by Emme DeWitt
What was I supposed to do now?
I no longer knew where I was in relation to my bed, my room, or even the institution. Without any barriers, I could easily lose my way back to myself. My overwhelming grief for Abuela’s passing reminded me I had a self to go back to, but the overwhelm of every single other thought and emotion and annoyance from the thousands of consciences surrounding me overwrote all my own, puny little thoughts.
In the mass of colors of auras and flickering fires of emotion, I watched as a curious black spot approached me. Seeing it niggled some part of my brain, poking at the logical side of myself. Logic helped sift through competing emotions and sorted them nicely according to person, direction, and intensity. Even within one person, it was good to separate out general emotion and personality from situational and fleeting feelings. The black spot fragmented and scattered the auras it broke through, becoming larger in my field of vision.
“Evangeline,” a voice said through the chaos. The voice seemed garbled, as if talking through water or over a line of static.
“If you don’t contain yourself, I’m going to have to have Dr. Novak sedate you,” the voice stated, no hint of malice or indignation. Merely stating the fact that sedation was next. Even with the straight tone, I bristled with anger that they dare sedate me whenever they felt like it. “I will give you to the count of ten. I recommend boxes. I personally find them easier to manage than walls.”
Using the flicker of anger as my base, I shoved the different emotions into their own corners. I felt as though I was climbing a mental mountain of trash, my intentions slipping like feet unable to find purchase in the non-corporeal mass.
Ten seconds to sort through all of this? I was being set up to fail, and my anger flared again brightly. Grief was my base, but anger became my fuel.
Boxes don’t make any sense, I argued. How many boxes am I supposed keep track of? What size? Am I supposed to label them too? What useless advice.
“Four,” the voice broke in, a little less watery now.
I growled in frustration.
“Three,” the voice said. Panic stuck me in my tracks, throwing my monkey brain into complete shutdown.
I can’t do this.
I can’t do this.
Oh my god, what if I really can’t do this?
Suddenly, I had an idea. I remember shoving all my toys into my closet when I was younger and supposed to be cleaning my room. It counted so long as you couldn’t see it, right?
“Two.”
I imagined a line of doors, shoving all the pent-up anxiety in one, the grief of losing my abuela in another, and finally, my anger in another. I slammed all the doors shut, leaving me with a sense of calm and a mild smirk of accomplishment.
“One,” the voice said.
I opened my eyes.
I had settled back into my body, and I flexed my fingers, wiggling my toes in my slippers to make sure they were functioning as well.
“Excellent,” the voice said, and I looked up, realizing it had been the Dean’s voice all along. A chill snaked across my skin, but I kept the surge of bile down, swallowing hard.
With all my scattered emotions stored away, I allowed a little emotional energy to seep through as a test. I counted the bodies in the building, checking in with Quentin as well. Although I could see the Dean with my own two eyes, her emotions didn’t ping my radar.
In fact, she was the black hole that had scared me back to my senses.
“What are you?” I whispered, biting my cheek savagely once I realized the words had escaped my lips. I tried to school my features before they betrayed my disgust, but I knew before I had the thought that it was pointless. Even Adair---sick bastard that he was---had an aura.
“I should be asking you the same thing,” the Dean replied, her features schooled even more diplomatically than usual. “I have a feeling we’ll both be finding out together.”
I took a deep inhale through my nose, trying my damnedest to distract my tongue from lashing out with a snarky comment. My flight sense was pinging, desperately imploring me to run as far away as I could get from this black hole of emotional energy. Not a single hair lay sleeping on my frame. My skin tingled like an exposed live wire.
I could not lose control again. Not in front of her.
Ever.
“Yeah, okay. Whatever,” I said finally. “So when can I get out of here? I’d much rather be studying for the ACT than finding myself or whatever you all had in mind. I have to get scholarship if I want to go anywhere decent. I’ll be sure to get back to you on the soul searching thing once I figure it out.”
I kicked myself internally. No baiting the senior emotional energy wielder. As much as I could mess myself up, I knew Dean Moriarty could supernova me into a zombie in the blink of an eye. Wasn’t a big fan of eating brains. Unfortunately, my smart mouth decided on a different tactic without consulting the rest of me first.
“Well, I had considered you going to Chicago for your grandmother’s funeral, but I’m concerned it will be too much for you. I won’t be there to keep you in check. I think it’s best you stay put for a while.”
Her Warm Smile™ did not reach her eyes.
“No,” I said, anger clipping my voice short. I felt the word lunge out like a whip, licking the Dean’s anti-aura before rebounding. “I can handle it.” The Dean raised an eyebrow just enough to betray movement, but I knew attacking her would only prove her point more valid. Too late to take it back now.
“Perhaps we can come to an understanding then,” the Dean said, crossing her arms, her face slightly inclined in thought.
“And what would that be?” I ground out through my teeth, my lips pressed tightly together. Internally, I was begging my anger to cool it. I pushed harder, forcing the emotion back behind its door. Better than a box, but still in need of improvement, I noted.
“You will have leave to attend your grandmother’s funeral, provided you have an escort,” the Dean said, stepping forward within arm’s reach.
The darkness that surrounded her pressed up against my personal space bubble, making me itch. I clenched my fingers so tightly together, I’m sure they were beyond white. I didn’t break eye contact with her to check.
“Fine.”
I focused on my breathing. The air felt thinner all of a sudden, and I tried to silence the alarm bells of my mind. Just a few more moments. Nothing we couldn’t handle.
“You will go, pay your respects, and return immediately,” she continued.
A wave of anxiety and excitement made my stomach flutter. I inhaled to cover the spike, and luckily, the Dean had stepped forward again. Her head cocked ever so slightly, reading my anxiety as a perceived threat of her physical presence.
I began counting to guide my breathing. Any other conscious plane Elevated would crack up how audibly I was screaming numbers in my head. Desperate times, desperate measures. I couldn’t let slip the plans my brain was starting to churn out.
“If you should encounter any…issues,” the Dean said, “you return immediately, regardless of the timing, and you will comply with all medical personnel until such a time that you can keep your tantrums under control.” I bristled at the word tantrum, but I managed to exhale my anger before it could shoot out of my mouth.
I was going to get out of here. I was going to Chicago, and I wasn’t going to look back.
I held the Dean’s gaze. After an extended war of not blinking, I sealed my fate.
“Shouldn’t be a problem.”
God help my escort.
Brendan kept sneaking peeks out of the corner of his eye while we drove. I was still frazzled from my tiff with the Dean, so as soon as we got in the car, I laid my seat back, put my hoodie up and blocked my face from the setting sun’s intense scrutiny. Even though I was supposed to be the navigator, I knew Brendan didn’t need me. He knew the way by heart. I tried to sleep, but a persistent cloud of anxiety kept bumping against me like an annoying pop-up ad.
“You’re going to kill us i
f you don’t keep your eyes on the road.”
Brendan jerked the wheel a bit in surprise, assuming my silence meant I was asleep.
“See? Told you.”
“I’m fine,” he said, flexing his grip on the wheel. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“And yet,” I sighed, groping blindly around for the lever to raise my seat. Clearly feigning sleep was not the most stress free way to get through the next few hours. The seat back sprung up into place, and I resigned myself to staring out the window and making occasional small talk. With my legs crossed and bouncing occasionally against the glove compartment, at least I was showing signs of life.
“How are you feeling?” Brendan asked, attempting to make his tone light and cool.
It didn’t take an Empath to figure out what he was thinking or feeling. His fidgeting alone would have driven anyone mad. I just had the added benefit of sharing the car ride with his intense worry filling every inch of the car. Riding with Blue Eyes would have been more peaceful.
“Fine,” I said aloud, leaving a big enough gap in response time that I flinched in response to another spike of concern. Everyone knows fine doesn’t mean fine.
“Good,” Brendan said, clearing his throat. He tapped his fingers on the wheel in time to a nonexistent beat.
“Want me to DJ?” I reached for his phone without waiting for a response. He nodded after a while and watched me scroll absently through some options.
“Good idea.”
I groped along the floor for the end of the auxiliary cable. Somehow the retractor had broken, so the cord had become a loose tangle caught between the cup holders and my bag. It was easy enough to find, considering how neat Brendan kept his car. Not a speck of dust could be found on his console, and I wondered if the debris I had tracked in with my boots would drive him crazy until he could vacuum it out.
Brendan’s car was not a beauty, by far. An older model sedan, it still ran well enough with minimal concerning sounds, but the care with which he maintained it made it seem much newer than it really was. I had no doubt it would get us reliably to our destination, much like Brendan.
Finally, I found purchase and plugged in his phone to the console. I went back to scrolling through the available options, keeping one mental eye on Brendan’s body language and overall anxiety level. It seemed to have tapered off a little, but I reminded myself to be careful not to let it ramp up again.
I gave up trying to find something I recognized. I hadn’t been paying much attention to music since the beginning of the school year. I missed out on Windermere’s winter break being institutionalized, so I had very little concept of what was currently happening in the outside world.
I hit shuffle all and hoped for the best.
“We’ll have to stop overnight, but I was thinking a rest stop, not a motel,” Brendan said, his words choppy and unnatural. Somehow, it sounded like he was apologizing and asking permission at the same time. As the almost hostage in this situation, I didn’t know what I was supposed to say.
“Sure.”
Honestly, it’s got to be better than my eight-by-eight hamster cage, I thought to no one in particular.
“We can find a truck stop with a shower if you want,” he continued. “It’s no problem.”
“Can’t we just shower at Tio’s? We’ll be there in plenty of time before the wake. I’m sure they won’t mind,” I said, distracted by my rush to skip a particularly annoying dance song.
Brendan’s gaze lingered on me, but he didn’t say anything more. After a minute, he just nodded, his focus temporarily back on the road.
I let my hair fall forward, framing my face to act like a privacy curtain beyond my hood. Between his emotional waves and his fidgeting, I was constantly aware of when he was looking at me. I was expending extra energy to limit my awareness to just that, instead of the list of all his worries. Something told me I had more than my fair share of space on that list.
Brendan had always kept an eye on me growing up. He and Tomas had been inseparable for as long as I could remember, so his presence in our house was more than commonplace. Since Tomas died, I could feel the weight of responsibility in every glance, in every hand gesture. Even his smile seemed heavier as he tried to be two big brother’s worth of protection.
“Your hair’s gotten so long,” he said, almost to himself.
I tucked one side behind my ear so I could see him properly, but he had clammed up. His cheeks puckered from a failed attempt to school his face. Brendan wasn’t much for blushing, but I imagined his cheeks were bright red under the surface. His hand flexed on the wheel again, and I looked back down at his phone, pretending to search for a good song.
“Really?” I said innocently, not wanting to make the interaction seem more awkward than it already was. “It’s hard to remember, it’s been so long since I’d noticed. It probably looks wrecked since I haven’t gotten it cut in a while.”
I grabbed a chunk, inspecting for split and dead ends. My hair had always been long, even when I was young. It was never shorter than my shoulder blades, but since I had been at Windermere and now the institution, it had gone unattended for a while. I checked a length of hair, measuring it down to my waist.
“Huh,” I said.
“It looks great,” Brendan said, the words falling out of his mouth in a rushed exhale. “I mean, it doesn’t look bad.”
“I’m sure I could walk in to a salon and get a trim if we have some extra time,” I said, twirling the ends in my fingers. “Or I can pin it back for the wake so it looks nice.”
“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Brendan said. “Now you’re going to think it looks bad.”
“I’m sure there will be many opinions when we get to Tio’s,” I said, making a point to engage eye contact, giving him a knowing look. “The truth will come out eventually.”
I flexed my most encouraging smile.
Brendan laughed nervously and grabbed the back of his neck with his free hand.
I skipped another bouncy song, settling on an acoustic guitar ballad with a raspy vocalist. Brendan’s hand fell to his lap, where he wiped imaginary sweat from his palm. I promised myself I wouldn’t go digging around in his head, so I wasn’t sure exactly what was causing his nerves to fray so easily. If anyone should be an emotional ball of nerves in this car, it should be me.
I stared out the window, my own wave of concern threatening to leak out into the stuffy tension.
I can do this. I can do this. I can do this, Brendan’s inner monologue said clearly, cresting a fresh wave of anxiety into the car. My eyes flickered to his lips, unsure if he had spoken aloud. That’s how direct the feeling had been.
On impulse, I grabbed his hand.
It stilled on his lap, and I sent out a small calming wave before he could swerve unintentionally again.
“Thank you,” I said, looking across the car at him. His body was rigid, all focus and intensity directed at the road in front of him, minus the alarm bells going off in his head. “I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you.”
It was true. Without Brendan, my escort could have been Blue Eyes or White Coat herself. Without his visits, I really would have gone off the deep end, with or without Quentin’s encouragement.
I squeezed his hand, emphasizing my gratitude. He squeezed back.
“I’m here for you,” he said, his eyes still trained on the car in front of us. “No matter what. Right, Evie?”
“Claro que si,” I said, lifting my hand slightly in an attempt to let go. It had been a while since anyone called me Evie. Only Noah and Tomas.
Brendan still held my hand firmly in his, and I didn’t want to rip it away and cause another emotional spike. The contact seemed to have calmed him some, and the anxiety in the car was slowly being replaced by contentment.
Although I was relieved we finally worked through the high stress anxiety cloud, I felt guilty for wanting to remove my hand when it seemed to help him so much. The playlist continued wit
h a variety of mellow songs, and this time, I really was getting lulled to sleep by the flat open road and the warm fuzzies coming from Brendan.
I dozed off to the rhythm of Brendan’s thumb stroking my knuckles and the steady thunk thunk of the equally spaced asphalt strips. For just a little while, I would focus on the present. This present did not include Dean Moriarty, The Association, or those damn ceiling tiles. I would hold on to this illusion for as long and as hard as I could. It didn’t take an Oracle to know it wouldn’t last long.
The vending machine made a concerning noise as I jabbed savagely at the coffee button, muttering to myself through half-slit eyes about the audacity of withholding caffeine from the needy.
We had slept overnight at a rest stop, and I was in charge of caffeination and breakfast. My fists were jammed full with quarters, and all the vending machines were being temperamental. I wasn’t particularly excited about the stale honeybun I was about to consume for breakfast. This coffee was my last hope in making breakfast bearable.
I glanced outside, worried Brendan would come inside again looking for me. I had a certain sense of pride in being able to handle things myself, and Brendan always seemed to jump in at the slightest difficulty, fixing all variety of minor problems. I just wanted to get back on the road and hopefully on to much tastier food. My stomach growled in agreement.
Brendan was leaning against the driver’s side door, talking on his cellphone. Probably checking in with Tio. Or White Coat. More likely White Coat. I sighed, returning my attention to the coffee machine with a quick kick. The quarter that had been stuck rolled home, and a cup finally dropped, filling with hot instant coffee. The smell was amazing, and I clung to its comfort tightly as I repeated the routine for cup number two.
I tottered out to the car with my elbows tucked tightly to my sides. I had pinned the several varieties of prepackaged pastries against my body with sheer will, and tried desperately not to lose any while also avoiding spilling coffee all over my gloveless hands. The bracing winter wind whipped my hair against my numb cheeks, and I squinted, trying to keep my pace without accidentally wandering into a half melted snow and ice bank.
