Chapter Six

 

Adrian

 

I raced out of Rory’s apartment so fast, it was a wonder I didn’t trip over my own feet. That would have been the icing on the cake—especially if he was watching from his balcony. In the street, I walked two blocks to get some fresh air before I pulled out my phone and called a cab to take me to work.

What I should have done was called and quit my job on the spot. If my session with Rory was any indicator, I was not cut out for this at all. Not in the least. I’d been pretending for four years that I had what it took, but I’d crumbled before I’d even stepped foot in his apartment. His look alone had intimidated me. The way he carried himself with such assuredness made me feel small and unworthy. Weak. He was like the sexier version of my high school bully, and I was instantly fifteen years old again in his presence.

And yet he wanted me to go back and try again? It felt like just another sick, twisted joke meant to further humiliate me.

Back at the office, I was grateful for the quiet. As far as I understood, there were only a handful of staff scheduled for the graveyard shift. Each person would be working to handle the crisis line while dealing with any excess paperwork or filing that had been left by other employees.

I weaved through the maze of cubicles to my personal section and dropped into the chair at my desk with a defeated sigh. It was almost one o’clock in the morning. The night was endless, and there were still six more hours to go.

I set my phone up to accept incoming calls from our crisis line, since I was technically on call to answer them that evening, and then, I stared at my computer. Despite having minimal to log, I took the following half an hour to input Rory’s information into the system and made him a proper file. I’d learned next to nothing in all the time I was there and again reprimanded myself for the poor way I’d gone about our meeting. Nothing had gone as planned.

Perhaps, in the morning when the shift changed, I’d stick around and see if Taylor had a minute to talk. The guy had been around a lot of years and seemed genuinely interested in helping me get settled from what I could tell.

As I finished transferring my notes, a girl I didn’t know came strolling down the narrow walkway between office spaces with her baby blue eyes trained on me. Her smile was gentle and kind. The splash of red shimmering through her auburn curls made my mind drift to Rory as I remembered the intensity of his fiery hair. There was something about him that was an enigma. His bad boy looks contrasted his savior personality so drastically I wasn’t sure what to make of our meeting.

“Hi, you must be the new guy.” The woman stopped just outside my cubicle and leaned against the support wall. “I’m Alyssa.”

I shoved my glasses in place and held out a hand in greeting. “Adrian. Nice to meet you.”

She had a delicate shake that matched her smile. “I hear you were plunged right into the deep end today. In-house visit, am I right?”

“Yeah, and my first ever solo session with a client.”

She cringed and moved into my office space, sitting on the edge of the chair on the other side of my desk, her back pin straight, hands folded in her lap. “How did that go? I’ll never forget my first meeting with a client. It was a failure all around. Nothing makes you feel more like a fish out of water than that.”

My shoulders fell, and I let out an exhausted breath with a relieved laugh. “Oh, thank God. I massacred it. I was sitting here debating my direction in life because I was sure there was no way I was cut out for this anymore.”

She smoothed her navy, knee-length skirt before crossing her legs. “Believe me, if we all ran after one bad session there would be no one left to counsel. It’s nerve-wracking, especially if we have a client who isn’t keen on opening up.”

“That would be mine I think. Although, we barely got that far since there were a string of unfortunate events that interrupted every effort we made.” I rested my elbows on the desk and sighed. “On a plus, I did offer to step down, and he wouldn’t have it. He insisted we try again another day.”

“See, there you go. Not all bad.”

I should have taken confidence in that small fact, but I hadn’t quite absorbed my evening yet. “I’m supposed to call and book another. I told him I needed to check my schedule, which was a lie since I’m wide open, but I needed a minute to breathe.”

She reached across the desk and squeezed my hand. “You’ll do fine. Trust me, we’ve all been there.”

Before I could respond, the phone on my desk rang with a distinct double ring, indicating an incoming call for the crisis line.

I pulled my hand away from her touch and stared at it as my heart jumped and slammed against my ribs almost painfully. I dashed my eyes at Alyssa. “Another first,” I informed her, nodding to the ringing phone.

“You’ve got this.” She stood and straightened her outfit, winking as she slipped away. I was grateful I wouldn’t have an audience. As I answered the call, I pulled the chart of prompts from my desk, so I had a reference.

The crisis line turned out to be not a bad way to warm up to my job. I had three calls that night, and for the most part, the people I spoke to just needed an ear.

One man was a recovering drug addict who was going through a bad craving and begging for a distraction so he wouldn’t make a poor decision.

Another was a younger girl who refused to give her name but explained she cut herself when life became too difficult. She’d had a rough evening with her parents and felt the urge to harm herself, but with a long chat together, she calmed, and the desire passed.

The last call was an older woman who explained she was bi-polar. Her husband was on his way home from work to be with her, but she needed to talk to someone in the meantime to keep her mind occupied. Her initial presentation on the phone was worrisome and required me to perform a suicide assessment, but in the end, her husband arrived, and she thanked me for keeping her company.

It was much easier taking on a counseling role while talking on the phone. After a few hours, I was more confident I would be successful in the future with one on one, face to face meetings. Therefore, before the night ended, I strummed up the nerve to call Rory and book another appointment. It was nearing four thirty in the morning, but knowing his penchant for nighttime, I knew he’d be awake.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Mr. Gallagher, it’s Adrian Anderson calling. I was hoping we could set up a time to meet again.”

A long pause ensued before he cleared his throat. “Yeah, umm… I don’t know…”

“Make the appointment, sugar, you know you need it.” The voice in the background was sing-songy and caused Rory to grumble something unintelligible. My mind raced, wondering who it was at his apartment in the middle of the night and why an instant knot formed in my gut when I’d heard the voice. Did he live with someone? There hadn’t been evidence he shared his apartment. Maybe it was that cat friend of his.

“I’m free whenever. You pick,” Rory mumbled with an edge of harshness.

I tapped my pencil on the pad of paper I’d pulled forward as I struggled to align my thoughts. Over the course of the night, I’d managed to find some semblance of order and structure again, but the minute I had Rory on the line, it all fell out of place. What was it about that guy? He intimidated me as much on the phone as he did in person.

“How about Thursday? Same time?” I figured that would give me a few extra days to settle into my position and gain confidence before I faced him again. The last thing I needed was a repeat of our first meeting.

“Sounds good.”

There were no pleasantries exchanged. Once we had our time set, he hung up, leaving my heart racing out of control and a slight tremble in my hand as I added it to my calendar.

By seven in the morning, I was more than grateful to be heading home. Since I’d only eaten a granola bar and an apple all night—because my lunch had been ruined—I was starving and glad the house was quiet when I got home.

Being reminded why I didn’t have a proper lunch stirred my anger back to life. Whatever their intent, putting a punctured beer in my lunch bag was low. Had I not been at Rory’s when I’d discovered it, I could have easily lost my job. I had no intention of bringing it up or scolding anyone for what they’d done. If I’d learned anything over the years, it was that letting the bully know when they upset you only fueled their fire and made things worse. Best to push it aside like it had never happened.

As I heated a can of soup and made a grilled cheese sandwich, I emptied my bag and tossed it in the washing machine. As much as we’d rinsed it out, I could still scent lingering beer in the fabric. It might have been my imagination, but I didn’t want to chance anyone else noticing.

I made myself comfortable at the island while I ate, listening to the morning birds singing in the trees outside the kitchen window. According to the weather app on my phone, it was supposed to be a warm day for early May. I hated that I would miss most of it because I needed to sleep. Flipping my routine upside down was going to take getting used to. I had yet to decide if it was best to sleep right away when I got home and work on chores later before work, or if I spent the early morning doing those things and sleeping the afternoon away.

Since I was dragging my feet, I decided to wash up my dishes and head to my room to crash early. Knowing my roommates, they wouldn’t respect my need for a quiet house once they pulled themselves from bed.

I used the bathroom—hopping in a quick shower and brushing my teeth—before heading to bed. With a towel slung around my waist, I inched to the end of the hallway and slipped inside my bedroom, securing the lock behind me. I didn’t bother turning on the lamp since the rising sun cast a bright ray of light across my bed.

It was then, I froze.

Highlighted in the spotlight of sunshine were two people nuzzled together under my blankets. My blankets. In my bed. My room. Strangers from what I could see. And… naked—or at least she was since her ass was poking out of the tangled blankets strung around her waist.

Bewildered and confused, it took for the man who was drooling on my pillow to crack his sleep-heavy eyes for my anger to surface.

“What the fuck?! We’re sleeping here, asshole. Piss off,” he grumbled as he rolled to his stomach and faced the wall.

“This is my room. Who the hell are you?”

My fists clenched tight, and only when the woman stirred and stared at me did I realize I was dressed in nothing more than a towel.

“Get out of my room,” I yelled as I stormed to my dresser and dug through a drawer for clothes. As I yanked out a pair of underwear and sports pants, I barely dodged a pillow which was lobbed at my head.

“Fuck off and get lost,” the stranger growled.

Rage boiled through my blood as I stared at the unmoving couple, unsure how to proceed. I couldn’t even have my own space anymore. Everything I owned, everything I did, everything I was, no longer mattered to the guys who shared a house with me. I was slung lower and lower on the totem pole every day.

Defeated, I snagged a hoodie from a different drawer, my laptop, and the book I was reading before leaving the strangers to have what was mine. But, because I was royally pissed off, I ensured I slammed the door—hard—in my wake.

“Adrianna, keep it down, we have guests.” The voice came from Calvin’s room.

If I didn’t think I would get my ass kicked, I’d have strangled the jerk for his latest stunt. Instead, I returned to the bathroom, dressed, took the few belongings I’d grabbed, and fled the house. I didn’t know where I was going or what I was doing, all I knew was I couldn’t be there anymore.

There was a small café on campus that opened at the crack of dawn. It was modern and brightly painted in vibrant colors, but it was intimate and small enough I knew I wouldn’t be bothered.

Plus, it was close to the house, too, so I picked a booth in the back corner and settled there with a coffee for a couple of hours. I used the time to search up cheap apartments in the area so I would have something to present to my father as an option. The moment I was earning a paycheck, I would make the call and grovel to my parents. They couldn’t say no if I was willing to cover the difference in expenses.

The option of returning home every summer was always available, but I’d turned it down each year. The problems awaiting me there were nothing compared to the ones I faced in Dewhurst—or hadn’t been. Lately, they were on par. Because of my insistence on staying on campus, my father paid my rent year-round, so my share of the house was paid up until September. Telling him I wanted to move was one thing but asking him to forfeit four months of rent and pay on another location was another. That would never be allowed. Logically, I couldn’t see why my plan wouldn’t work. I’d suffer through the summer and plead for a new apartment for the new school year, even if it meant admitting I was tangled up in bullying bullshit again.

It was a double-edged sword asking to move, and I wasn’t sure I was prepared to explain to my father why. I’d gone to Dewhurst to get away from a host of high school born problems only to have them follow me.

Also, it would open me up to my father’s unending need to degrade my degree. Although I’d chosen to abide by my father’s wishes and follow through with becoming a doctor, psychology was not what he’d had in mind. Dr. Philip Anderson was one of the highest proclaimed neurosurgeons in all of the province. If he had his way, I’d be studying to be the same. At the U of T, not in Dewhurst.

So, for the time being, I planned to grit my teeth and hold off on calling until I felt ready to explain myself. Nothing would change before September regardless, so I just needed to suck it up.

No amount of coffee could cut through the descending fog of weariness. By ten thirty, I was beside myself tired and needed to go back to the house. Hopefully, whoever they were who’d claimed my bed were gone, and I could finally get some sleep. Before I headed in that direction, I wanted to pop into the small hardware store a few blocks away to purchase a lock I could affix to the outside of my door for when I wasn’t home. Even a latch with a padlock would be something. Lately, my personal space had been invaded far too often for my liking, and I was sick of it.

I closed my laptop and slung the strap over my shoulder before collecting my books and heading out into the late morning. The sun had warmed the air, and I raised my face to soak it up. My thoughts turned immediately to Rory and how he’d shared that he hadn’t been out of doors during the daytime in six years. Six full years living in the dark. I couldn’t imagine. Hopefully, I could get him to open up more on Thursday and learn what had caused him to develop such an aversion to the sun.

At the hardware store, I scanned the aisles, looking for something that might work to keep unwanted people out of my room. My knowledge and skills with tools and hardware was nil, so eventually, I asked for help. A kind, older man set me up with a hinge-style lock I could insert a padlock through. It wasn’t high security by any means, but I hoped it would be deterrent enough to keep my roommates and their friends out. The way it mounted to the door frame seemed simple enough, so I purchased a few screws and a screwdriver to get the job done.

By the time I got back to my apartment, it was after eleven. I slinked up the front staircase to my room which I was glad to find vacant. It reeked of sweat and sex, so I stripped the bed and took the sheets down to the laundry room to run a load. It was just another obstacle preventing me from sleeping. I didn’t own extra sheets and would have to wait for the cycle to finish and for them to dry.

In the meantime, I worked on getting my new lock in place while my roommates were occupied downstairs in the kitchen. It was a lot trickier than I expected, and after cursing my way through two failed attempts at hanging it, I heard someone coming up the stairs.

“Dammit,” I muttered under my breath as I scooped up my tools and prepared to bolt into my room.

It was Marcus, and as I eyed him down the hall, he noticed immediately what I was doing.

“Need a hand?” he asked.

I frowned and narrowed my eyes. He was so wishy-washy with his loyalties, I never knew what to think.

“I’m fine. I’ll figure it out.”

“Whatever.” He shrugged and went into his room, closing the door behind him.

I stared down at the mess of hardware in my hands and considered reneging on my claims of not needing assistance. There were days I truly thought Marcus was on my side and didn’t like the way the other two treated me. I wanted to believe the days he sided with them were strictly to save his own ass, but I couldn’t be sure, and life had made me skeptical in the face of kindness.

With a heavy sigh, I returned to the task at hand alone. The risks of being ridiculed were too high, and I didn’t want to chance it.

It took another thirty minutes to figure it out, but in the end, I successfully hung the lock. I tested its strength and was satisfied with how it worked.

In my room again, I sat on my unmade bed with my old textbook on the psychology behind irrational phobias and read while I waited for my laundry to finish. My eyes were heavy, and by the time I had clean sheets again, I was so overdone I didn’t know how I was putting one foot in front of the other.

I changed into pajama bottoms and crawled under my fresh covers, leaving my glasses on my desk. Once I’d ensured my alarm was set, I snuggled against my pillow and closed my eyes. My entire body sighed at the comfort surrounding me, and I knew I’d be asleep in seconds. The day had been far too long. I’d been awake for more hours than I could count, and the arrival of bedtime was blissful.

Just as the heavy weight of sleep pulled me under, the blaring, shrill sound of death-metal music pierced the air, jolting me awake. It was so loud it vibrated through the walls of my room and rattled the few picture frames I had on my bookshelves.

I hated my life.

Diving my head under my pillow, hugging it around my ears, I screamed in frustration. Soon was not soon enough.