What was the worst thing that could ever happen to me?
It was a question I had asked myself, once. It was part of a game—a stupid, mindless game that I had played with my friend, Lacey. She had told me that the worst thing that could ever happen to her would be for her boyfriend, Nate, to dump her. After a moment, she was viciously shaking her head, changing her mind. Her parents getting a divorce. That would be the worst thing that could ever happen to her. She told me that it would destroy her. Destroy their family. Destroy her future, because she would never be able to trust anyone ever again. Because it would give her issues.
I felt that happening to me as I stared into my mother’s face.
I watched my trust dwindle and filter away into nothing, like sand through an hourglass. I watched our family crack down the middle, and then crack again, shattering into so many millions of shards that we all immediately lost sight of each other through the glittering of the glass downpour. It rained over me, all those pieces of us. It rained over me and shredded me up.
It destroyed me.
I would have endured a thousand divorces to avoid that one night.
“Did she do this to herself deliberately, Mrs Moreno?”
“Of course not.” I recognised Alicia’s voice. “She just trained a little too hard. She’s very serious about track.”
“And she was staying with you at the time?”
“As I said to the triage nurse, she’s been with me all weekend. She’s a good friend of my daughter’s. They’re on the track team together.”
“Your daughter isn’t hooked up to a bag of fluids right now.”
“Grey’s a little more serious than I am,” I heard Jean say, sounding as though she was admitting something embarrassing. “She trained an extra few hours.”
“Is that normal for a seventeen-year-old?”
“She’s eighteen,” Jean muttered defensively. “Turning nineteen. Got kept back a year.”
“There’s no such thing as normal,” Alicia asserted, sounding annoyed. “What’s with the twenty questions? We’re very grateful to you, we really are, and I know we’re all feeling a little stressed right now, but …”
“The girl clearly hasn’t been eating. I’d be surprised if you told me she ate anything at all today, let alone yesterday. She was dry-heaving when we put the catheter in, but there wasn’t a thing in her stomach to throw up.”
“You know how these teenage girls are.” Alicia was speaking lowly now, as if afraid someone would hear her. “They told me they were eating at the diner, but I guess she was worried about her weight. I’ll talk to her about it.”
I finally managed to open my eyes, bringing the nurse—who had been speaking to Alicia—into focus. She was plump, with surprisingly gaunt cheeks and intelligent eyes. Her hair was a shiny blonde, but it had been pulled into a coarse bun. She turned, seeing Alicia’s eyes flick to me, and I braced myself as they both stared at me. Jean seemed to have disappeared, which was strange, considering she had been speaking only a moment ago.
“How are you feeling, Miss Grey?” the nurse asked, leaning over the end of my bed to grab a clipboard from the holder it had been slotted into.
She glanced down at the notes, as though she needed to remind herself of who I was—even though she had just been talking about me.
“I feel fine,” I rasped. There wasn’t any point in playing it up. I was already in a hospital.
The nurse pursed her lips. “Well, Mr. Fell will be arriving in a matter of minutes. Our registered psychologist has agreed to let him assess you tonight, since he’s you’re usual.”
“Mr. Fell?” I repeated dumbly. “Registered … my usual?”
“Your registered mental health carer,” she specified, her pursed lips now forming a frown. “He was your emergency contact.”
“He … what?”
“He certainly wasn’t as surprised as you apparently are, Miss Grey.”
Alicia reached out a hand, pressing against my arm and forcing me back into the hard hospital pillow. I hadn’t even realised that I’d half jumped from the bed. I stared down at my lap, the shock making its sluggish, painful way through my body.
“Can I please have a minute … to myself?” I asked, looking at the nurse.
She nodded, sliding the clipboard back into its folder and flipping the curtain open to walk through. Alicia moved to the curtain, and I thought that she was leaving … but she only fixed up the cloth and returned to my side, sitting on the edge of my hospital bed. She took my hand. I stared at her fingers as they closed around mine, and I found my eyes suddenly itching.
“Grey?” She squeezed my hand. It wasn’t quite forceful, but it wasn’t entirely gentle, either. “I’m going to go and give you some peace, in a moment … but I was talking to the kids earlier, and I was wondering if you’d like to stay with us for a little while? Maybe a few days? A week?”
I didn’t know what to say. I finally forced my eyes from our hands, bracing myself for the look of pity on her face, mustering up the courage to tell her that I didn’t need her help, but my words died as soon as I saw her expression.
She was pleading with me. She was worried that I would say no.
“Okay.” The agreement had escaped my lips before I even had the chance to taste the word properly, but I was surprised that it didn’t leave a sour feeling behind.
Okay.
Maybe everything would be … okay.
“Good.” Alicia squeezed my hand again, standing from the bed. She sucked in a deep breath, brushing the hair from her face, and then she gave me a brief smile before slipping between the curtains.
I watched her go.
The hope went with her.
Things definitely weren’t going to be okay.
I reached over to the needle in my arm, peeling the tape off. I didn’t want to watch it come out, so I gripped it as my eyes followed the tube up to the clear, plastic bag hanging on a stand by the side of my bed. It had some medical jargon printed on it, and half of the liquid inside was sucked out, making it look like the top-half had been vacuum-sealed. I focussed on the drip drip of clear water falling into the tube from the bag as I pulled out the needle. There was no pain. Only a very muted, underwhelming pinch.
I tossed the thing aside and swung my legs over the hospital bed, sucking in a steadying breath as I attempted to stand. I could feel the pain now, thrumming up the muscles of my legs and cramping in my stomach again, making my head swim. It was all still understated, in a way. Nowhere near as severe as it had been before I fainted. The nurse had obviously given me something to dull it.
I moved to the little pile of folded clothing on the chair beside my hospital bed, finding everything there that I had worn to the party earlier that day.
What time was it now? What day was it now? I had no idea. I couldn’t see any windows, or any clocks, and my head was swimming too dizzily for me to concentrate. I pulled off my hospital gown, replacing it with the pale blue sundress that only reminded me of the brownish tint of Trip’s hand against my thigh. I pictured his square-shaped fingers, with the square-shaped nails, and something tightened in my throat, a roll of nausea instantly overtaking me. I gagged, shooting a hand out to the back of the chair to steady myself. My body was punishing me again. Protesting my habit to run away from my own problems.
I steadied myself as soon as I was able, moving to the curtain and pushing the material aside only enough to peek out into the corridor. It was busy: nurses bustling past, doctors slipping into curtained-off areas, visitors shuffling along with their arms around patients. I couldn’t see Alicia or Jean anywhere, so I stepped out and tucked my head down, following a couple to the end of the corridor and then out into the waiting room. We made it to the parking lot, but they paused when they reached their car, staring at me.
I nodded to them casually, moving past and approaching the road. I had no idea where I was going, but I obviously couldn’t just get into their car and follow them around for the res
t of their lives. I hit the button for the pedestrian crossing, my arms wrapping around my middle, my breath almost visible in the air. It was night-time still, but barely. I could see the sun peeking over the horizon. It seemed tentative.
I didn’t blame it; the world was a painful place.
11
Animal
I was halfway across the road, my eyes fixed to the flashing green man that indicated my turn to walk. I wasn’t paying attention to the truck that crawled along the dawn-misted roads, slowly coming to a stop at the lights. I barely even blinked when the door opened.
It was like a dream.
The hand wrapping around my arm should have alarmed me, but I wasn’t even surprised.
It was a talent of mine; finding my way back to Nicholai Fell.
I knew it was him. He touched me as though he had every right to, as though his fingers belonged on my skin; and he did it all without saying a word. He steered me toward his truck. I recognised the black Ford that he had driven out of the parking lot … yesterday?
Was it really only yesterday?
I had trouble lifting my leg to the step that would help me get into the passenger seat, my thigh cramping with the movement. He picked me up, set me into the seat, and leaned over to get my seatbelt. I stared out of the front windshield, avoiding looking at him, avoiding thinking about him, avoiding the addictive sea-salt scent of him that calmed my constant nausea. Instead, I stared out of the glass. I watched the empty roads and I wondered where they would all lead if I followed them right to the end.
He drew the belt over my chest and clicked it in, before closing the door and walking around to the driver’s seat. He didn’t take me back to the hospital—instead driving past the parking lot and turning right. He was smart enough to know that I would find my way out again. He still hadn’t spoken, but I was fine with that. He stopped at a three-story building in the centre of town, opening my door and helping me out before taking me right to the building’s entrance. I briefly glanced at the sign indicating that it was some kind of youth counselling center. He pulled out a set of keys, unlocked the door, disarmed the security system, and then led me up two sets of stairs. It wasn’t easy: we had to go slow, but at least he didn’t complain or offer to carry me.
We passed a door with his name on it, Dr. Nicholai Fell, but we didn’t go inside. He opened the next door beside his office, revealing a small room that had every appearance of a waiting room, or an informal meeting room. Two lemon-yellow couches faced each other, with a yellow, wing-backed chair in the corner. There was a fern beside the door, and a tray on a table with a covered jug of water, several glasses, and a box of tissues.
“Sit.” He waved at one of the yellow couches.
I fell onto it, every muscle protesting, my stomach beginning to cramp again. He sat on the couch facing me, pulling his cell phone out and dialling a number.
“Hey, Ginny, it’s me. Can you let Doctor Kenneth know that Mika Grey is with me? Thanks—oh, and were there any visitors there? Who brought her in?” He paused, listening to whatever Ginny said, whoever Ginny was, before replying. “Okay. Let them know, too. Thanks, Ginny.”
He hung up, storing his phone away, and I did the only thing that felt right in that moment. I turned my back on him, curled up on my side with my knees to my chest, and closed my eyes.
“You were my emergency contact.” My voice was muffled against the yellow, faux-leather material of the couch, but I was sure that he heard me. There were no other sounds inside the building. He would have heard a pin drop.
“I added myself to your records.” He sounded calm enough, certainly not the way you were supposed to sound while admitting something like that.
“Why?”
“I knew you’d end up there eventually.”
And there would have been nobody to call.
“Leave me alone,” I murmured dully. “I don’t need your help.”
“I can tell when you’re lying, even when you aren’t looking at me.”
“You don’t know me. Stop acting like you do. I don’t need your help.” My body was shuddering with my sudden fury, making soft, rustling noises against the leather.
“And?” he asked calmly, his voice growing quiet.
“And … and I could get any person to help me. Any guidance councillor. Any guy slumming it at a public school, hoping to learn about teenage deviance. How many people have been given an office in this building after finishing their thesis? I could get help from any of them.”
I heard him move, heard the sound of his shoes brushing across the carpet, and then I saw his hand against the back of the couch as he leaned over me.
“And what if …” he was whispering, as though telling me a secret. “What if a destructive teenage force can be smarter than any qualified, professional mind out there?”
I blinked, my breath halting. I didn’t answer, because I knew the answer, and it wasn’t something I cared to say out loud. The destructive force would always win. Every single time. If the intent ran deep enough …
Was I trying to destroy myself?
I jerked upright, my chest knocking against his arm. He pulled back, drawing to his full height, staring down at me.
“You think you can outsmart me?” I sneered, forcing myself to my feet. Forcing him to stand with me or step back from me.
He chose to stay, allowing my body to press against his. Allowing my breasts to brush against his chest, the rustle of our clothing passing heat between our bodies. He would cross every line … every line but one.
The one that really mattered.
My ultimate path to destruction.
I blinked, my hands against his stomach, pushing him back. He allowed me to push him away, but he didn’t move any further of his own accord. Was that why I couldn’t stop thinking about him? Because an affair with my guidance councillor was the ultimate path to my own ruin? It was an idea that my mind seemed to immediately repel, but I couldn’t shake the pattern. The pattern he had pointed out.
I fell back to the couch, my head spinning, nausea returning. “Food,” I groaned. “I still haven’t eaten.”
“I’ll be right back.” His reply was instant. He didn’t even think about it.
The door shut behind him before I had even opened my mouth to thank him, and I was left alone to sit in the strange sitting room. Eventually, I stood and tried the door, surprised to find it unlocked.
I can tell when you’re lying, even when you aren’t looking at me.
He knew that I wouldn’t run away.
Because … fucking hell. I needed him. I needed his help.
I shoved the realisation aside, pushing the door wide. I could see him at the very end of the hall, his back toward the stairs. He had his phone pressed to his ear, mumbling lowly. I moved to the next door, glancing up at his name plaque above it before pushing it open and slipping inside. I flicked on the light, carefully shutting the door behind me. His office was mostly empty; the only personalised thing about it had been the name on the door. The bare desktop with the squeaky-clean monitor could have belonged to anybody. The chair looked new. The bookshelves were filled with the same books and pamphlets as his office at the high school. I wondered how many offices he had. There was probably one in his house, maybe another at Stanford. Maybe he had another apartment in Palo Alto, and another office there. That made five. Five empty, impersonal offices.
Was that normal? I doubted it.
I pulled the chair out, sitting down and opening the top drawer on the right-hand side. There was a stack of forms which I didn’t bother to sort through, and a few labelled folders slotted beneath the pile of paperwork. Still nothing significant. I slid the drawer closed and leaned to the other side, opening that drawer. There was a USB stick laying right in the middle, looking entirely absurd, since there was nothing else there. I grabbed it, switched on the monitor, and plugged it in.
Research was the only folder on the device. I clicked on it and found dozens upon do
zens of articles and a few sub-folders of pictures. I scrolled through the first picture folder, shock steadily taking a hold of me as the images flashed before my eyes, one-by-one. Most of them were of women, and most of those women seemed to be dead. Some had ropes around their necks, so at first I thought that they had all tried to hang themselves … but then the images began to change. Some didn’t have anything around their necks but the bruised, red handprints of other human beings. One had a large, silken ribbon around her neck. Another wore a belt.
I exited the sub-folder, clicking on the first article.
Autoerotic Asphyxiation—The Unspoken Danger.
“What the fuck?” I flicked my eyes from the headline to the body of text, but at that moment, the door swung open.
Nicholai didn’t seem surprised to find me there. He shut the door calmly and started walking around to my side of the desk, his expression completely neutral.
And then he saw the USB sticking out of the side of his monitor. I watched as the confusion slowly descended over his features, pulling at his mouth and pinching in the dark arch of his brows. He looked at the screen, and I could almost see the way his pupils moved from left to right, reading the headline that I had just read. He grabbed the USB and yanked it out of the monitor, shoving it into his pocket, and then his hand was on the arm of my chair, swinging it around to force me to face him. His other hand found the other side of the chair, his fists tightening, punishing the leather as his whole persona seemed to darken, swelling with temper.
“Get up,” he said quietly, forcing the words out through clenched teeth.
“I can’t.” I looked down at his hands, caging me in.
He immediately pulled himself away, and I stood, trying to edge past him. He refused to move, only turning sideways as I squeezed between him and the desk. I tried not to brush against his body, but he was either leaning closer to make it difficult for me, or else I had misjudged how much space he had left for me to move past. The zipper of his jacket snagged on the thin material of my dress, forcing me to stop moving at the worst possible time. I was directly in front of him, his desk pressing into me from behind. I reached for his jacket to free myself but he caught my wrist. A sound that was almost like a snarl ripped out of his throat, and I winced.
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