“Thank you, but… I’m going to have to decline the offer.” Gambrielle said, holding her head up high. It shocked the hell out of me and Thorne. “I don’t need any help, okay? All I want to do is get out of here and serve my own personal justice.” Her lips drew into a thin line as the same bravery from earlier reentered her soul. Turning to me, she said, “I’m sorry about the sketch, reporting it I mean. It was out of character for me and very rude.”
It was like someone had punched me in the face. Even the way she apologized somehow managed to come off insulting.
“Personal justice? What are you going to do? Kick someone out of your country club?” As if preparing for prayer, I clasped my hands together in front of my chest and gazed up at the white ceiling. “Oh God, please don’t! Don’t take away the Stepford Wives and macaroonsssss!” I proclaimed dramatically, drawling out the s. Pointing a sharp finger at the ceiling, I continued, “Take the damn Porsche, the kids, the Hampton Estate—but you leave my fuckin’ macaroons alone! Do you hear me?”
Thorne threw his head back and laughed.
But Gambrielle didn’t, which was the intended effect. She stood, mouth agape, cheeks flushed, probably feeling like an idiot when I shifted my attention back to her. “Oh I’m sorry, was that rude?” I asked, pouting. “Oops, that was out of character for me. Normally I’m not like that.”
Laces 1, Gambrielle 0.
After that, she wasted no time rushing to the door. She extended her arm and said, in a proper tone, “As much as I’ve enjoyed this conversation, I must retire.”
“This is 2020. Not the 1700s. That shit might’ve worked in Heathcliff’s day, but not here.” I said, stepping through the doorway and into the hall. Thorne followed behind, still snickering about the macaroons.
Gambrielle performed an awkward wave that resembled more of a salute. “Nice of you to drop in. Goodnight.”
And because I was, well, an asshole, and to further drive my point home, I held out my arms and bowed like a servant, “Until next time, milady.”
“There won’t be a next time.” She seethed.
Now in the hallway I stood straight, my dark hair catching in my eyes as I flashed a cocky grin. “We’ll see about that.”
Seven
Gambrielle
Day 1
A loud bang came at my door early the next morning, drawing me out of a deep sleep.
“Rise and shine! This is your thirty minute warning! If you want a shower ladies and gents you better get up!” The man’s voice was deep, loud, and full of authority. He banged on my door two more times before unlocking it and turning the lights on, “Up! Up! Up!”
He didn’t look like the typical security guard; he was short, maybe 5’3, with a balding head that was too big for his thin body. The blue security guard uniform practically swallowed him whole. “My name is Winston and I’ll be looking after you for the remainder of your stay,” There was a brief pause, “did you hear me, Evans? It’s time to get up and greet the day! Come on girl, let’s move, move, move!” Each move ended with a clap.
I groaned and threw my arms over my face to shield my eyes from the light. “Go away!”
“Don’t make me drag your little butt out of that bed.” Winston sounded like he was joking now, but still. After the day I’d had yesterday, I didn’t think it was too much to ask for another hour of rest.
Not that I got it anyway.
The second my eyes started to drift shut, Winston was right beside me, jerking the covers off of the bed and tossing them across the room. CLAP. “Up.” Another clap. “Up!” A third clap. “Up!”
Twenty seconds later Winston was shouting again, except this time it wasn’t directed toward me. “It’s time to get up, Laces! Morning meds in thirty, my friend!” I rolled over on my side and cracked my eyes to see Winston flipping Laces’ light switch on-and-off several times. I was dog tired and drained of any feeling in my limbs, but even I couldn’t suppress the chuckle that passed through my lips at the sound of Laces fierce battle-cry, “Get. The. Fuck. Out!”
“Are you going to get up?” Winston demanded.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“When I damn well feel like it!” Laces bellowed, pulling the covers over his head. Winston remained at the side of his bed, hands on his hips. Laces, dull and tired grumbling obscenities emerged seconds later in the form of a threat, “If you don’t leave I’m going to tell Kline you sexually assaulted me in the ear.”
“You mean rear.”
Laces uncovered his head and glared up at Winston, “No, ear. That puny thing you call a dick would be a disgrace for any asshole.”
Sweet baby Jesus…
He didn’t know when to quit—and honestly, I’m not sure he even knew how. I had to give props to Winston; he took his mental beating better than I did. Even with his manhood being savagely ripped apart, Winston still continued his duty, behaving as if nothing was amiss. I, however, had succumbed to Laces’ attack and become another one of his victims. And in doing so Laces had gotten exactly what he wanted, a submissive. Stupid.
“I’m going to be back in five minutes.” Winston warned. “And when I return your ass best be out of this bed, or else.”
That was the moment my tail got a voice of its own and forced me out of my twin bed. Scrub pants and top in one hand, beige slip-ons in the other, I rushed out of my room before Winston could finish his final room checks.
“Did you call my mom? Is she dead?” A young man wailed as I approached the nurses’ station. Nurse Davis was holding his hand and trying to give him words of encouragement, but he was having none of it. He grabbed both of Nurse Davis’ arms and pulled her close, his bloodshot eyes full of panic, “I flipped the switch eighty times like the voices said! You need to call her! What if they didn’t keep their word?”
“Peter, shhh.”
Peter’s eyes flickered to me as I passed by, “Can you call my mom?”
Must find the showers quickly! I picked up my pace as Peter let out another wail of agony. Everyone was roaming the halls like zombies—bags under their eyes, arms held straight out, guiding them to wherever they were going. The showers were strategically placed near the cafeteria; some patients chit-chatted in the showers next to me, gossiping about this week’s solitary victims, the lunch menu, and the weekly movie that was being shown in the entertainment room later today.
I spent twenty minutes scrubbing my entire body. It seemed like no matter what I did, I couldn’t get clean enough. I wanted rid of Joe, of all the scars lining my arms and legs. The soap bubbles briefly covered the scars and for a few seconds I felt normal, like how I had felt before Joe came into our lives. Happy. Then it came time for me to rinse…and a familiar dread entered my stomach as the soap bubbles washed away and the scars reappeared.
“You must behave today, remember that.” I told myself while drying off.
Today was the beginning of my quest to get out of Hawthorne—my first full day at the asylum. If I could make it through today, unscathed, then I would have nine days to go.