I started to close myself back into the room just to avoid the light but then remembered what it was that I was doing. Knox would be back any moment. My sense of time was gone, along with all my other faculties, so I had no idea how much time had passed since he’d left me sprawled on the bed with his leftover spit on my mouth.
I put one foot in front of the other, and when, after a couple steps, I grew tired, I slumped against the wall. The sound of voices and music amplified. I wanted to cry when I heard laughing. I didn’t care if they were laughing at me. Blurry figures moved at the end of the corridor. I stretched out a hand. One of these figures was coming toward me.
“Help,” my voice rasped.
He was only inches from my face when I realized it was Knox and he was towering over me. “I thought I put you to bed, Victoria.”
I shook my head. Strands of hair got tossed over my eyes. “No.” I was working in slow motion, but I gathered all my strength and I pushed his chest. He didn’t budge.
Knox, with his sharp teeth and wax-slicked hair, actually laughed. I didn’t enjoy his laughing at all. “You know Adam’s not your only ticket in,” he said. His fingers closed around the bones of my wrist, crushing them. His words tickled the peach fuzz on my ear. “I thought you had a thing for other girls’ boyfriends.” His eyes danced. “It’s the thrill, isn’t it?”
Knox was towing me back toward the dark corner of his room. I dug my heels in and did the only thing I could muster. I sat down.
“You’re drunk, Victoria,” he said loudly, like he was acting on a stage.
I shook my head. I shook it over and over. My head spun even more. I felt tears slide down my cheeks. Then I looked up, and Adam was on him. I thought I was dreaming. Knox’s mouth morphed into a snarl, and it happened before I could blink.
“Don’t hurt…” Adam grunted as his pawlike hands wrapped around Knox’s shoulders. “Victoria.”
Knox’s eyes bulged. His feet left the ground. Adam shook him.
I reached for Adam’s leg. “Adam, stop!”
I was too late. There was a flash of recognition that appeared on his face before the feral pitch of anger broke and Adam released him. Knox stumbled. He was too far back on his heels and his footing too off-kilter to catch.
Almost in slow motion, he toppled backward. His right arm hit the floor at a sharp angle. There was a pop like the seal on a fresh canister of potato chips. He crumpled, and the arm disappeared under the full weight of his body.
Paisley rushed past me and kneeled by Knox, who shoved her away. “You broke his arm, you freak.”
Adam let out a strangled yelp.
“It was an accident,” I said. Then more loudly, “It was an accident. He didn’t mean to.” There was no way to be sure I was saying these things out loud. The floor rocked beneath me. Then Adam was gone. As if into thin air.
Knox groaned. “You will pay for this!” he shrieked. “Don’t think I won’t find you, Smith. Don’t think you can get away with this. I don’t care who you are.”
I pressed my palms into the carpet. In the battle between me and gravity, gravity finally won. I sank onto the floor and forgot everything.
THIRTY-TWO
The subject has exhibited the telltale signs of retrogression in his impulse control that raise concerns that perhaps he is sliding into more primitive and instinct-based behaviors. A propensity for violence and aggression shows a marked change in the subject’s behavioral evolution.
*
I woke up tangled in a heap of flannel sheets and a plaid comforter that smelled nothing like cologne. A puddle of drool soaked the blue pillow next to me, and I scratched crusted saliva off my chin.
“Good morning, sunshine.”
I propped myself up on my elbows. “Where am I?” My eyes darted around, still trying to focus. The hood of my sweatshirt drooped over the side of my face. A roaring pain erupted in my eye sockets, and I immediately lay back down.
Owen appeared over me, sipping a steaming cup of coffee. My stomach turned. “Casa Bloch. Welcome.”
The blurry room in which I found myself sharpened, and I recognized the poster of A Brief History of Time and the shelves lined with the complete series of Harry Potter.
My insides rocked like a deep-sea fishing boat. Maybe if I stayed very still, I wouldn’t puke. “This is it, Owen. I’m dying. I need you to put me down like Old Yeller.”
He rolled his eyes. His hair stuck up at odd angles. He took another swig of coffee and shook his head. “Here, have some of this.” He handed me his mug. I wrinkled my nose and pushed it away. He insisted. “It’ll help.”
Thunder rolled through my brain, making it impossible to think. I raised the hot cup to my lips and swallowed a mouthful of coffee. I wanted to hurl again but managed to keep it down and took another sip.
I looked around at the slender twin bed and narrowed my eyes suspiciously. “Where’d you sleep?”
He took the mug from me. “You know, you make it awfully hard to want to be hospitable.” He gestured to a pile of sofa pillows stacked near his desk. “I slept on the floor. Like a gentleman.”
I lowered my eyes, feeling a healthy surge of insta-guilt. “Sorry.”
“I broke curfew for you, you know,” he said.