I wondered what Sarah had been referring to, but let it go when we walked into the room where group therapy with Mr. Park was held. I made my way over and took a seat in the circle. I expected the guys to sit in the chairs already next to me, but they pushed those to the side and gathered three of the extras along the far wall, pulling them over and placing them beside me.
I didn’t understand at first, but when the rest of the patients filed in and filled up the remaining chairs, I understood. There hadn’t been enough seating to accommodate the guys.
Weird. Mr. Park usually makes sure to set out enough chairs for everyone.
Group started as it always did, with Mr. Park inviting someone to share a story about their lives. I slouched in my seat and tried to remain unobtrusive to avoid being called on, but it wasn’t easy. Pierce was whispering commentary on everyone in my ear, and I was having trouble stifling my snickers.
When James The Pencil Stabber was called on to share, Mr. Park made the terrible mistake of asking him if he was ready to talk about the slipper incident with the janitor. James immediately went ramrod straight in his seat and got a wild look in his eyes.
I watched him with equal parts alarm and wonder as he proceeded to unleash a passionate and heartfelt argument as to why the unicorns needed to be kept caged in slipper form and locked away from humanity. The janitor, and all janitors everywhere, were apparently part of a secret society charged with releasing the unicorns and weren’t to be trusted.
By the end of his spiel, James was red in the face, breathing heavily, and darting a frantic look around, seemingly trying to find someone who agreed with him or was dumb enough to openly disagree with him. The rest of the patients and I sat in stunned silence for a long moment, none of us willing to move and draw James’s attention, until Pierce broke the silence.
“That. Was. Amazing. Raise your hand if you’re crazy!” he cheered, shooting his hand into the air.
I choked on a shocked laugh then quickly slapped a hand over my mouth.
“There!” James shouted, pointing at me. “You! You know! You’ve seen! Tell them, tell them what happens when you open a gate.”
“What? No! I don’t know anything! Nope, not me. I know absolutely nothing,” I stammered, waving my hands in front of me.
Cutting a glare to Pierce, I promised retribution with my gaze while he just smiled mischievously at me.
“Alright, everybody, let’s calm down,” Mr. Park chided, giving me a censorious look.
I blinked at him, taken aback that I was the one getting in trouble when Pierce was the one who’d made the remark.
“James you obviously aren’t ready to address the issue, but that’s okay. We can always try again another day,” Mr. Park said while scribbling notes on his clipboard. “Okay, I think that’s all the time we have for today. Everyone line up at the door for arts and crafts therapy.”
The mention of art class got James to stop staring at me suspiciously and refocus his attention. I let out a gust of air and joined the back of the line, glad for once that I was the shortest person in the room so I could go back to being unobtrusive and unnoticed.
* * *
In the hallway, just before we got to art, I felt one of the guys press against my back and heard Emmett’s voice in my ear telling me they had to go. Glancing up at him, I frowned, disappointed they didn’t have class with me. He smiled reassuringly and, before I could ask where they were going, leaned down and pressed a quick, gentle kiss on my lips.
I was still blinking in shock when Mason took his place.
“We’ll be back, Baby,” he assured, pulling me into a hug before he tipped my face up to his.
Holding my gaze with his striking eyes, he leaned down and slid his mouth across mine, not really kissing me but teasing me with the promise of one. My breathing was uneven, and I was feeling decidedly warm when Pierce bumped Mason out of the way.
“Be good, Little Flower,” Pierce quipped, grinning down at me with an expression that said the exact opposite.
I held my breath, hoping he’d kiss me too, but he got a wicked look on his face right before he bent, nuzzled past my hair, and placed a hot, open-mouthed kiss on my neck. I bit my lip to hold back the moan that wanted to escape, but couldn’t stop my lashes from fluttering closed.
When I pried my eyes open again, they were gone.
I guess they were serious about being my boyfriends.
I turned back around, thankful the orderly was leading us from the front where she couldn’t see the kisses that I’m sure weren’t allowed, and caught Harriet the Hoarder staring at me oddly. I didn’t care what she thought. So what if I’d only met them earlier that day… or was it a few days ago? It didn’t matter. I felt closer to them than I had to anyone before.
I was walking on clouds as we entered art, caught between dazed and giddy, feeling the exhilarating rush of desire and drugs pumping through my system.
Maybe being crazy isn’t so bad after all.
* * *
I was sitting across from Harriet, watching her surreptitiously as she worked on the bar of soap she’d stolen from me. She was muttering to herself about making a new power source as she used the craft supplies we’d been provided to carve little buttons into it. I was fairly positive she was trying to make it look like a remote.
And to think she looked at me like I’m the mad one.
I shook my head at her and focused back on what I was doing. Picking up another scrap of colorful construction paper, I glued it next to the numerous other scraps, creating an array of bright, abstract flowers on a black background. Whether it was the medicine or the peaceful activity, I didn’t know, but I found myself relaxing and even managed a slight smile as I added more and more petals to my flowers.
That relaxed zone I’d lulled myself into was shattered when a ruckus started. Darting an agitated look around the room, I saw the other patients pointing at Harriet and shouting, their voices blending into one nerve wracking clamor that felt like icepicks stabbing at my head. Apparently, she’d slowly been gathering supplies from the other patients and piling them into a big mound in front of her. I watched as a guy tried to take back the glue stick she’d stolen, only to come close to losing a finger when Harriet growled and snapped her teeth at him.
“Harriet, you can’t hoard all the supplies. Give the others their things back,” scolded the orderly overseeing us from across the room.
Harriet gaped at him wide-eyed, as if he’d just told her to strip naked and dance the tango. She wrapped her arms protectively over the pile and glared at the orderly.
“I don’t do… The Sharing,” Harriett hissed.
A resigned sigh escaped the orderly before he marched over and began trying to wrestle the supplies from her hold. I giggled silently, my anger from seconds ago replaced with amusement, and watched them play tug-of-war over a stack of popsicle sticks.
My laughter died on my tongue when a strong sense of wrongness slithered across my skin, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I twisted in my seat and saw Brad standing in the open doorway of the art room.
His eyes were locked on Snow Angel Sarah where she was sitting at the next table over, laughing at the scene Harriet was causing. The intensity with which he watched her sent a chill up my spine. There was something wrong with the way he was gazing at her. The cheeriness always present on his face was gone, replaced with slack-jawed fixation.
As if he felt me watching, he slowly turned his head and fixed his stare on me. The emptiness in his expression shook me to my core. It was more eerie than any smile he’d worn. Then, he simply turned on his heel and left, as if he’d never been there at all. I glanced back at Sarah and saw she hadn’t noticed him. In fact, it didn’t seem like anyone had seen him.
Why had he been watching her like that? Had he been there at all? Maybe they hadn’t seen him because they were focused on the argument between Harriet and the orderly, or maybe I was seeing things again.
I didn’t know, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to.