I woke up that morning feeling twitchy and raw. I felt like everyone was staring at me. They knew I was suspicious of them, I was sure of it. The guys tried to calm me down during breakfast, assuring me no one was watching me, but I didn’t believe them. I couldn’t fight the paranoia.
Now, I was alone. And Brad was behind me. He was escorting me to my session with Dr. Fletcher, one of the only times I was away from the guys. He walked unnervingly close, so close I could feel the heat of him radiating against my back.
I was already having trouble coping with the sharpness of the world and having him near made it infinitely worse. I didn’t know if it was his presence or if Red Wristband was somewhere close, but something was sending needles stabbing into my mind, broadcasting depraved feelings of violence and blood.
When I finally escaped into Dr. Fletcher’s office I tried to take the deep, steadying breaths Emmett showed me, but my heart was pounding and my thoughts were scattered—sharp and hazy at the same time. My session went about as smoothly as falling down a ravine. I tried to appear normal, but it was a struggle not to tear at my hair or cover my ears. Her normally soothing voice was too loud, and her softly spoken questions felt like attacks.
I wanted to ask her about Sarah, I wanted to find out if she knew anything, but I couldn’t force out more than one word responses. After half an hour, she called for an orderly to escort me out, her expression troubled and sad.
It was Hannah waiting for me, for which I was thankful. She took me to exercise therapy, but the guys weren’t there. I waited for them, anxious, bordering on frantic. They never showed. They weren’t at lunch either. I spent naptime alone for the first time in almost a week. Or had it been two?
Their absence made the growing pressure harder to fight. I didn’t understand it. Why would they just abandon me when I needed them most? I wanted to believe it was for good reason, but the paranoia whispered otherwise.
I was sitting in the common room during TV time, perched on a hard plastic chair with my knees up and held tightly against my chest. I could have gone to the courtyard, but I didn’t have any interest, at least not by myself.
Someone cackled at the sight of the gazelle going down under the lioness’s claws on the television. As if that was the signal the manic episode had been waiting for, it crashed over me in a wave of aching sensitivity. All at once everything was too loud and overly bright, like someone had turned up the dial to ear-bleeding levels.
I heard the underlying static beneath the narrator on TV grating at my eardrums like a cheese shredder. The constant motion had me feeling nauseous, so I turned my gaze away, only to look directly at the window and the daylight streaming inside. It burned my retinas. I hissed and turned away, hiding within the curtain of my hair. I clutched my knees tighter and began to rock in place, grinding my teeth as each little noise in the room ticked away at my sensitive ears.
Not wanting the orderly to see me rocking in a chair, I scrambled up from my chair and tried taking a little walk around the perimeter of the common area. I hoped moving would help loosen up my tight skin, but it didn’t.
“Too loud, too sharp. Stop it, stop it,” I whispered, scratching at my arms through my hoodie and walking faster, nearing a jog.
As I passed the doorway a second time, a hand appeared out of nowhere and grabbed me. The dirty fingers curled painfully tight around my bicep before yanking me out of the room, too fast for me to shout in alarm. Flashes of unimaginable pain and misery assaulted me. My stomach churned violently when unheard screams pierced my ears.
I quickly jerked my arm away and looked up to find myself confronted with Red Wristband. He leaned down until his face was inches from mine, backing me into the wall, crowding close until all I could see were his dark eyes, and the madness glowing within them.
He patted me, shushing, stroking my face, my hair, my arms while I twitched one way then the other, trying to avoid his unbearable touch. Panic was acid in my veins, burning me. My breaths came fast and sharp. I opened my mouth to shriek.
“Shh, shhh, hush hush,” he hissed, tapping his too-long fingernails on my lips. “Calm, calm little thing. Can’t let them see you. Don’t let them know,” he seethed, his voice gravelly and hoarse as if he hadn’t used it in a long time.
Grinning maniacally, grabbing at me, he pressed closer. It wasn’t forceful grabbing, but instead, soft caresses and insistent tapping that sent terrified chills down my arms. Pressure, like my head was in a vice, grew until I felt blood trickling from my nose.
“Stop,” I croaked, but my voice was weak, and the tightness was overpowering everything.
“Shhh. Can’t let them know. You’ll join them. Pretty, pretty dead-eyed girls, hollow shells dancing in the dark room,” he sang, his rough voice rising and falling eerily.
He came closer still, until all I could smell was him—the sharp tang of pain and the insidious scent of darkness. He gripped my arms and turned me, edging me backwards into a corner. He was so strong. I struggled against him soundlessly, the only things escaping my constricted throat were small animal noises of fear.
“Don’t let them see you, little thing. Pretty thing. You’d be so pretty in the collection. Hush, little pretty bird, don’t sing yet. Not time,” he groaned, lifting a lock of my hair to his nose so he could breathe me in. “Yes, yes, pretty bird. Sing the song of the dead.”
He kept touching me, slowly pushing me farther into the corner. Terror was a tangible thing in my mind. I couldn’t catch my breath, my chest suffocatingly tight.
“No. Please, stop it,” I choked. “Don’t touch me! No!” I shoved him as hard as I could and took the opening, darting out of the corner.
I was dizzy. Everything was blurry and spinning. I ran into the wall hard enough to stun me and bounced off into the middle of the hallway. Spinning around, I watched him as I backed away. He smiled so widely his dry lips cracked, blood trickling down his chin, but he made no attempt to follow after me. He simply placed his finger to his lips and said “Shhhh… ”
I didn’t know what else to do, except run.
Whirling around, I ran back to the common area. And straight into another set of arms. My scream tore free, scraping my throat raw. The arms shook me hard, shocking me out of my panic.
“Miss Bloom! Calm down!”
It was Joe the orderly, not Red Wristband. Not one of my nightmares come to life.
“What happened to your nose?” he exclaimed, frowning down at me in confusion and vague alarm.
I looked over my shoulder and saw a man’s back disappearing around the corner but they were wearing white, not grey like the patients. Red Wristband was nowhere to be seen—gone as if he’d never been there at all.
Was it real? Did I imagine it? It felt so real.
I turned back to the orderly still gripping my arms, his hands pressing on the bruises hidden under my clothes.
Visions don’t leave bruises. It had to be real.
“I’m… I’m fine. I just… tripped and hit my nose,” I stammered.
Joe didn’t look like he fully believed me, but he let me go when I backed away. I kept my head down, hiding behind my hair, as I made my way to the corner of the room. Leaning against the wall, I slid down until my ass hit the floor then tucked myself into a tight ball.
* * *
Hours or minutes passed while I shook on the floor in the corner. A soft voice whispering my name brought me out of the dark, quiet place I’d retreated to. I blinked open my eyes, feeling the dried tears tightening my cheeks and the crusted blood under my nose. My butt was numb and my arms were sore from being locked so tightly around my knees.
When I looked through the pale curtain of my hair, I was greeted with Pierce’s worried face. Mason and Emmett were crouched on either side of him, their expressions equally concerned.
“Where were you?” I rasped, tears threatening anew.
“I’m so sorry, Little Flower,” Pierce whispered. “We didn’t want to leave you.”
“It’s him. He did it. He hurt Sarah. He hurt me,” I babbled, tremors shivering up my spine.
“Who, Baby?” Mason demanded, the look on his face turning instantly murderous. “Who hurt you? I’ll fucking kill them.”
“Red Wristband. It’s him.”
Emmett looked tortured as he came closer, his movements slow and unthreatening.
“We’re here, Lydia. We won’t leave you again, I swear. Come here, my Pretty Pixie, let me hold you.”
The lump in my throat grew, but I nodded jerkily and almost threw myself at him. He caught me and brought me to his chest, then pivoted on his heel, taking my place in the corner with me clinging to him. He stroked my hair while Mason and Pierce crowded close, erasing the lingering sensation of Red Wristband’s touch with soft, loving caresses.
It took a long time until my shaking slowed, then stopped. It took even longer before I could bare to lift my face away from Emmett’s neck, before I’d drawn in enough of his clean scent to wash away the smell of him.
I was exhausted and my head was pounding from tears and spent adrenaline. Twisting so I could sit sideways on his lap, I slumped against him. I stayed still while Mason used his sleeve to tenderly clean the blood from my nose and lip. I met his eyes and saw the anger blazing in them, but I couldn’t tell if it was directed at Red, me, or himself.
“We should’ve been here,” he gritted, telling me the anger was for himself.
I didn’t argue. I didn’t have it in me to comfort or placate him and tell him it was okay. I was too raw, too tired, and the only thing I had left was the last remaining shred of resolve. I gazed back at him blankly through bloodshot eyes.
I have to sneak out again.
I kept that thought to myself. Anger like I’d never felt before, anger that didn’t belong, ignited inside me. They’d left me alone. Could I depend on them not to do it again? I was better off going by myself.
I tried to bury those ugly whispers, but they wouldn’t be silenced. I tried to convince myself I didn’t tell them my plan because I didn’t want them to get in trouble.
I stayed quiet as they tried to comfort me, retreating back into my mind, planning out what I knew needed to be done.
When the orderly called for us to line up to go to dinner, I accepted Pierce’s offered hand, letting him help me up. I feigned tripping and fell into him. He caught me, as I knew he would, unaware of my hand as I slipped it into his pocket and palmed the lighter and two thin, metal knives there. Straightening, I shoved them into my pocket and shuffled to the doorway with everyone else.
I kept my expression empty and my eyes glazed as I went through the motions, staying quiet, but inside I held on to that tattered thread of determination like my life depended on it, because it very well might.