During Art Therapy, there was a new therapist who apparently hadn’t heard that Torri wasn’t allowed to draw anymore. Torri took full advantage of her ignorance to get another 11 x 7 cardboard canvas and charcoal. After asking Vic’s permission, she spent the hour sketching him.
He held perfectly still the entire time, surprising her somewhat. During the few art classes she’d managed to snatch in college, whenever you had a live subject, it wasn’t always easy for them to hold still without at least twitching from time to time. But once she got him into the pose she wanted, Vic seemed to fall into an almost inhuman stillness.
Even when a big horse fly buzzed through the open window and the therapist and several of the patients got caught up in chasing it out again, he didn’t so much as twitch a muscle.
It made Torri think—with a touch of unease—about the strange dream she’d had of him being some kind of robot or cyborg. But that was ridiculous, of course. Dreams weren’t real.
So she pushed the thought away and got back to sketching.
When she showed the sketch to Vic at the end of the therapy hour, his eyes widened in surprised pleasure.
“So…much…talent,” he said haltingly and pointed at the picture. “Looks…exactly…like me.”
“Thank you—I’ve always loved to draw. And it’s easy when you have a good subject,” Torri said, feeling her cheeks get hot again at his open admiration of her work.
God, she really needed to take it easy here! She was beginning to feel like a girl in high school developing a crush on the handsome new student.
You’re married, she reminded herself again. Doesn’t matter if Chuck is being an asshole, he’s still legally your husband.
And who knew—maybe he still cared. After all, he had gotten pretty choked up the other day when she’d reminded him of their vows. Maybe he would come around after a while and get her out of here. Especially if she could go a few more nights without any night terrors…
The only dark spot in her day happened at dinner time—tuna noodle casserole, peas and carrots, applesauce, and a stale roll.
She and Vic were sitting at their table, talking—well, Torri was talking and Vic was answering in his limited way—when Tanya slid into a chair right beside the new patient.
“Mind if I join you two love birds?” she asked, her eyes twinkling maliciously.
“Actually, this table is taken,” Torri said, frowning. “And Vic and I are just friends—I’m showing him the ropes here at St. Elizabeth’s.”
“Bullshit,” Tanya said cheerfully. “Been watching you two all day—you’re as cozy as two turds that came outta the same dog’s ass.”
“Tanya, really—we’re eating!”
Torri couldn’t keep the irritation out of her voice. Her ex-roommate was the kind of person who couldn’t stand to see anyone else enjoying themselves. If Tanya saw anyone having fun—or more fun than her, anyway—she just had to come and ruin it.
“Yeah, yeah—whatever.” Tanya waved a hand dismissively. “Anyway, like I said, I been watching you two and I don’t think you oughta be together. Because, like, President-killer-guy is really cute, you know? So I think he oughta be with me.” She grinned up at Vic and batted her lashes, swishing her long, limp, blonde cornrow braids around her skinny, tattooed face. “What do you say, President-killer? Wanna come eat at my table?”
Vic just stared at her blankly for a moment. Then he shook his head firmly.
“No.”
“You don’t have to say ‘no’ just because Miss Prissy Pants is sitting right here,” Tanya told him. Getting up, she began to tug on Vic’s muscular arm. “C’mon, PK—that’s what I’m gonna call you, okay? PK-short for ‘President Killer.’ You come on with me now, PK—it’s a lot more fun at my table.”
She was yanking on Vic’s arm as she said this. Yanking so hard, in fact, that she was leaning all the way back and putting her entire body weight into the effort of getting him out of his seat.
Vic simply sat there, a pained look on his face, as though he was embarrassed for Tanya and her blatant display.
“Tanya,” Torri said, frowning. “Can’t you see he doesn’t want to go with you?”
“Yes…he…does,” Tanya grunted, still pulling. “Look, PK—I’ll give ya a blow job under the table—you’d like that, right?” She licked her lips lasciviously. “C’mon, big boy, show me your dick.”
She stopped tugging on Vic’s arm and dove one hand into his lap instead, clearly intent on getting into his beige scrub trousers.
Vic stiffened and gripped her wrist with one large hand. Glaring at her he repeated in a low, threatening voice, “No.”
Tanya did what she always did when she couldn’t get something she wanted—she started to scream.
Vic let go of her at once, but that didn’t stop her screaming. Instead, she started grabbing things off the table—ketchup and mustard, salt and pepper—and throwing them across the dining room, all the while shrieking at the top of her lungs.
In about thirty seconds flat, two orderlies—Derrick and Shaunda—came running.
“Stop it, Tanya!” Derrick shouted. “Stop it—what the hell is wrong with you?”
“Him! He grabbed me!” Tanya pointed a trembling finger at Vic, easy tears springing to her eyes. “He hurt me! I wasn’t doin’ nothing to him and he grabbed me and hurt me!”
Vic’s eyes grew wide and alarmed. He seemed to be trying to come up with a defense but it was clear the words weren’t coming.
“No, he didn’t!” Torri jumped in to defend him. “It was Tanya who was trying to grab Vic!”
“Liar!” Tanya spat at her. “She hates me ‘cause her man likes me instead of her! But he was mean to me!” she wailed, pointing at Vic again. “He grabbed me by the wrist and twisted it and wouldn’t let me go!”
“Only because you were trying to get your hand down his pants!” Torri gave her a disgusted look. “Have some self-respect, Tanya—you’re acting ridiculous.”
Luckily, the orderlies on duty had seen Tanya’s histrionics more than once.
“Tanya, did you come over here and bother this poor man?” Shaunda demanded. “What have we told you about touching the other patients?”
“He touched me first!” Tanya insisted sulkily, but it was clear she knew she’d lost this particular battle. “He wants me—not nasty old Torri!”
“What he wants is to be left alone,” Shaunda said severely. “Now come on—are you going to go sit and finish your dinner and act like you have some manners or do you want to lose your TV and lounge privileges tonight?”
Nobody liked to lose TV and lounge privileges—not even Tanya. With a last, hateful look at Torri and Vic, she went sulkily back to her table and spent the rest of dinner picking at her food and glaring at both of them.
Torri had an uneasy feeling that her ex-roommate was not going to drop this but there wasn’t anything she could do about it now. She shrugged at Vic, trying to ignore the glare of hatred coming from across the dining room.