Reprieve

by A. E. Woodward

  I HADN’T PREPARED myself for this. Cooling off to me means a day passes, parties cool their jets, then things return to normal.

  But that isn’t what’s happened.

  It’s been four days.

  Four whole days.

  The weekend crawled by, which is normal because counselors don’t usually see patients on Friday, Saturday or Sunday and the lack of a routine makes time drag. I did however manage to keep my mind off from it all by hanging out and playing cards with Luke and his buddies.

  “Full house,” he said, laying his cards out for everyone to see, his face nearly splitting with his wide-mouth grin.

  “Jesus, fuck.” Andy threw his cards into the center of the table. “You believe that shit? Luke, man, you gotta have some of those up your sleeve. Check him.” He nudged me, pointing at Luke, who was gathering all his matchsticks into a pile in front of him. They wouldn’t allow us to gamble with money, so we’d had to get creative.

  “Andrew, Andrew, Andrew.” Luke collected the cards and shuffled them with a flourish of his hand. “Some people have it, some people don’t, right, Tegan?” He winked at me and the laughter came right up from my stomach, leaping up and out of my mouth. It had been so long since I’d laughed like that. The sound was almost foreign. As Luke dealt another hand, I looked around the table, finally understanding what Asher meant about making connections. For the first time in a long while, I was actually building relationships instead of shooting them down. Healthy relationships. Relationships built on laughter, shared interests—interests that didn’t include heroin—and I had to admit that he was right. It felt good.

  “Come on,” I said to Luke, “No one can go five hands in a row.”

  “Oh, really?” You wanna bet?”

  I went home a loser in the sense of cards, but even though my heart was hurting with the lack of communication from Asher, I felt like a winner. Laughter really was the best medicine.

  But now, back in my room, alone, I worry about what cooling off might mean to him. Both times we’ve slept together I have done so willingly; never putting up so much as a hand to stop him for taking what he wanted and I begin to wonder if that’s what this is to him. A hook-up.

  I start to go crazy. My skin crawls, my heart breaks over and over, and I feel so completely alone, even though by being here I am constantly swimming in a sea of people.

  When the receptionist calls to cancel my long-standing Monday appointment, the freak out I’ve been fighting against officially wins and I drive my fist against the wall, the sheetrock crumbling underneath my knuckles, tears welling in my eyes. The walls start to close in on me. My palms sweat. My heart hums against my chest, the thunder reverberating through my head as I pace the floor, unsure of what the hell is happening.

  “I’ve got to get out of here,” I whisper to myself. The air inside my room feels too thin and I’m struggling to breathe.

  Without hesitation, I grab my key and practically run out the door but the hallways feel just as claustrophobic as my room. In fact, they feel worse because I can see others staring at me as I pass. I must look as bad as I feel.

  My feet carry me through the building. I have no clue where I’m going, or what I’m going to do with my day. As I pass someone eating, my stomach growls and I remember it’s been a while since I’ve eaten and decide I need to refuel my body. No matter how sad I am, I have to remember to take care of myself. I haven’t come this far to throw it away.

  Making my way into the cafe, I groan when I see it’s busy. It’s earlier than I normally make my way in and there are more people in here than I’m used to. My ears ring with the loud clatters and chatter and I remember why I like the later breakfast. It doesn’t bother me that everything has been picked over by the time I arrive. I spent years eating crap. Days could pass before I’d even remember to eat, and there were even times when I didn’t have the money to waste on food. So now, as long as I have something to put in my stomach, I’m a happy girl.

  I get in line for the buffet. Warming trays filled with various breakfast staples line the wall and I grab some scrambled eggs and toast, but decide to wait for bacon. Of course, everyone stops for bacon and by the time I get up to the tray, it’s pretty well picked over. I sigh and start scavenging through with the tongs. I don’t want to just find a good piece of bacon—I want a great one. Looking for the perfectly crispy piece to satiate my hunger seems foolish, but I find the menial task oddly calming.

  That is, until I feel a gentle tap on my shoulder. I flinch at the same time my heart soars and I look over my shoulder, my chest deflating when I see it’s not Asher.

  “Don’t take all the crispy ones.”

  Luke.

  The newest addition to my life, his dork-like square glasses are glued on me, and he offers up a wry smile, nudging me with his elbow. “I’ll try and leave some for you,” I say quietly, going back to my search for the perfect slice of pig, stepping to the side to give him some room to begin his own search. We select a few pieces and step away from the buffet. Looking around for a table I notice there aren’t a lot of options; another negative to the early morning rush.

  “Wanna sit and eat outside?” he asks.

  “We can do that?”

  “Yeah.” He looks at me like I should know this. “You’ve never eaten out on the grass?”

  “Nah, I usually come in just before they close down to prep for lunch, so I never really see anyone in here, let alone see it this busy.”

  “Ah.” He nods. “A loner.”

  I shrug. He’s not wrong. Even when I was a young child, I was happier on my own. Less chance of getting hurt. Having been physically and emotionally abused for years certainly didn’t make my personality a welcoming one. At an early age, my classmates learned to steer clear of me, and that was okay. I didn’t need them around anyway. In fact, I preferred it that way. Little girls asked questions, and I didn’t have the answers.

  Then as I got older, I liked keeping people at an arms length, preventing them from being able to hurt me. Although, looking back, I realize that the hurt kept on coming regardless.

  “I was too,” he said as if reading my thoughts. We start walking toward the door and he shifts his tray to one hand, using the other to hold the door open for me. I scoot under his arm and out into the sunshine. “However, with me, it wasn’t by choice. Something tells me that with you, it was.”

  “People kept hurting me, so I chose to keep them at a safe distance. It’s much better that way.” My explanation is brief at best, but it’s all he’s going to get, especially given the way I feel today.

  “But sometimes there is good in people. If you don’t take a risk, how can you ever find that out?”

  “You know,” I say as we sit down, “you’re really smart.”

  He laughs and the sound is almost melodic in timbre. I look at Luke again; really look at him. His features are rugged, his jawline looking as though it was etched from stone, covered with a scruff that makes him look older. I can’t help but think if he got rid of the nerdy glasses and the dated nineties hairstyle, he could be quite the catch. “Once I was done studying, and the Adderall was still running through me at full speed, I would read whatever I could get my hands on. Fiction. Nonfiction. Philosophy. It didn’t matter to me. I just wanted to read.”

  I lean over close to him and whisper, “And they say all addictions are bad.”

  We toss our heads back and laugh harder than we should. My terrible joke isn’t that funny, but something about two addicts making fun of the thing that afflicts them is ironic to the point of hilarity.

  Popping some bacon in my mouth, I look around. As though I’m seeing it for the first time, which I guess in a way I am. I know I’ve been too wrapped up in myself to notice, because this place is beautiful. The gardens are in full bloom, creating a rainbow-streaked sea. Sculptures, that I assume are from the students in the art classes that I refused to sign up for, are spread around the landscape. It’s apparent to me tha
t they’ve really taken their time creating a place that isn’t only safe, but a place that allows people to start to appreciate the world around them. I can’t believe I hadn’t noticed any of it before. I take a deep breath in of the fresh air and then I see him.

  He’s walking across the grass and for a moment I think he hasn’t seen me, his eyes glued to the ground as he walks, but then he lifts his head and looks around. Within seconds, his eyes meet mine, his brows pinch together, and even from this distance I see his eyes darken . . . and not in a good way. The muscles in his jaw clench and the hand not carrying his tray fists and releases at his side. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s jealous.

  Oh my God. He’s jealous!

  I revel in the feeling and it takes every ounce of my willpower to not acknowledge him, to keep my face straight. I direct my attention back to Luke and pretend I’m enthralled by his story, exaggerating my eye flutters, leaning into him, touching his arm and nudging him with my shoulder. I know it isn’t fair to Luke to use him in this way but I want a reaction. Any way I can get one.

  After a while, I start to grow tired, sick of the game playing but also just plain exhausted. Whoever said rehab was easy obviously never actually went. I let out a soft yawn, attempting to shield it with my right hand but the gesture is futile. “Am I keeping you awake?” Luke asks.

  I shake my head. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude. I’m just really tired all of a sudden.”

  “It’s all right,” he says quickly. “I’ll see you around.”

  I hop up to my feet and nod, even though he’s not looking at me. “Yeah, you definitely will. Thanks again for today, Luke.”

  He puts his hand up and waves me away. “No problem. You were decent company.”

  I laugh and wave back, heading inside. I’ve just made it through the main doors when I hear someone calling, “Tegan!” I look around, puzzled, and see the receptionist waving frantically at me. I smile and make my way to her.

  “Tegan, I’m so glad I caught you. I tried calling your room but you weren’t there, obviously.” She giggles at her own joke before continuing. “Mr. Hughes would like to see you first thing tomorrow.”

  I wanted to laugh. One, he had never had me call him Mr. Hughes. Secondly, it seemed to me that his summoning is a kneejerk reaction to seeing me with Luke today.

  Looks like I got my reaction after all.

  “You mean Asher?” I ask.

  She looks at me, confused. “Yes, Mr. Hughes.” Apparently she didn’t get what I was saying. “He said he wants to make up the session you missed today.”

  I roll my eyes. “Thanks for letting me know,” I say, turning to make my way back to my room.

  The receptionist leans over the counter and calls after me. “Shall I call Mr. Hughes and let him know you’ve confirmed?”

  I pause, my back to her, knowing the ball is most definitely in my court and wondering what to do with this newfound power. I shake my head and smile to myself. “Call him and tell him I might show up, and I might not. My schedule is pretty full at the moment.” I don’t wait for her to say anything back because it doesn’t matter what she says. I’m strong and in control, and my weakness for Asher Hughes won’t control me any longer.

  I’M BARELY THROUGH the office door when he slams it shut behind me, the sound echoing through the room. It’s eight in the morning and after a good night’s sleep I’m feeling relaxed and refreshed. The same cannot be said for Asher, who looks like he’s just been dragged through a bush backward, his hair in disarray, his Windsor knot tie slightly askew. “Wanna tell me what the hell you were doing with Luke?” His tone is far from friendly and I take a moment to remember that not only have I not done anything wrong, he is the one who left me hanging for days. He has no right to be angry with me.

  I open my eyes wide, the picture of innocence. It’s a look I’ve perfected over the years. About time it came in handy, really. “What are you talking about? I thought we were having the session we missed yesterday.”

  “I want to know, Tegan.”

  He wants? He wants?

  “How about you answer a question for me first, Asher? Where the hell have you been the last few days? Lets talk about that.”

  He ignores my question and continues to glare at me. In a voice that is so calm it’s eerie, he says, “Tell me.”

  “I was connecting, like you suggested. You didn’t want to be with me so I sat with Luke.” It’s a low blow but it’s also the truth.

  “Right.” His voice oozes contempt. I can tell he doesn’t believe me.

  “We were just talking, for God’s sake.”

  Asher rolls his eyes and runs his hand through his hair. “Don’t play coy with me, Tegan. It doesn’t suit you.”

  I slam my hand against his chest, my palm connecting with a wall of hard muscle and I ignore the shiver that runs through me. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I ask. He eyes me carefully, his head cocking to the side, his finger running over his bottom lip, coming to rest on his chin. He is the picture of perfection, even disheveled, but I manage to look past that and wait silently for his answer.

  “Your track record isn’t exactly the best, is it?”

  Slap!

  My palm connects with his face and his head swings left. I rub my hands together, trying to quell the sting. He lifts a hand to his reddening cheek, running his fingers over the skin, rocking his jaw back and forth, watching me with a look that combines shock and frustration.

  “How—dare—you,” I say, the words coming like a growl from between my teeth. I expect a comment like that from my father, not from the man who has held my hand through one of the hardest times of my life. My breath comes in pants and the adrenaline coursing through my veins evaporates, leaving me appalled at my behavior. I struck him. Asher. My counselor. My . . .

  A heaviness settles in my chest and tears pool in my eyes, spilling over and rolling down my cheeks. “You bring up my past and use it against me . . . that hurts worse than anything else you could have ever done. You of all people, Asher. You know.”

  My voice breaks and my legs give out beneath me. I fall to the floor. My hands flat against the scratchy office carpet, I tuck my chin to my chest and let the tears run freely. Strong arms wrap around my shoulders and I try to push against them, but he holds on tight, his grip crushing me against his body, pulling me up to my knees at the same time I feel his mouth at my ear. His voice is hoarse and strained as he whispers, “This is so fucked up.”

  A few moments pass as I start to gather my composure when he speaks again. “I don’t know how this is supposed to work. It’s too hard.”

  “I don’t see what’s so hard about it. It’s just you and me. Let it end there.”

  “But it doesn’t.” He drops his arms and backs away. The sudden loss of him makes my heart ache and a sickening feeling rolls and grows in my stomach as he paces back and forth across the room, his hands opening and closing with nerves, his face pained. “Don’t you see, Tegan. I know too much.”

  “Too much?” I ask meekly, completely lost. His sudden anger and erratic behavior is scaring me, even more because I have absolutely no clue what he’s getting at.

  He moves around the room, his steps seeming to increase in speed as his anxiety heightens. He mutters to himself and I only catch bits of what he’s saying. “This isn’t normal . . . everything about you . . . not right that I’m doing this . . . We shouldn’t be doing this.”

  My familiar friend panic weaves its way through by body, beginning at my stomach before creeping back into my chest, wrapping tightly around my lungs, making it hard for me to draw a full breath. My chest heaves. Everything about this fucked up situation tells me I should run in the other direction. The emotions are too high. The risk too great.

  But I don’t run.

  Instead I step toward him, even though I’m unsure of how he’ll react, and slide my hand into his. He stops pacing, snaps his head up and looks at me. “I can’t no
t do this,” I say softly, pulling hid hand to my chest and laying it over my heart, willing him to feel it thrumming in my chest, hoping that he’ll know what that means to me.

  “It’s hard for me.”

  I nod.

  “Do you get it now, Tegan? I fuckin’ know too much.”

  For a second I still don’t understand but then it hits me like a ton of bricks.

  He knows too much.

  Asher knows everything about me. And not just the formal stuff like my birthday, my height, my weight, the fact that I dropped out of college. No. Asher knows my vices; he knows my flaws; he knows how my mind works. And I’m willing to bet that, being the good guy he is, he feels like he’s taking advantage of me. That his knowledge of me gives him too much power. Maybe it does. Maybe it doesn’t. I don’t really care. All I know is that I need him in my life, no matter if it is wrong or right.

  “It’s so hard because I know all your inner workings. I know what makes you tick.” He growls and his hand squeezes mine so hard that I yelp and he releases, lifting our hands and placing a kiss over my knuckles. “When I saw you with him, I assumed the worst and—”

  “You know what made me tick—past tense. Let me ask you this one question, Asher: are you still who you used to be?”

  His eyes drop to the floor and I know I’ve made my point. The room is silent.

  “Talk to me, Asher. Please?”

  Slowly, he places his hand against my cheek, his thumb wiping away the moisture left behind by my tears and he says quietly, “I’m so sorry for overreacting.”

  I lean my face into his hand and I sigh. His touch feels like home and despite the situation we find ourselves in, my body relaxes. It’s as if he absorbs all my tension until I have no choice but to settle. “Nothing else matters to me. Just me and you, okay?”

  “You make me insane.”

  I know he’s telling the truth. That much is obvious to me. “We’ve got to try not to let our situation rule us anymore. You know me, Asher. Not only that, but you know the me I’m trying to be.” He doesn’t say anything. “Asher, are you with me?”