by Mila Ferrera
“No, you read it right. Thanks for the momentary reprieve.” I sigh. “I have to take this, though. Katie’s struggling again, Daniel. She says her meds aren’t working. I’m starting to wonder if she needs to go back to the hospital. I almost took her there this afternoon.”
Daniel winces. He knows all about my ups and downs with my sister. “Did she try to hurt herself again?”
I shrug. “Maybe. She set a fire.”
His eyes go round.
“She said it was an accident.” She said she was trying to make herself a grilled cheese and forgot about it, then fell asleep. If I hadn’t caught it in time and put it out, our entire apartment would have gone up in flames—maybe taking both of us with it.
He shakes his head. “I don’t know how you do it, man. If it was me …”
“She’s been through a lot.” And it’s my fault. “But if she has to go into the hospital again, it’s going to be rough. I’m still paying bills from last time.” When you don’t have good health insurance, even a day in the psych ward will wipe you out. And Katie is a frequent flyer.
“Doesn’t Amy help you out? She’s got money.”
I scrape a few flecks of paint off my forearm with the edge of my thumbnail. “Amy’s got her own family to worry about.” She’s always been on the outside, anyway. Eight years older than me, ten years older than Katie, Amy left for college only a few months after my mom married Phil. She doesn’t know what it was like for us. She wasn’t a part of what happened. “She helps a little. Does what she can.”
“Yeah,” says Daniel, his voice dripping with skepticism. It makes me want to hit something. Or maybe someone. Or maybe a lot of someones. Suddenly, I feel like I’m in a cage, iron bars close around me, my knuckles white as I try to break free.
“Claudia offered me five thousand dollars for the commission,” I blurt.
“Nice.” He blows a long breath between pursed lips, then gives me an assessing look. “It won’t be so bad, you know. Claudia takes care of herself, and she’s pretty nice. Maybe a little aggressive …” He gives me a sympathetic look. “You could do worse.”
I grit my teeth. “Yeah,” I force myself to say. “I know.” And he’s right. The lonely, bored wives of the local CEOs have too much time and money on their hands. They offer commissions or ask for private lessons, but there are always strings firmly attached. Daniel seems to enjoy it thoroughly and has been with a bunch of them. Markus, too. I’ve avoided that kind of entanglement … until now, because I can’t anymore. “Thanks.”
He slaps my back. “Did you know Romy was here tonight, or were you too wrapped up with Claudia?”
“You saw her?” I wonder if that means she stayed. I wasn’t sure she would, but I was hoping … “Is she still here?” I’m two steps closer to the door before my brain catches up with my body.
“Slow down, stud. Can’t you leave any scraps for the rest of us?”
I whirl around, every muscle tight. “Did you just call Romy a scrap?”
His arms shoot upward. “Calm down! It was a figure of speech.”
“Did you hit on her?” I growl.
He gives me a look that says he thinks I’m the one who needs a visit to the psych hospital. “I walked her to her car, Caleb. It’s late. She’s tiny and was lugging a toolbox that weighs half as much as she does. Would you have preferred I let her fend for herself?” His voice has turned hard.
No. I step back and shove my hands in my pockets. I remember the feel of her shoulders underneath my hands, the rise and fall of her chest as she tried to control her breathing. As she tried to control herself. That’s what she’s here for. That’s what she wants, I can tell. I know the feeling. “She let you do that for her?”
He gives me a slow smile. “She was adorable. Said she’d had a productive night.”
Something in my chest loosens. “Really? That’s … good.” She’d looked miserable and lost when I found her in the classroom. Did I help her? God, I was trying so hard. The way she looked at me brought something to life inside of me. But it didn’t feel sleazy or greedy. It felt clean and honest.
“She said she’d see me Tuesday, so I guess that means she’s feeling good about the class.”
A flash of jealousy burns through me. “That’s good,” I say lightly. “I think she’s here for the right reasons.”
Daniel’s eyes narrow, and I turn away from him, heading for my studio. If Claudia wants a landscape, I’d better sketch a few before our next meeting. “Hey, I only came by to grab some stuff,” he calls. “Can you close up downstairs when you leave?”
I wave my hand, letting him know I will. And then I sit on the floor of my studio and stare at my painting. I’d been feeling better about it until Claudia looked at it. Laughed at it. Dismissed it. Now I don’t know what I feel.
I pull my phone from my pocket and dial home. Katie picks up immediately. “I’m fine, and I’m not doing anything bad,” she snaps. She’s twenty-two, but she sounds fifteen.
“You’re okay? Feeling safe?” I ask, steadying my voice, softening the edge. There’s nothing that sets her off faster than that.
“I’m watching TV. You’re making me miss the rose ceremony.”
I have no idea what she’s talking about. “I’ll be home soon, okay? Call me if you need anything or if you start to feel bad?”
She huffs an impatient breath into the phone. “Why, so you can call 911?”
“No, Katie, come on … I’m trying to help.”
“Ever heard the phrase ‘too little, too late?’” she whispers angrily, then hangs up.
I stare at the wall, phone still to my ear. “Yeah, actually. Every fucking day.”
It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. I should be numb. I lost Katie ten years ago, and I’ve been losing her over and over again ever since. It doesn’t stop me from wanting to save her, though. I don’t think that will ever go away. She’s my sister. My responsibility. My fault all my fault all my fault.
With a sigh, I put the phone away and try to focus on the job that’s going to earn me enough to cover bills and pay our rent for the next three months. I grab my sketch pad from a corner and pull the pencil from its spiral. Landscapes. Flowers. Tasteful. The blank page greets me, and the irony makes me chuckle. Wasn’t I pulling Romy through her creative block only an hour ago?
If she could see me now, what would she say?
Why am I thinking about her at all?
But before I can stop myself, I’m recreating the slope of her neck, this graceful line of pure wish. I trace my index finger along its path, smudging it a little. The curve of her jaw, the shell of her ear. It’s easily visible because her hair’s so short. I stretch out on my stomach on the floor of my studio, among my oils and brushes, stupid landscapes the furthest thing from my mind. I want to capture it, challenge and fear at the same time, the need for shelter and the need for strength bleeding together, mixing but still distinct. It was all there in Romy’s eyes, and it made me want to take her face in my hands and stare long enough to figure it out.
I reach over and snag one of my brushes, then start combining colors. Yellow, blue, a little black. Yeah. Her eyes were like that, dark and deep, intense but opaque. I could see what was on the surface, but not what lay behind them. She doesn’t want anyone telling her what to do, but at the same time, I can tell she’s a little tempted to let someone do just that. I don’t know why. She might have daddy issues—hopefully not the same kind Katie has, for Romy’s sake—or she might have ex-boyfriend issues. Something bad might’ve happened to her and she’s trying to find her feet again. She might be on her own for the first time and feeling nervous about it. She’s probably only twenty-three or so. It could be any of those things.
All I know is this: when she closed her eyes, when she trusted me enough to let me try to help … I haven’t felt that worthwhile in a long time. My fingers tangle in my hair as I sketch, losing myself in the soft angles of her cheekbones and the delicate curve of her lips. I’m dimly aw
are of how fucked this is, but I have to see it again, that look she gave me. I have to figure it out.
My shoulders and neck ache like hell by the time I finally tuck the pencil into the spiral and close the sketch book. I’m not done, not there yet, but I need to get home to Katie. She should be in bed by now—usually her evening meds knock her out by eleven, but that’s only if she takes them. I push myself to my feet and kick my sketchpad beneath my drop cloth. I glance at my phone and my eyes go wide. It’s after midnight. “Enough,” I say to myself. “Enough.” I don’t even know Romy. She’s a symbol of all the things I want but can’t have, nothing more, which means I need to leave her alone and come to grips with reality.
Done. I flick off the lights and head for the door. I might be walking into a nightmare when I get home, and daydreaming is something I simply can’t afford.
Chapter Five: Romy
I get to group supervision early and make a few notes about the case I want to talk about. I met with Laura this morning at the shelter. She’s been there for a few days, but is considering going back to her husband. He’s never hit her, she says. Maybe it’s not domestic violence. Sure, he forces her to have sex with him if she wants the car keys or money for groceries, but that’s normal, right?
My hands shake and I clench my fists to steady them. Not for the first time, I wonder whether Jude was right about this internship hitting a little close to home. Alex’s words have been loud in my head today.
When I looked in the mirror this morning: Don’t wear that skirt. You want every guy around to stare at your legs? You look like a slut.
When I got behind the wheel (after changing into pants and then back into the skirt): Where will you be this afternoon? Who will you be with? You’re not cheating, are you?
When I realized I still had a bit of gray paint between my fingers: You’re going to spend time on that useless hobby instead of with me? Are you trying to avoid me?
It’s been months, and he still gets to whisper in my mind. “You don’t own me,” I whisper back. “I’m in charge.”
Fortunately, I’ve shut my mouth before Dr. Greer walks in. “Romy,” he says, nodding at me and smiling. “How’s it going at Sojourner?”
I ratchet an answering smile onto my face. “Good. I have my first client.”
“Well, as soon as everyone else arrives, we’ll get started.” He sits down at one of the chairs in the circle as Jude walks in, looking a bit frazzled.
He drops into the chair next to me and leans his head against my shoulder. He smells like CK One, a scent I associate with comfort and safety. I pat his cheek. “Rough day?”
He nods. Dr. Greer tilts his head and gives Jude a sympathetic look, then greets the other three counseling students in this supervision. Once we’re all situated, he asks who wants to get started, and Suzanne volunteers. She talks about a depressed veteran she’s working with at her placement, the local hospital clinic. We all listen and offer suggestions, and Dr. Greer asks her to consider whether the client is reminding her of her own father, who, as it turns out, is a Gulf War vet. After her, I talk about Laura, and fight the tremble in my voice as I describe how she’s considering returning to a man who basically rapes her in return for basic necessities.
“You’re angry at her,” Dr. Greer observes quietly.
I sit back in my chair. “Of course I’m not angry at her! I just don’t want her to do something so obviously bad for her.”
He stares at me for a few moments, and I remember when he showed up at Jude’s, wondering why I’d fallen off the face of the earth. I shiver a little as a cold sweat prickles the back of my neck.
“She’s ambivalent, Romy,” he says. “Of two minds.”
I sigh. “I know, but—”
He shakes his head. “You say you know, but let’s get concrete. What would she gain by leaving him?”
“A life free from control and abuse?” I fail to completely conceal the edge in my voice.
“I would hope so,” he says mildly, “but what would she lose by leaving him?”
I open my mouth to say “Nothing!” but then I think about it. “She doesn’t work. And he owns the house.”
Dr. Greer nods. “Does she have any skills? A college degree?”
“I don’t know, actually. I need to ask her.”
“Friends? Family in the area? Do they know what’s happening to her? Would they support her if they did?”
I bite my lip, and Dr. Greer’s eyes crinkle at the corners. He knows he’s got me. “Consider making a list of pros and cons in your next session with her,” he instructs. “You’re only thinking of the benefits for her if she leaves. But if she’s ambivalent and you argue only one side, she’ll push back with all the reasons she should make the best of it and stay. If you acknowledge both sides and explore that with her—without judgment—she’ll be better able to decide for herself.”
My cheeks are hot. He’s so right, and so gentle, and I feel like the most insensitive person in the world. “I want her to be safe,” I say, my throat tight. “I don’t want him to hurt her anymore.”
Jude wraps his arms over my shoulders. “You all right?”
I shake my head before I can think about it, and then I stop myself. “I’ll be okay.”
Dr. Greer gives me a look that says we’re talking about this later, then asks Jude if he’d like to present a case. Jude sighs and I move away so I can see his face. He gives me a cautious, almost apologetic look that I don’t understand, then starts to talk about his new client, Catherine.
“On the surface, it seems like she’s got everything going for her,” he says. “She works at the library part-time. She says she has friends, boyfriends sometimes. But she lives with her older brother, and … she’s scared of him.” His gaze flits in my direction again. “He doesn’t understand her. Tries to control her. Always wants to know where she is and who she’s with.”
As he goes on, I know why he was looking at me like that. The things this brother, whose name is Cabe, says to her … he may be her brother, but he reminds me of Alex. Criticizing what she wears, calling her constantly … my stomach turns as I listen. Finally, Jude stretches his legs out and shrugs. “I was thinking I should bring this guy in for a session, like a family meeting?”
I sit up like I’ve been poked in the ass. “What? Therapy is supposed to be a safe place, and you’re going to let him in? How will that feel to her?”
The other students look at me nervously, but Jude is used to me being blunt. He grimaces. “I know. But … I feel like I need more information. It’s hard, because she wouldn’t sign any releases to let me talk to her previous therapist or this brother or any of her other family members. She’s hard to pin down.”
“Maybe she doesn’t trust you yet,” says Suzanne gently. “You’ve only had one session with her, right?”
“I’d work on forming a solid alliance with this young woman before you seek more information elsewhere,” says Dr. Greer. “I’m not saying you don’t need it, but Suzanne is correct. She has to feel safe and trust you before you can move forward. Be patient. One of the easiest things to do in therapy is to rush things, but you’re in the free clinic, and that means there’s no insurance provider breathing down your neck. Build something good here, Jude. Don’t be complacent, but don’t push too hard, either.”
We move on from there, letting the other students have their turns, but I’m lost in a fog. What is wrong with me? It’s been months! I should be over this. In my whole life, I’d never been mistreated or abused, and it took only a few months with Alex to make me fall apart. Weak. I’m the opposite of what I want to be.
“You coming?”
My head jerks up. Jude is standing over me, looking hesitant. Supervision is over. “Um” is all I can think to say.
“Actually, Jude, I was wondering if I could talk to Romy for a few minutes?” asks Dr. Greer.
“Oh, sure,” he says, then bends and kisses my cheek. “Film festival on Saturday? Eric
will make dinner for us before. Risotto,” he offers in a singsong voice.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’ll be there.”
He grins and leaves, and I’m stuck. Dr. Greer pivots in his chair and faces me. “You were very honest with me last semester, Romy. I’m going to have to ask you to do that again now. How was your summer?”
I rub at an ache above my left eyebrow. “Relaxing. I spent some time at my parents’ cottage.”
“And now that you’re back? It can be hard to return to a place with so many reminders of what you went through last year.”
“I have a new apartment.”
He pushes his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. “That’s good. And Jude seems like a good support for you. Are you going to start therapy again?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I mean, I felt like I got a lot out of it, but …” I spent six months in therapy, and it was definitely helpful. But I don’t want to feel broken anymore.
“What else are you doing for yourself? How are you spending your free time?”
If anyone else asked me this, I’d push back. But Dr. Greer could yank me from my internship if he senses I can’t handle it, and I need to convince him I can. “I’m painting, actually. Taking a class at the co-op. Jude is doing it with me.”
He grins. “You paint?”
“I did, but I hadn’t in a while. I’m giving it another try.”
“Art is a wonderful therapeutic outlet,” he says, and I can tell he’s pleased. “I’m glad you’re taking self-care seriously. Good therapists know how to nurture themselves so they can truly be there for others.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “I know. I’m trying. I-I mean—”
“It’s all right,” he assures me. “I simply wanted to check in with you. I hope you don’t mind.”
“No, I appreciate it.” I stand up, eager to escape. “I have another class.”
He waves toward the door, still smiling. “Don’t let me keep you. I’ll see you next week. I look forward to hearing more about your painting class.”
A pair of wolf-gray eyes flashes in my mind, along with the memory of heat and the deep vibrations of Caleb’s voice. I let out a shaky, surprised laugh that causes Dr. Greer’s eyebrows to rise to the middle of his forehead.
