by Ava Conway
As I watched the men get ready for the game, I noticed how Flynn’s presence immediately defused Nesto’s anger. They shared a sort of camaraderie that I hadn’t experienced since I had hung out with Bethany and Lucy in college. They laughed and joked, soon putting the entire room at ease. It was amazing to watch, and I couldn’t help but feel a little jealous of their easy banter.
As Flynn served the first ball, I realized how different my life had become since college. Before Lucy’s accident, I lacked direction but had fun and laughter. I had friends and happiness.
Now I had direction in my life but lacked those more personal connections. There were no heart-to-heart talks. No after-work drinks or late-night texting. There was no going to parties, or cookouts, or all of the other things friends and family did together.
My heart sank as I realized that over the past few years, I had been so focused on school and my career that I had shut out everyone who was important in my life. I had stopped talking to all of my former friends except Lucy, and even then our conversations mostly revolved around the mental health industry and my internship. I had no idea about my sister’s problems with Steve, or how much my mother had been worried about her. I had no personal connections, no one to talk to about my problems, or to share a funny anecdote I had gotten off the Internet.
All of a sudden I felt incredibly alone.
EIGHT
I PICKED up my notebook and turned through the pages of notes I had already taken. Anger, depression, frustration . . . the words jumped out at me from the page as if shouted by an angry adult. None of these words seemed particularly damaging. All of these words could have been used to describe me.
I turned to a fresh page as voices rose from the other side of the room. Nesto and Flynn had started their game, but unfortunately, Nesto seemed to have scared away their audience. It didn’t seem to matter to them, however, and as Flynn scored the first point, I considered how close they were and wondered if Nesto knew anything about Flynn’s past.
“First point is mine, dumbass.”
“Lucky break, featherweight,” Nesto retorted. “There’s still a lot of game left.”
They could have been any two boys, at any Ping-Pong table, in any gymnasium. There was something so normal about the way they interacted. It was a tad unsettling. As I twirled my pen in my fingers, I realized that there really wasn’t much difference between them and me. Everyone had problems and skeletons in their closet. Some were just better at burying them than others.
Did hiding my problems make me better than they? It certainly made me able to function as a member of society, but that didn’t necessarily mean it was a better path. As I watched their easy banter and Flynn’s gorgeous smile, I realized that they were just having fun and being themselves. This was the real Flynn, the real Nesto, not the animals the orderlies called them, or the illnesses suggested by the lists of medications in their files.
In a way, I envied them. It had been more than a year since I had had so much fun with a friend. Even before Lucy’s accident, I was trying too hard to appease my boyfriend to be myself.
I had been faking it for so long, I wasn’t really sure who I was anymore.
“Interesting, eh?” Johnson said as he sat down next to me. “They’re like a train wreck.”
“Yeah,” Everett said as he settled in across from me. “At least Martinez scared the rest of them away, so our job’s easier.”
I placed my pen down on the notebook, suddenly uneasy. The orderlies were like two gigantic uniformed walls, sealing me off from the rest of the room.
“They’re not a train wreck,” I said, thinking of my conversation with Flynn. “They’re people, just like us.”
Johnson and Everett exchanged glances. “She must have been talking to Elias,” Everett said.
“Or Flynn,” Johnson said. “That one can charm a bee away from honey.”
“What do you mean?” I asked as I looked away from the game and focused on them.
Johnson schooled his features into a stern expression. “The Irishman has been very convincing, hasn’t he?”
“Excuse me?”
“He made you believe that he’s normal.”
I glanced at Everett. “I don’t understand.”
“That’s his thing,” Everett said as he pulled out a cigarette from the right-chest pocket of his white jacket and put the cigarette into his mouth. “He pretends to be your friend and has you warm up to him.”
“Get real cozy,” Johnson said as he inched closer and snuggled with my arm.
Everett leaned his arms on his knees, pushing himself closer to me. His smoke bobbed up and down between his lips as he talked. “Then, when he has you right where he wants you—”
“He goes all crazy.” Johnson tickled my ribs and nuzzled my neck. I yelped and jumped up from the seat to get away from him.
“That’s my point, dude,” Martinez called from somewhere behind me. “Your concentration really sucks today.”
Everett waved his hands in the air and rolled his eyes to accentuate the point as both he and Johnson fell into fits of laughter. When they calmed down, Johnson patted the seat next to him. I chose one a few steps away from him, placing myself in the middle of him and Everett. My back was now to the room, so I couldn’t watch Flynn and Nesto, but I was closer to the exit so I could make a quick escape.
“What do you mean—go crazy? What does he do?” I frowned at the cigarette dangling from Everett’s mouth. “And you aren’t supposed to smoke in here.”
“Yeah, asshole.” Johnson stood and slapped his friend on the back of his head. “There’s no smoking on the premises.” He caught the cigarette in his hand as it shot out of Everett’s mouth.
“Fuck, man, you didn’t have to do that,” Everett said as Johnson pocketed the Marlboro. “Give me that.”
“No, I’m keeping it, just to make sure you follow the rules.” Johnson sat on the edge of his chair, leaned closer conspiringly, and winked at me. “You always have to keep both eyes open around here.”
My skin crawled as the aroma of smoke and sweat hit my nose. “You smoke, too,” I observed.
“Is that a crime?”
“No, it’s just . . .” Disgusting.
“I follow the rules, unlike some people around here.” He leaned back and pointed his thumb at the Ping-Pong table.
“People? More like sheep,” Everett said as he put his feet up on the small table full of magazines and leaned back on the couch. “If you don’t pay attention, they’ll wander off and do whatever they feel like.”
“It’s not as if they know the difference between right and wrong,” Johnson agreed. “You need to remind them who’s leading the herd.”
“Dr. Polanski,” I said.
Johnson hesitated a moment before responding. “Sure. But she’s not always around, is she. Sometimes you need a firm hand.” He held up his large palm. “And I just happen to have one.”
“Not everyone appreciates that,” Everett said. “That woman last night—”
“Didn’t appreciate what she had,” Johnson said, interrupting his friend’s train of thought. He turned his hand toward his face and studied his palm. “But a real woman likes it when someone takes charge.”
“Tells them what to do,” Everett added as he leaned closer.
“Gives them permission to break society’s rules,” Johnson corrected and winked at me. “Because deep down, women are also like sheep, wanting to do what feels good.”
I shrunk back in my chair, appalled. It sounded as if he considered women and mental patients to be equal—and both beneath him.
“And we’re the ones who give them permission—the sheepherders,” Everett said.
“Shepherds, asshole.” Johnson dragged his gaze away from me and swatted at Everett’s feet. “And for shit’s sake, have a little class.”
Everett frowned and removed his feet from the table. I had no idea how the conversation shifted from the patients at Newton Heights to J
ohnson’s and Everett’s failed sexual advances at the local bar, and didn’t care. These two disgusted me. I wondered why on earth they chose to work in the mental health industry, or how they got past the extensive screening and found jobs at such a prestigious hospital.
I glanced over my shoulder at the game and found Flynn’s attention torn between the match and me. He looked concerned, which only added to my unease.
Everyone who touches this place is changed in some way. Flynn’s words floated through my mind. Perhaps at one time, Johnson and Everett weren’t like this. Perhaps they were like me and were eager to help those who were struggling with mental illness. Perhaps they had even considered this their life’s work.
You think that those coffee stains will be the only marks you’ll get from this place? Perhaps Johnson and Everett had come to Newton Heights with noble intentions, but over time, those intentions had been warped into the abomination that sat before me.
If I stay here as long as Johnson and Everett, would I become like them and get off on some power trip? Will that sense of entitlement spill over into my personal life and poison all of my other relationships?
“How much longer do we have here?” Everett asked.
“A couple of hours,” Johnson said, looking at his watch. “After rec therapy, there won’t be much to do. I bet old snake eyes will let us leave early.”
“Snake eyes?” I asked as I drew my attention back toward them.
“He means Polanski,” Everett explained. “I swear that woman can see in a circle, like a snake.”
“Yeah, she’s always trying to ruin our fun.” Johnson glanced at me. “Speaking of fun, a couple of the guys like to hang out at the Rusty Pail after work. Want to join us?”
The Rusty Pail was a biker bar on the south end of town. I had never been inside, but could hear the noise from my car as I drove past it to get from my apartment to the hospital. The place was mentioned in the Greendale Daily last week for some knife fight in the parking lot.
“No, thank you. I really should be going.” Even if I were interested in Johnson—which I wasn’t—I would never enjoy going to a place like that. I clutched my notebook to my chest and stood.
“Off to write some more in that notebook, are you?” Everett chuckled and shook his head. “Such a good little girl.” He glanced at Johnson. “You know what they say about good girls.”
Johnson dragged his gaze up and down my body, causing a hole to open in the pit of my stomach. “Yeah.”
“What do ‘they’ say?” I didn’t think that I wanted to know, but couldn’t help asking.
Everett wiggled his brows suggestively as he rested his hand on my knee. “They secretly want to break the rules.”
Johnson murmured his agreement as he leered at my chest. “They just need a firm hand.”
“Well,” I said, closing the V-neck in my blouse with my hand. “This good girl has no interest in breaking the rules.”
“No?” Johnson flashed me a wolfish grin. “Perhaps we should check with McKenna. See what he says.”
Fear rippled through me as I remembered how Johnson had watched my interaction with Flynn that morning. I suddenly wanted to get as far away from these two as humanly possible, despite Dr. Polanski’s assignment. “Excuse me.” I turned to go, but Johnson grabbed my wrist.
“What do you write in your notebook, anyway?” he asked.
“Stuff.”
“Like, what stuff?” Johnson dragged me back down to my seat.
“I score again, featherweight,” Nesto said from somewhere behind me. “I thought you were good at this.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat and tried to wrestle my arm away from the orderly. “Case notes and stuff. Not that it’s any of your business.”
“I think she writes love notes to her Irishman,” Everett said.
I jerked my arm from Johnson’s grasp. “I’m not in love with Flynn. He’s just a patient. I’m required to talk to him for my project.”
I thought of my conversation with Elias yesterday, and how he admitted to trying to build relationships with the patients. I wondered if some small part of him hung out with them not because he wanted to help, but because he wanted to avoid Everett and Johnson.
“Ha—I’m ahead, McKenna. You’re going down.” Nesto’s voice pulled my attention away from Everett and toward the Ping-Pong game. Flynn’s knuckles were white around the paddle, and his other hand was fisted. He hunched over the table and rested his hands on the surface.
“Just hurry up and serve,” he spat. “I don’t want to be here all day.” His voice was full of venom, and it felt as if he was avoiding my gaze.
Nesto laughed and hit the ball, starting another round.
“I bet you that not only does she write love notes,” Everett said, “but she writes notes about us.”
“Why would I do that?” I asked as I turned back to the orderlies.
Everett exchanged a knowing glance with Johnson.
I had had enough of these games. I didn’t want to hear any more quips from Johnson and Everett, and I felt uncomfortable with the possessive way Flynn was looking at me. It was as if he were getting ready to fling himself at the orderlies, like opponents in a ring. If some sort of fight broke out, it probably wouldn’t be long before Nesto jumped into the fray. That man seemed to like a good fight even more than Flynn.
I didn’t want to get anyone in trouble, but I didn’t want to get hurt, either. I just wanted to get away from them—all of them.
“Excuse me. I need to go.” I tried to move away, but Everett grabbed my arm.
“Sit down, honey,” he said.
“Let us see what you have in that notebook there.” Johnson plucked the notebook from my hand before I could snatch it away.
“Hey—give that back!” I reached for the notebook, but he pulled it out of reach.
Johnson started to flip through the pages, then stopped. He looked up at me with raised brows. “Someone stole Freckles?”
“That’s private.” I reached for my notebook again, but Johnson grinned and pulled it away.
“Not until you tell me who Freckles is,” he taunted.
“Oh, this should be good.” Everett stood and positioned himself next to his friend.
“It’s my stuffed bunny,” I said through clenched teeth. God, how embarrassing. Every thought I had had over the past forty-eight hours was written in that book. I didn’t want some knucklehead like Johnson having access to something so private.
“A stuffed bunny?” Johnson glanced at Everett. They both nodded in agreement.
“What?” I couldn’t help but be defensive. Freckles might be unconventional, but she was mine, damn it. I loved that bunny. We had gone through hell and back together.
Johnson turned his attention back to me. “You brought a stuffed bunny to work?”
“Yeah. So?” Panic slid through my chest as the orderly smirked. “Lots of people bring in personal stuff to decorate their offices.”
“You aren’t supposed to bring anything here besides your uniform,” Everett said. “Hospital policy.”
Johnson nodded. “This place is filled with kleptos and psychopaths. Stuff could get stolen.”
“Or broken,” Everett agreed.
It wasn’t the kleptos and the psychopaths I was worried about. With their immature behavior, Johnson and Everett could do more damage to my reputation than the worst mental health case in the ward. In a business like this, reputation was everything. It was why I had worked so hard to get into Newton Heights, and why I wanted to study under Dr. Polanski. Having her find out about my stuffed animal would not only be embarrassing, but also could unravel all the hard work I had done to impress her. What kind of clinical psychologist freaked out over a missing stuffed animal? That bunny represented all the obstacles I had to overcome to get myself to the position I was in today. Talking about Freckles would uncover all of my dark secrets. I’d be exposed as a sham, a fraud. How could I ever hope to help other peo
ple when my own life was such a horrible mess?
“Please,” I said as I reached for the notebook. “Just give it back.”
“I’m afraid I can’t, darlin’.” Johnson closed the book and stood. “I’m going to have to keep this notebook as evidence.”
“Evidence of what?”
“Blurred lines,” Everett said, causing Johnson to snort.
“You can’t just take that. It’s mine.”
“You broke the rules by bringing a stuffed animal into this place,” Johnson said as he stepped out of my reach. “Breaking the rules has consequences.”
“Didn’t Polanski tell you that?” Everett asked.
My chest started to tighten as embarrassment flooded over me. Johnson had my private thoughts and feelings about everyone in this place. If those thoughts got out to the other patients, it would cause them to turn on me—especially Flynn. The fragile bond we had created would be destroyed.
“Come on, guys, it’s just a notebook.” I grimaced at the rising panic in my voice. I reached for my notes again, but Johnson took a step back, out of my reach.
“I think she might have written about us in there,” Everett said. “That’s why she wants it back.”
“Ooh, you think?” Johnson glanced at Everett and refocused on me. “I don’t think she has yet, but I could give her something to write about.”
“Please,” I said.
“Ooh, she’s begging for it,” Everett said.
“She will be.” Johnson moistened his lips and offered me a slimy smile. “If you want this notebook back, you can come to the Rusty Pail tonight.”
“I can’t go—I have plans.”
“Change them.” Johnson turned to go, Everett following in his wake. They made it only a few paces before Flynn blocked their path.
“Give the lady her notebook back,” he said as he straightened to his full height.
“Oh, yeah?” Johnson tilted his head to the side and studied the shorter Irishman before him. “And what if I don’t want to?”
Flynn’s whole body went rigid as he glanced from Johnson to Everett and back again. “Give it back, Johnson.”
“Who’s going to make me?” He snorted. “You?”
