a clear vision of what it would be in my mind, it would look like a bunch of nothing to another pair of eyes. So far, it was nothing more than a series of black and gray smudges.
He shocked me by nodding in appreciation. “You’re off to a good start. How long have you been an artist?”
I fiddled with the hem of my top, trying to avoid making eye contact. For some reason, I still wasn’t sure what I thought of Royce, which made the fact that he was so easy to talk to unnerving. I found myself saying and admitting things to him I wouldn’t otherwise say or admit to anyone else.
“Well, I’m kind of just getting back into it. I haven’t painted in years, so I thought I’d see how it works out as a form of therapy.”
“Shall we?” he murmured, gesturing toward the door.
I nodded, falling in step with him. He turned the light off in the studio as we left, exiting into an empty hallway. All the other rooms had gone dark, leaving us alone on the entire floor.
As we stood waiting for the elevator, Royce broke the silence again.
“Why’d you stop? Painting, I mean.”
“Other things got in the way,” I replied. “I don’t know, I guess I just shifted focus. There was a time I wanted to study art … to become an artist.”
He grinned, and I fought the urge to press a hand to my stomach. Every time he did that, the butterflies started wreaking havoc on me.
God, this cannot be happening.
I couldn’t develop a crush on my counselor. It was wildly inappropriate. Besides, I had Aaron waiting back home for me.
“I’m trying to picture that,” he said. “You, with dreadlocks and one of those flow-y dresses, some flowers in your hair. Smelling like incense with paint staining your fingers. Very Lisa Bonet.”
I laughed. “I don’t think I could pull that off as well as she does.”
The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. Neither of us made a move to step on. A beat of silence passed, then Royce snuck a glance at me from the corner of his eye.
“You’d be beautiful,” he murmured. “You are beautiful.”
I felt my face growing hot as he stepped onto the elevator, leaving me behind. Before I could stop it, my face spread into a wide smile. I was still standing there, with that dopey-ass grin on my face when the doors began to close. Royce quickly stopped them with his arm, and I snapped out of it. Schooling my face into a more suitable expression, I followed him onto the elevator. He punched the button for my floor, then the one for the ground level.
“What about you?” I asked, hoping to break up some of the tension coiling between us. “How’d you get into sculpting?”
He seemed to consider the question for a moment before answering. “It’s something I only got into the last couple of years. I’ve always been an artist, even when I was in college studying to become a counselor. Drawings, mostly. It wasn’t until about three years ago that I started wanting to turn my sketches into three-dimensional sculptures. It’s been fun learning the different techniques.”
“See, now you have to take back what you said about me not being the artsy type,” I teased. “I mean, you’re an artist, but you look like more of a jock.”
With a laugh he leaned against the side of the elevator. It paused on my floor, the door opening. Yet, neither of us seemed ready to leave it.
“And what does a jock look like?”
The elevator doors closed with another ding, taking us down again. I hardly gave it a second thought as I gestured toward him.
“Like … that. All clean cut and fit. And I used to be a cheerleader, so I know a jock when I see one.”
“Okay, point taken. I guess you could call me a jock since I played football through high school.”
The elevator dinged again, letting us off on the first floor. Royce glanced around, seeming embarrassed.
“Uh, looks like we missed your stop.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “I’ll just take this one back up. I’m sure you’re ready to get going.”
Giving me a little smirk, he pressed the button for my floor and allowed the doors to close again. “I want to hear more about Kinsley the cheerleader.”
My shoulders shook from my attempts not to laugh. “There isn’t much to hear. It was something to do in high school, and along with my grades it got me a scholarship to UT.”
He sobered at my mention of college, though I was relieved not to find pity in his gaze. I’d experienced way too much of that lately.
“What happens when you go back? Do you plan to pick it back up again during your final semester?”
I didn’t even have to think that one over. “No. Competitive cheer is tough, especially in Texas. The sport is second only to football, as I’m sure you know, and the extremes people go through just to win … It wasn’t healthy for me.”
We arrived at my floor again, and this time I made it off the elevator before the doo
rs could close. Royce took a step toward me, blocking them from closing. His gaze locked with mine, and for a while he just stood there, staring at me.
Finally, he spoke again. “What will you do when you go back? Do you have a plan?”
“I don’t really know,” I admitted. “I’ve got options, but no idea if I’m going to act on them.”
I paused for a long moment, but he seemed to know that I had more to say, because he waited.
“It terrifies me,” I admitted. “Not knowing. I’ve never not known.”
He smiled again, backing into the elevator. “Sometimes not knowing is the most liberating thing you can experience. Because then you’re open to the possibility of anything.”
His words caused my chest to feel tight, as if something in me longed for what his words promised. What would it be like? I’d really never known that sort of life, and I didn’t think I’d know how even if I had the chance.
“Good night, Kinsley,” he said as the elevator doors closed.
Before I could reply, he was gone, the elevator taking him back down to the first floor.
Chapter Ten
The Monday after my late-night conversation with Royce, I woke up with more energy than I’d had in months. It was as if someone had flipped a switch inside of me, and instead of making me feel as if I’d just been run through a meat grinder, my new medication had given me the abilities of Wonder Woman. Even Sheila was surprised to enter my room with my morning vitamin to find me fully dressed with the bed made.
“Well,” she said with a smile, handing me the little paper cup holding my vitamins, and another brimming with water. “Someone’s chipper this morning.”
I swallowed all the pills in one gulp of water, then crushed both cups and tossed them in the trash. “It’s nice out today,” I said, peering through my open blinds. “I think I’ll get in a tennis game after breakfast.”
Leaving the stunned nurse behind, I exited the room with a bounce in my step, joining everyone in the hall headed toward the elevators. When I found Dawn and Derek in the crowd, I snuck up behind them. Falling in line with them, I draped one arm over each of their shoulders.
“Hey, guys!”
“Damn, girl, who put rainbows in your toothpaste this morning?” Derek griped when he noticed that I was smiling.
“Yep, this seems about right,” Dawn remarked. “Those pills are evening you out. Is this what you were like before you went bonkers? I don’t think I like it. Where’s bitchy Kinsley? I miss her already.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, but this is the real me. I’m a morning person, and I brush my teeth with rainbows.”
We crowded onto an elevator with several others headed down to the dining hall, and I found myself smiling again when I remembered being in this same place with Royce. I had decided that crushing on him a little bit wasn’t so bad. After all, it wasn’t as if either of us could act on it, or that we would see each other again once I left here. It had been a while since someone had complimented my looks—mainly in an attempt to avoid noticing how much I had wasted away. Over the weekend I had decided there was nothing wrong with feeling those little butterflies. They were just one of the few things I had going for me these days that made me feel alive again.
Once free of the elevator, I joined Dawn and Derek in the buffet line. I filled my plate with over-medium eggs, an English muffin, and two slices of bacon. Between spurts of conversation, I devoured both eggs and half the muffin. After logging it in my food journal, I couldn’t get to the tennis court fast enough. The burst of energy I was experiencing needed to be burned off a bit.
“Slow down!” Dawn exclaimed, huffing and puffing as she struggled to keep up with my bouncy steps. “Jesus, someone needs to talk to Dr. Iverson about changing your dosage. You’ve gone insane.”
With a chuckle I slowed my steps to let her keep up, as we approached the back doors leading outside. It was a pleasant morning, so almost everyone had elected to spend it outside. Both the running track and basketball courts were filled, but there was one tennis net left unoccupied. I led Dawn to the rack holding the balls and rackets near the gate leading inside. She took her time making her selection, choosing one with a fluorescent pink handle.
“Look, about the other day,” I ventured, stalling before stepping inside the court.
Dawn rolled her eyes. “Ugh, don’t go all after school special on me. We had a little fight, no biggie. I’ve had people say worse shit to me.”
“Still,” I insisted. “I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s Royce’s job to get on your case, not mine.”
“It’s cool,” she replied. “You were just trying to do the whole tough love thing. It’s nice, really. No one else in my life has bothered to give a damn about me in a long time.”
Her confession left me feeling emotional, so before I could tear up, I smiled and nudged her shoulder with mine. “Now who’s going all ‘after school special’?”
Sticking her tongue out at me, Dawn sashayed through the gate. Joining her on the court, I commenced to serving her a can of freshly-opened whoop-ass. She only lasted a few rounds before having to tap out, leaving me to join a group of three on the adjacent court who wanted to play doubles. I left the tennis court starving, sore from head to toe, and covered in a sheen of sweat. But the truth was, I’d never felt better.
Thinking of my looming group therapy session, I found myself nervous about seeing Royce again. Taking my time after lunch, I showered and changed, even taking the time to flatiron my hair. I couldn’t do anything about the fact that I was still far skinnier than was healthy, so I stayed in my usual uniform of baggy clothes.
I arrived at therapy a bit early—actually, before anyone else had arrived. Helping myself to a cup of coffee, I found my usual chair, and sat to wait. The fact that there were no journal entries to read out loud today had me feeling a little better about group than usual. However, when Royce walked in with a humongous roll of white paper, I became suspicious. What could he have planned with so much paper?
Realizing we were alone in the room, he faltered, his steps slowing as he got closer. I stood, turning to face him. He paused near his chair, propping the gigantic paper roll against its side, before dropping his backpack into it.
“Hey,” he said, reaching up to rub the back of his neck.
He seemed nervous, and I found that adorable.
“Hi,” I replied. “Are we doing arts and crafts today?”
His response to my lame joke was a laugh, but it sounded forced. “Something like that.”
Wrinkling my brow, I studied him closer, noticing that he didn’t seem like his usual, upbeat self. “Everything okay?”
Nodding, he took me gently by the arm and pulled me across the room, out of earshot of anyone walking past in the hall.
“Listen, about the other night … it occurred to me that I might have been inappropriate.”
I started, taken aback by his statement. “Inappropriate?”
“I told you I thought you were beautiful,” he said. “I shouldn’t have.”
“Oh,” I replied, lowering my gaze. “I understand.”
While I grasped what he was trying to say, him saying it this way still stung.
Sighing, he reached out and gently lifted my chin until I was looking at him again. “I don’t think you do. The thing is, I was thinking it, and I absolutely meant it. It’s just that, my position here is kind of precarious. I’m the youngest counselor, and my ability to do my job as been questioned by a few of the others due to the fact that I’m so close in age to you guys … and also some other issues that we won’t get into right now. I can’t allow myself to do or say things that will make my intentions seem sketchy. I’m here to help you all through recovery. I care about you as a patient, and I don’t want to compromise our relationship by saying things like that. Can you forgive me?”
It took me a moment to digest what he had said. I couldn’t deny that I was burning with curiosity over some of what he’
d revealed. What issues did he have that caused people to doubt his ability to do this job? I’d only come to a few sessions, but he seemed good at his job to me. He did his best, and the people in his groups all swore he was their favorite of the group counselors.
Shaking my head to clear it of those thoughts, I forced myself to focus on the conversation happening now.
“Of course,” I replied. “It’s okay, really. I didn’t take it as you hitting on me, or anything, if that’s what you mean. I’m sure you say that to you other patients all the time … you know, to make them feel good about themselves.”
“Actually, I don’t. Which is why it was even more inappropriate. But if you’re cool, then we can continue on as we have been. I think you’re already making good progress, and I’d like to see you continue that.”
I resisted the urge to reach out and touch his shoulder—it would probably throw us back into the territory of inappropriate behavior, and I didn’t want that. I liked Royce, but I didn’t want to make things awkward for him at work. I had my own recovery to think about, as well as Aaron.
“It’s already forgotten,” I replied.
“Good,” he said. “Thank you.”
We ended our conversation just in time. The others had begun to file in, so Royce left me to go greet people. After a moment, I returned to my seat and waited for everyone else to arrive so we could begin.
Royce grabbed his big roll of paper, and retrieved a box from his backpack which held several pairs of scissors and black markers.
“Today, we’re going to do a body positivity exercise,” he said. “I want you all to help each other roll out the paper. Each of you will lay on it, and have someone trace your silhouette, then you’ll write your name on the top. Once everyone is done, we are going to spread them out on the floor in a line. Each of you will then go down the line with your marker, and write on your group-mate’s posters, one thing you notice about their appearance that’s positive. Now, let’s keep things appropriate, guys. It can be anything from ‘nice skin’, to ‘pretty smile’. Even the smallest thing you might notice … write it on the poster. When we’re done here, I want you all to take your posters back to your rooms and hang them up. These will serve as a reminder when you start feeling bad about yourself, your body, and your progress, that the way you see yourself is often distorted. This will help you to realize the way other people see you.”
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