by Ava Conway
While all of this was intriguing, it was his eyes that most attracted me. They were constantly changing, from the clear sky-blue when he first walked into my office, to the stormy gray they were now.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
“For an internship, like Dr. Polanski said. I’m working toward my doctorate in clinical psychology.”
“Yeah, that’s not what I mean.” He scratched his head, shaking loose some auburn strands from his bandanna. My fingers itched to tug that ridiculous piece of fabric away and let his locks tumble into place. I bet the man would be stunning if he just cleaned up a little bit.
“What do you mean?” I asked as I tore my gaze away from his hair and back down to his face.
“I mean, why mental patients?”
I chuckled and shook my head. “You know, you’re the second person who asked me that.”
“I am?”
“Dr. Polanski wanted to know that, too.”
“So,” he asked. “Why us?”
I considered him for a moment before responding. “Why not you?”
He grinned, which softened his hard features. “I’m serious.”
“I am, too.” I shifted my briefcase from one hand to the other and adjusted the heavy tote on my shoulder. “Why do you think I wouldn’t want to be here?”
He shrugged and shoved his hands in his pockets. “We’re all lost causes.” He averted his gaze, but not before I saw the hurt in his eyes. I wondered who had called him a lost cause, and why. Part of me wanted to find that person and shake some sense into him.
“You’re not a lost cause.” I touched his arm, drawing his gaze back to me.
He glanced down to where I touched him and eased back. “No, I’m the biggest lost cause of them all.”
“Why do you say that?”
He looked up and met my eyes. “Look at you.” He waved his hand in front of me.
“I can’t—there’s no mirror.”
He snorted, then his features turned serious. He brushed back a stray hair that had fallen from my bun. “You have the perfect hair.” He slid his finger over my temple and cheek. “The perfect pink cheeks.”
I started to protest, but then he focused on my lips and the hunger I saw in his eyes caused heat to burn in my lower abdomen.
Slowly, he slid his finger over my lips. “The perfect mouth,” he murmured.
My breath hitched. Was he going to kiss me? He looked like he wanted to, and heaven help me, I wanted that, too, but I could never kiss a patient. Not here. Not anywhere, really. There were rules and boundaries between the staff and patients. I was here to fix his life, not make mine more complicated.
He must have seen the panic in my eyes because he cleared his throat and backed away. It was a good thing he did. Despite my convictions, it had been a hell of a long time since I had been kissed. I wasn’t entirely sure I would have had the strength to stop him.
He stuffed his hands back into his pockets and glanced down at my clothes. “You have the perfect outfit—well, except the coffee stains. You might want to try to get those out.” I grimaced. “You belong out there, with the other perfect people.” He waved his hand at the elevators. “Not with the misfits and losers like us.”
“And which are you, Flynn?” I stepped closer. “Are you a misfit, or a loser?”
“Both.” He took a step away. “You should go home, Mia. Go back to your ivory tower and your perfect life. You don’t belong here.”
“You don’t belong here, either.”
He let out a short, quick exhale and turned away. “You’re wrong. I belong here more than anyone.”
“Why?”
“You wouldn’t understand.” He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and shuffled his feet.
“Make me understand, Flynn.” I took a step closer as I thought of the long list of mood-altering medications. Mood swings, seizures. I wanted to know how he got to this point in his life. What happened to him to make him realize that he needed help and couldn’t continue to do things by himself? “I want to help you.”
“You just can’t.” He took another couple of steps away from me, but not before I noticed the light dusting of freckles on his skin, faded from the lack of sunlight. It made him more boyish and vulnerable in my eyes, which only strengthened my decision to help.
“Why not?” I closed the distance until only a sliver of air was between us.
Pain flashed through his features. “You are so damn innocent, Mia.” He cupped my face with his large palm and touched his forehead to mine. “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”
“Hey, you two, what’s going on over there?”
At the sound of Pam’s voice, Flynn jerked back and glanced over my shoulder. “Nothing.”
“Better not be.”
Flynn considered me for a moment before responding. “Just look around you, Mia. Everyone who touches this place is changed in some way.”
I thought about Johnson and Everett’s cruelty to Nesto, and Dr. Polanski’s conversation with me in her office that morning.
I lifted my chin in defiance. “Perhaps it changes some people, but that doesn’t mean it will change me.”
Flynn chuckled and shook his head. “You think that those coffee stains will be the only marks you’ll get from this place?” He shook his head. “That’s just the beginning. Go home and have dinner with your ‘normal’ family and friends. Forget about this place. Forget about me.”
I lowered my chin until our gazes locked. “I don’t want to forget about you.”
“You have to, before it’s too late.” He laced his fingers with mine, squeezed, and then stepped back. “Good-bye, Mia.”
I watched him turn and walk back down the hallway from which we came. I was drawn to the ripple of muscle in his shoulders, and the way his torso tapered down into his trim waist and firm ass. He had sounded so lucid and intelligent. So fucking normal. The more I talked to Flynn, the more I wanted to learn about his past and why he was here. I thought about the list of his medications as I headed toward the elevators. Pam raised her brows at me as I passed, but I ignored her questioning look and hit the “down” button on the wall. I needed some time to process all of this new information, and I couldn’t do that here.
“He’s right, you know.”
The low masculine voice gave me pause. I turned and saw Nesto move away from a group of his friends and approach me.
“You need to leave this place and never come back.” He leaned against the wall a short distance away from the elevator and crossed his arms.
I straightened to my full height, determined not to let Nesto goad me a second time. “And why is that?”
Nesto grinned. “Because we’re dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” I glanced over Nesto’s shoulder and saw his friends move up behind him. One I recognized as Carter. It was hard to miss the long, frizzy hair. There was another patient, so thin he was almost gaunt, and filled with tattoos and piercings. Two more patients flanked them, both looking as if they could squash me like a bug and not think twice about it.
“We’ll destroy that perfect image of yours, Barbie.” He winked at me. “You’d be much safer playing with Ken in your dream house.”
I pressed my lips together as anger bubbled in my chest. My first reaction was to tell him off, but I knew that was what he wanted. Instead I smiled and nodded in his direction. “I’ll take that into consideration. Good night, Nesto.” I nodded to his friends. “Gentlemen.”
Someone snorted as the elevator doors opened.
“Have fun in your dream house, Barbie,” Nesto called out. Laughter bubbled up behind me as I entered the elevator, setting my nerves on edge. I forced myself not to look back as the elevator doors closed. I walked more or less on instinct as I made my way out onto the quad and through the outpatient building to the parking lot. By the time I was sitting in my car, the anger had almost completely dissolved into self-doubt and confusion.
Wh
at was I doing there? As I navigated the busy five-o’clock traffic back to my apartment, I had to wonder. Back in college, I had been a drifter, never committing to anything except for my asshole boyfriend, and that was a disaster of epic proportions. Like Flynn, he had thought he knew what was best for me. He had tried to tell me what to do and how to dress. Back then, I followed his direction to the letter, yet the harder I tried, the less I seemed to please him.
Tears stung my eyes as I pulled up to a stoplight. As I tightened my grip on the steering wheel, my ex-boyfriend’s critical comments filled my head.
Why do you always look so frumpy, Mia?
A little makeup would make a world of difference.
Just shut up and do it, Mia. Brad’s girlfriend does it and you don’t want me to have to listen to his bragging all day, do you?
Then came Lucy’s accident, and everything changed. The events of that night had given me a new purpose, and seeing how much Lucy had suffered had given me a new goal.
I was going to prove him wrong. I was going to prove them all wrong. I wasn’t the directionless, frumpy Mia they thought me to be. I had lost weight, set goals, and found a new purpose. Success would be my revenge. Fuck you, Justin. I didn’t need him or anyone else in my life telling me what to do. I was doing fine on my own—and I would be fine at Newton Heights, too. I wasn’t going to let a couple of thugs scare me away.
After the incident with Justin two years ago, I buried my own pain, covered it with a new body and a new wardrobe and dedicated my life to helping others do the same. From that day forward, I had thrown myself into my work and delighted in my new objectives. I had managed to convince myself that this was my destiny. When someone follows their passion, there’s no time for loser boyfriends, friends or family. I shed them all—well, except for my mom and Lucy, and dedicated myself to my true purpose in life.
We’re all lost causes. Flynn’s words floated through my head as I relived the events of the day. I remembered how frustrated I had become with Elias and Nesto, and how I had disappointed Dr. Polanski during group therapy. Most of all, I remembered how good Flynn made me feel, awakening emotions I had buried along with my pain the night of Lucy’s accident.
I don’t ever want to see your lying ass again. You and that bastard are both dead to me, Mia. Do you understand? Dead to me.
Nesto was right. The patients were dangerous, but not in the manner he meant. While there was some physical danger, yes, there was a stronger, emotional danger present within the walls of Newton Heights Psychiatric Hospital. A danger of my secrets coming to light. A danger of losing my purpose and direction and wallowing in my grief.
I could never let that happen. No, I would do my job and seal off my heart. I was the professional, after all. It was my job to get them to open up to me, not the other way around. I couldn’t make myself vulnerable.
I tightened my grip on the steering wheel as I pulled into the parking space in front of my one-bedroom apartment. It was time to put my emotions behind me and focus on the task at hand.
But as I walked up the steps and unlocked my door, I couldn’t help but wonder. What the hell had I gotten myself into?
SIX
FOUR HOURS later, I had eaten my Lean Cuisine and sat on the floor in my living room among a pile of storage boxes that needed to be unpacked. My mother had cleaned out her attic and found some of my old things. A few weeks ago she had delivered the boxes, thinking I might need some of the stuff they contained. My first urge was to dump them—these boxes were my past and I wanted to focus on my future—but something held me back. Tonight I was determined to go through the damn boxes and be rid of them once and for all.
As I opened the first box and stared at the contents, I sensed that this was going to take me most of the night. There was just so much stuff to go through, and I wasn’t certain I had the stomach to dredge up all of those old memories. Still, somewhere in this mess there might be a token from my father, something that would remind me of what he looked like, or how he laughed. I had nothing to remember him by and it felt wrong. Up until junior high he was a big part of my life. I couldn’t just pretend that he never existed.
I pulled out a large photo album, and smiled as I thumbed through the pages of the time my mother and I went up to Boston to look at colleges. As I looked at the familiar landmarks—Faneuil Hall, the Public Garden—I remembered that the folder Dr. Polanski had given me mentioned that Flynn had been born in Boston. I wondered how long he had lived there, and what had caused his family to move to Washington, D.C. I wondered if he had any siblings, and if his parents visited him in the institution.
I turned the page and saw a much younger version of myself and my mother standing out in front of a café in Harvard Square. I couldn’t help but smile. My mother was such a big part of my life. After my father’s depression medication failed and he had committed suicide, my mother worked back-to-back shifts trying to support me and my older sister, often coming home from work long after we went to bed. When my sister went off to college and started exhibiting the same signs of depression my father had, my mother had panicked and gotten her help. So started the long battle between my sister and her addiction to antidepressants, and my mother’s preoccupation with her mental health.
I’m so glad that I don’t have to worry about you like I do your sister.
I had told Dr. Polanski that my friend Lucy was the reason why I wanted to become a clinical psychologist, but that was only partially true. My father and sister had played much bigger parts in my decision. After watching my sister spiral downward with addiction, I had become convinced that there was a better way to take care of patients than to medicate them. If I could only teach people how to bury their pain and move on with their lives, then medications could be cut back or eliminated altogether. I could prevent what happened to my father and sister from happening to anyone else.
A mechanical ring interrupted my thoughts. Shaking off the darkness, I put my bottled water down and checked the caller ID on my cell. It was my mother. I didn’t really want to talk to her when I was feeling so melancholy, but knew she’d just keep calling until I answered the phone. Making an exasperated noise, I swiped the screen and put the phone to my ear.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Darling, how was your first day at your new job?”
“It was okay.” I leaned back on the futon and stared at the cracks in the ceiling. “You know, the usual.”
“No, I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me about it.”
I couldn’t talk about it. Talking about my concerns with the hospital’s administration of lorazepam would only lead to my father’s suicide and my sister’s drug addiction. Those topics were like an elephant in the room. Both of them were symptoms of a much bigger problem in my family, something that affected me as much as it did them. Only, my mother couldn’t see how much our family secrets had impacted my life. It was better that way, though. After everything she had been through, I didn’t want to burden her.
“Mia?”
“I’m here.”
“How was your day? Is it everything you had hoped?”
“Yes, Mom. It was great.” I told her about Dr. Polanski and my supply closet–turned office, careful to leave out any specifics. I couldn’t talk about what was discussed in group therapy or in Polanski’s office, and I didn’t want her to worry about my run-ins with the mental patients.
“That’s lovely, dear. You always were very bright.”
Here it comes, I thought. Her real reason for calling. “Lacey is smart, too.”
“Oh, honey, I know your sister is smart. It’s just . . .” She sighed. “She’s just had such a hard life.”
I did, too, Mom. “I know.”
“And now there’s this thing with Steve—”
“What?” I sat up and swung my feet off the futon. “What’s going on with Steve?” Steve was Lacey’s husband. They had met while she was in rehab. I had always liked him and often told my sister that she had m
anaged to snag one of the last good men on the planet when she married him. There were very few relationships built to last in my mind. Lucy and Jayden’s was one. My sister and Steve was the other.
“Your sister and Steve are getting a divorce.”
“What? Why?” They seemed to have the ideal relationship in my mind. My sister was five years older than I, so she had been with Steve for almost a decade. Married right out of rehab, they bought first a small apartment, then a nice home. Soon came the dog and yearly vacations in the Caribbean. Steve was part of our family.
The idea of a divorce cut me to the core. After Lucy’s accident, I had drifted away from most of my friends in favor of focusing on my career. My best friend and my family were my whole world.
“It was a mutual agreement, Mia.”
My mind went blank with shock. “I can’t believe this.” Steve had helped Lacey overcome her addiction. Without him, she was in danger of falling back into old patterns—and habits.
My mom let out a long breath. “According to your sister, there was just too much between them. They had grown apart.”
“It wasn’t because of the baby, was it?” Both my sister and Steve had been trying to have children for years, without success. After multiple attempts at fertility medications, in vitro fertilization, meditation and prayer, they had given up trying to have a family altogether.
“Yes and no,” my mother said.
“I don’t understand. It’s supposed to be until death do you part. Not ‘until things get messy.’ ”
“I know, dear, but Steve had always wanted a big family.”
“Damn him!” I shouted into the phone. “He knew about our family before they even got married. That’s so unfair.” Tears filled my eyes, and I batted the tears away with the back of my hand. Poor Lacey.
“Calm down, dear,” my mother said. “He didn’t want to leave Lacey. At least, not at first.”
“What? I don’t understand.”
