by Brown, Tara
Chapter 10
Monday, July 22
Even after a whole day of not seeing Lucas, I couldn’t get my room to feel like a sanctuary again, as it had been before our fight. It became the prison it was meant to be.
Instead of sleeping, I paced the night away, with the air from Paige swirling about me. Was she upset for me? Or was she angry that Lucas misunderstood, just the way I feared he might?
I glanced at the clock, wincing when I saw the group was starting in a couple of moments. I brushed my hair and left my room, appearing the same as I had the last time I saw them all. But that wasn’t uncommon here. Grief had a strange effect on people.
As I entered the room, I kept my eyes low and grabbed a coffee.
“You okay?” Jack asked, sporting his blue mitts and stirring his coffee.
“No, rough night. I didn’t sleep,” I didn’t lie to him. I didn’t need to.
“We all have those, kiddo.” He rubbed my shoulder. “It’s good you’re here.”
I nodded and walked to my chair. It didn’t feel right, but it was better than pacing in my room.
Dr. Zamora entered as everyone arrived. He gave his usual smile as he walked to the heart of the circle. “Hope everyone had a nice weekend where you were able to reflect on some of the discoveries you made during the week.” He offered us a small nod, which could have been a tiny bow, and took his seat. “Ophelia, we haven’t heard from you in a while. Why don’t you start?”
My entire body got pins and needles. I squeezed the mug in my hand tightly and prepared to say no, but something else happened. An unknown need to say things pushed through, and words slipped from my dry, cracked lips, “I didn’t have a great weekend.” I put the mug down before I crushed it.
“Okay, do you want to tell us about it?” Dr. Zamora asked softly, losing that sunny disposition that wasn’t necessary here.
“Not really, I mean I can’t really.” Exhaustion played with my mind. “It’s a secret, and I’m not very good at keeping secrets. Not like my brother. I have to work at it.” I turned my hand over, staring at the mark on my wrist. “Except one.” My voice cracked.
No one spoke or diverted us from our tense silence, as you were customarily supposed to do when a person went awkwardly taciturn. But here they didn’t do that. Manners went out of the window when someone was processing, so you waited until they were ready to speak.
“My friend died in a drinking and driving car accident,” I said with a crazy laugh that accidentally burst from me. “Except she didn’t. She died because someone shot her. I think they shot her in the back which for some reason feels worse. But maybe it shouldn’t. She didn’t see the gun. She didn’t die afraid. Perhaps it was merciful.” The truth was there, mixed in amongst the chaos and hopes. “And that’s my secret. They murdered her and it’s my fault.”
“How’s it your fault?”
“She was shot to punish me. She was my escape plan,” I whispered, blinking tears down my cheeks. “My one act of rebellion.” A memory of skin rubbing against skin and hearts breaking, just my heart, flashed into my mind. “No.” I held up two fingers. “Two acts of rebellion. And I’m being punished for them.”
There was silence again.
“Are you feeling confused this morning, Ophelia?” Dr. Zamora asked patiently.
“No.” I shook my head. “Just sleepy. I didn’t sleep.” I rubbed my wrist on my pants, trying to erase it. It itched like it did last time. “I think I’m evil,” I confessed and got up quickly, making my head spin.
The room fuzzed out of focus and went dark. I heard people shout, but my ears and eyes turned off.
When they turned back on, I heard rustling. Bedding or blankets possibly. My head throbbed and my stomach hurt. I cringed at the discomfort, it was hunger. I hadn’t been this hungry in a long time. Swallowing was rough, my throat was dry. I wasn’t hungry. I was thirsty. I needed water, now. I blinked a few times before managing to open my eyes and focus on the room around me. It wasn’t mine. But it was a bedroom but how did I get here? My skin crawled as I froze, sensing another person in the room.
My mind replayed my most recent memories, trying to figure what had happened.
I recalled group, vaguely.
“O?” Lucas whispered and the bed shifted. He moved next to me, sitting on the edge. “You awake?”
I blinked and tried to answer but I felt awful.
“Here. They said when you woke, you would need this.” He offered me a water bottle with a straw.
Lifting my head wasn’t easy, but the need for water was beyond comprehension. I managed to get the straw between my lips and sucked, gagging but swallowing through it. “What is that?” I asked, sputtering.
“Electrolytes. They think you actually passed out from dehydration and exhaustion. They gave you some fluids with an IV a while ago but it’s been hours since they took you off that.” He pushed the water at me again.
I wrinkled my nose but drank. After a bit, the grape flavoring enhanced the water like a sports drink. “I don’t remember what happened.”
“It doesn’t matter. What does is that I owe you an apology.” He licked his lower lip and took my hand, turning it over, revealing the scar on my pale wrist. “I know what this is,” he said softly, shocking me with the abrupt conversation change. My heart stopped. The water churned in my stomach.
“What?” I whispered, scared of what he meant. There was no way he could know about the scar.
“This morning, I called Horatio, I told him about why your mom killed Paige. He said that couldn't be the reason she killed Paige.” He paused. “He explained why Paige hated me.” He furrowed his brow, his thumb tracing the mark. “I don’t know what to say, except I’m so sorry.”
That made two of us.
Uncomfortable as I could be, I took the cup from him and moved so I was sitting up, my back against the wall.
He stayed at the edge of the bed, staring at the sheets, half facing me. “I had no idea.”
The horror of someone, this particular someone, knowing my secret was turning the grape water in my stomach. I needed to undo this. How could Horatio know? How could Paige tell him something like that? Something so private.
The scent of lilacs wafted gently, almost hesitantly.
My heart ached like it was being squeezed to death.
“How do I fix this?”
“You can’t.” I climbed off the bed and walked to the door, but he was too quick or I was too slow.
He pressed against the back of me as his breath tickled my ears when he spoke down on me, “I want to. I need to.”
Closing my eyes, I placed a hand on the doorknob, ready to turn it. But I couldn’t. My self-preservation was shit.
“I need to know why. How?” He placed his hands on the door, holding it shut. I turned, blind with tears, every one of them bursting with shame.
“How what? How I could be so stupid as to think that night meant something to you?” I asked as the hate finally released from me. It trailed my cheeks.
“It did mean—”
“Don’t lie!” I snapped. “You got drunk, you put the charm on, we had sex, you were over it the moment it ended. You snuck out like a coward and by the next day, I was nothing more than a notch on your belt.”
He twitched but didn’t step back. Instead, he glared down on me. “That isn’t how it happened.”
“I don’t care how it happened. I know what I saw. An empty bed when I woke and a girl on your arm at the next function. You paraded her past me and even managed to say hi to me like I was nothing more than Laertes’ little sister again.”
He grabbed my hand and held up the scar. “I am not worth this!”
“I know that!” I jerked free. “I stopped myself before it was too late.” The memory of grabbing the knife from the farrier’s table struggled past my mental barrier, making my knees nearly buckle.
“I am not worth anything.”
“Oh my God.” I rolled my eyes,
wiping my face harshly. “Poor Prince Hamlet. His life is so hard.”
“You have no idea—”
“No!” I pointed one finger at him, poking and making him step back. “It’s you who has no idea. I know what this is like. Your mom doesn’t love you enough. Your dad worked too much? Boohoo! That’s the same story for every kid like us.” I was well beyond the tipping point, and there was no coming back from this rage. “My mother locked me in an asylum when I tried to show my father she was having an affair. I was fourteen! She let her psycho doctor do a virginity test on me in front of her to humiliate me! You have no idea what a hard life is. Your mother has been the closest thing to a caring woman in my life.”
I reached behind me for the door again, ready to open it, but I was stuck staring at the horrified look on his face.
“I loved you my whole life,” my traitorous voice cracked, adding to the tears flooding my face. “And like an idiot, I thought when we had sex, you finally saw it. And hoped maybe you felt something for me too.”
“You’re Laertes’ sister.” His eyes were glossy, making the storm in them more realistic.
“And he loves you too. And you know that.”
“And he’s my best friend.” He blinked and a tear fell from his eye. It shimmered down his cheek.
“And I’m nothing. Thank you for clarifying that.” I pressed my lips together for a moment before I turned the handle. “Now you see why I would never come here to try to win you over or try to be with you? Why I avoid you at all times? Because I still love you, even though you’ve left my heart in some gross loft you use for your hookups. What did Horatio say it was called?” The name crept back into my mind. “The dirty bed.”
He wanted to say something but he didn’t. His hands twitched with want to move, but he remained in his spot.
“I wish you’d had even an ounce of respect for and spared me the agony of being any part of your one-night stands.” I pulled the door open and left the room, slamming it behind me.
Again, I didn’t feel like the truth had set me free.
Chapter 11
Wednesday, July 24
“How are you, Ophelia?” Dr. Graves asked during my one on one session. She tried to do one of those smiles where her eyes didn’t get the message. They were stuck scrutinizing me.
“Tired but otherwise fine,” I answered quietly.
“Do you recall when I asked if we could be honest with each other?”
“Sure, but I don’t want to do it in here, in this office or the retreat.”
“You think we’re recording you?” She narrowed her eyes.
“I think there’s a fair to good chance you’re working for my family or the Jacobis, and you will tell them whatever I say to you. If you want to talk in here, I’m tired but otherwise fine.” I was done with the song and dance. It was time to take control.
“A walk then?”
“Your phone stays here.” I got up.
She placed her phone on the desk and emptied her pockets. I was half tempted to do a wire check but had to trust she was really interested in how I was doing. It was all I had.
And a decent-sized part of me wanted to believe it was true.
The rest of me knew I needed to talk to someone before I went mad, for real.
My mind felt like it was about to burst.
We walked outside into the heat, and I headed directly for the field. I hoped when I left, they dedicated it to me, considering how much time I spent in it.
When we crested the small hill overlooking the valley, she asked again, “How are you?”
“Not awesome,” I confessed. “I’ve spent days listening to these people in this place. They all have families and loved ones and systems of support.”
“And you don’t?”
“I don’t. Paige died. She was murdered.” I hesitated, not sure if I should tell her the whole truth or not.
“You still believe she was murdered?” She didn’t sound convinced.
“My mom killed her, shot her. And the coroner’s office hid it. They lied about her drinking and driving.”
“How do you know this?” Dr. Graves questioned me.
“I’m not a hundred percent certain why my mother did it, but I know because Paige was smart.” I paused, furrowing my brow and considering Paige’s brilliance. “She recorded the interaction through a phone call to an answering service on a burner phone.”
“And you’ve heard this recording?”
“Some friends and I heard it together. The burner belongs to one of them.”
“You don’t really think your mother could be capable of this—?”
“I do,” I cut her off. “As I told you before, I caught her having an affair when I was fourteen. She locked me up and told everyone I had melancholy.” I closed my eyes for a second to find the bravery to say it, “She let Dr. Horkel test my virginity. She watched him do it. She was showing me she could have anything done to me. She owned me, and Paige is the same. This is my mother flexing again. Making sure I’m under her thumb.”
Dr. Graves lifted her hand to her mouth, revealing emotion, real emotion. She twitched her head back and forth. The horror on her face suggested she knew nothing about any of this.
“But that’s not all.” I watched her try to cope with what I’d offered.
“How is there more?” she asked.
“King Hamlet was murdered. Someone poisoned him and the dog. And Lucas”—his name gave me pause—“could be in danger. You need to ensure the security is tight.”
“Why are you telling me this?” She gasped.
“Because I don’t know who else to tell. I don’t know what to do. I know I’m not okay. My grief and paranoia and trust issues are killing me. I’m sure of it. And if they don’t, my mother will. Which means all this information dies with me, protecting her,” I’d snapped. I was losing it on everyone. “The people trying to find answers and proof think we can handle this, but I don’t. And I need someone here to protect us. I need to know if Dr. Horkel tries to come and take me, you won’t let him. And I don’t trust a single person in my world I could tell this to.”
“I think you should go to the authorities.”
“The same ones covering up Paige’s death as an accident?”
“Right.” She thought for a moment. “You have my word. Any help I can offer you within reason, and the law, I will do whatever I can.” She held a hand out to me. It was cold and trembled when I took it, but I didn’t stay at a shake, I went all the way, something I only did with Paige. I wrapped myself in her and hugged tightly. I needed the feel of another human’s kindness.
She hugged back, but it was wooden, a stiff and professional hug.
“Thanks,” I said, stepping away, giving her some space.
“No one else knows this?”
“No. So if anyone finds out, I’ll assume it’s you.” I scowled, not sure if I was threatening her or not.
“Patient-client privileges. What you’ve told me won’t go further. And Horkel will never get near you again.” Fire flashed in her eyes.
“I knew I could trust you.” It was almost true. I hoped.
“You shouldn’t trust anyone else. This is critical information. I’m an adult, and I don’t know what to do.” She sounded burdened by it.
“You’re my guarantee. If anything happens, I need you to help. I trust my brother, Laertes, and their friend Horatio.”
The fire in her stare remained as she spoke, “I will do everything in my power to help.”
“Thank you.” I started walking back to the building alone. I assumed she needed a minute. It was a lot to hear.
The scent of lilac brushed against me with the breeze, and I hoped it was a good sign.
My mind replayed the things I told her as I made my way to my room. When I got there, I unlocked the door and stepped inside, jumping back.
He was there. Lucas was in my room, standing in the window.
“What are you doing?” I gasped, lif
ting a hand to my heart.
“We need to talk.” He looked tired. “Please hear me out.”
Every instinct and the lilac in the air begged me not to stay, but I stepped inside and closed the door, leaning my back against it. “Fine. You have one minute.”
“When we were kids, I always thought you were amazing. So clever with how you worked the parents with your demure act. You got away with everything because they all believed you. I had no idea your mother was secretly torturing you.” He took a deep breath. “And then when you were about fifteen, and I was twenty, I noticed how cute you were.”
“Cute?”
“Hot,” he reworded it. “But you were fifteen and Laertes’ sister and it was wrong.”
“And he was in love with you,” I challenged him to deny it.
“I wasn’t sure but I suspected.” He nodded. “Which made it awkward that I was always trying to be at your house or near you. You never threw yourself at guys or acted out like the other girls. You were a challenge, and at first that’s all I saw.” He closed his eyes briefly, clearly regretting the sentence.
“You’re disgusting.”
“I’m well aware,” he lamented and tried to avoid eye contact. “But by the time you were seventeen, I was in trouble. You know that saying, ‘I’d fallen before I even took a step’?”
“No.”
“I think I have it wrong.” He sighed again, pausing and hesitating repeatedly, making the visible discomfort much harder to bear. “I was done for. I couldn’t eat or sleep without thinking about you. I obsessed over the fact you’d noticed me. Said hi. Laughed at my joke.” He closed his eyes again, covering them with a hand. “I was consumed by you. And Laertes was starting to notice.”
“So you thought one small night with me might fix that craving?” I rolled my eyes at his ridiculousness.
“I did.” He paused, looking back at me as his cheeks lit up. “I thought one night might end the torment. I told myself I would never look back. I couldn’t hurt your brother that way.”
