I look more dead than alive. My face matches the way I feel inside.
Dried blood stains the collar of my sweater from yesterday, and I know it doesn’t matter how much time or cold water I use—those stains are never coming out.
I rake my fingers through my hair a few times, splash some water on my face, and rinse my mouth out a few times. Whoever’s waiting for me isn’t leaving. I have an idea who it might be.
When I slide through the bathroom door, I discover I’m right.
“I just heard you’re leaving.” Dr. Argent isn’t as tall as she seemed yesterday. Maybe that’s because my perspective has changed.
I close the bathroom door. “News travels fast.”
Dr. Argent exhales through her nose. “I’d strongly advise against that, Jade. You have been through a trauma that would crush most people. You shouldn’t be checking yourself out of the hospital the next day and planning on picking up your life right where you left it.”
I’ve been told what to do every day of the past decade. I suddenly feel like I can’t take one more person telling me what to do one more time. “Yeah, well, the day you’re held against your will for ten years, come find me, and I might take your advice a little more seriously.”
She crosses her arms and leans into the foot of my bed. “What are you so afraid of, Jade?”
Nothing. Everything.
How can I say that without sounding like I need a straitjacket and a Dixie cup of pills at breakfast, lunch, and dinner?
“I’m not afraid,” I say because I don’t want to be afraid of anything. I don’t want to be afraid ever again . . . even though I can feel it pulsing in my veins right this very moment.
“If you can wait a few more minutes, I’ll round you up some fresh clothes.” Dr. Argent’s eyes skim the reddish-brown stain circling my sweater.
I know it looks gruesome, but gruesome’s subjective. Some blood on my sweater feels like the least of the worries pummeling me.
“These are my clothes. I’m fine,” I reply.
“Actually, those are Sara’s clothes.”
My teeth grind together. I don’t know if Dr. Argent’s objective is to piss me off with every conversation, but maybe that’s part of her “electric paddling my psyche” approach. “They. Are. Mine.”
Dr. Argent sighs, and it’s the kind that makes me think she’s reached the conclusion that I’m as hopeless as I think I might be. “If you’ll let me give you one final piece of advice . . .” She’s looking at me, waiting, but I don’t look back. “Find an emotional tether. Someone you trusted before and someone you can trust now. A person who can connect you to your past but can pilot you into the future. Someone who can pull you back from the ledge when you find it and from the dark when it finds you. Find that person, hold on tight, and don’t let go.”
That’s when Torrin bursts through the door. He’s clearly been hustling since he’s breathing a little hard. “We’re good.” He doesn’t seem to notice Dr. Argent, but he doesn’t miss the stains on my sweater. They seem to pull the air straight from his lungs. “I pulled my truck around front too.”
My posture relaxes now that he’s back. I wonder if he’s talking about his old truck, the one that had been his dad’s before it became his. It had been old ten years ago. “They let you leave it there?”
Torrin pointed at his neck. “Perks of the collar.”
“Well, there better be some if they’re going to make you commit to celibacy, right?” I say without flinching.
I’d just been making a joke, but it makes Torrin shift. Yeah, I guess talking about celibacy with the girl you lost your virginity to would be kind of awkward. That should have been obvious. It would have been if I hadn’t spent the last decade in forced seclusion. I’ve become the socially awkward person who doesn’t know what to say or when to say it.
“Who are you?” Dr. Argent shoves off the bed and angles toward Torrin.
Torrin clears his throat and finally seems to notice Dr. Argent. “Father Costigan.”
Father Costigan. My god, that, more than anything else, drives home the realization that he really is a priest.
From the way she looks at him, I can picture her flipping through the stack of notes I know she has on me in her office. Her eyebrows lift when she remembers. “As in Torrin Costigan? Who grew up next to Jade?”
“The very one.” He lifts his chin at me. “The boy next door.”
This time, it’s his comment alluding to the past that makes me shift.
“You were her boyfriend at the time of her kidnapping, correct?”
Torrin looks at me like he’s checking to see what he should say.
I move toward Torrin, watching Dr. Argent. I don’t trust her. I don’t have a reason not to, but I don’t. I probably won’t be able to trust people for a long time though . . . if I’ll be able to trust them again. “Hey, I thought I was the patient. Leave him alone.”