Collared(25)

The breath he’d been exhaling comes up short. “No, I shouldn’t have,” he says quietly, then he forces a smile. I can tell because his eyes don’t join it.

I swing my legs over the side of the mattress suddenly. “I have to get out of here. I have to leave.”

Torrin comes up beside me as I test out my legs. “Wait, like . . . now?”

“Now.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

He holds his arms out as I stand, but I stay upright. My legs feel stronger—stronger than they’ve felt in a while. “I’m sure it’s a good idea.”

Standing up, I realize how much taller he’s gotten. He’s grown at least a few inches since the last time I saw him. That puts me almost at eye-level with his neck—right in line with that black-and-white collar.

It hits me hard again—as hard as it did last night. “How am I supposed to put what happened behind me when this hospital, these doctors and nurses, all of it reminds me of what happened to put me here?” I can’t keep staring at his collar, so I walk toward the window. Seattle is buzzing; everyone’s on their way, wherever that way leads. I wonder if anyone down there feels like I do—totally and utterly lost. “The longer I stay here, the longer I hang on to what happened, the worse off I’ll be.”

He’s quiet behind me. “Jade, I don’t know . . .”

There are too many sounds here. Too many people. Too many strong smells. The bed’s too soft and the temperature’s not right and the mealtimes are off and . . .

My eyes close when I realize I’m comparing the hospital to his house. The place I spent the past ten years in. The only home I’ve known. I never wanted to get used to it. I never wanted to equate it with “home.”

I never wanted to be kidnapped either.

Some things in life we get to choose, and some things are forced upon us.

“Well, I do know. I need to leave. I’m going to leave. If you want to help, great, but if you don’t, it’s not going to stop me.”

He sighs, but it’s more one of giving in than giving up. “Do your parents know you’re checking yourself out?”

My head shakes. The floor is so cold here. All of Earl Rae’s—the parts I was allowed in—was covered in carpet, even the kitchen. The bathroom was linoleum, but it felt warmer than this icy tile. Spongier too. “No. They’ll find out when I show up at the front door.” I don’t tell him I don’t remember their phone numbers anymore. If I did, maybe I would call them to let them know.

“What do you need from me?”

I cross my arms and pretend like I know what I’m going to do with the rest of my life. Like I’ve got it all planned out and just need to cross things off the list one at a time. “Tell the nurses’ station I’m checking myself out.”

“Done.” When Torrin’s halfway to the door, he stops. He looks at me over by the window.

What does he see when he looks at me? A piece of his past? A damaged woman? A girl who needs saving? A duty? I could ask, but I’m too afraid of the answer.

“Will you be okay here on your own?”

His question does something to my chest. “I’ll be okay.”

He nods and rushes to the door. “I’ll be right back.”

As soon as Torrin leaves, I grab the plastic bag holding the clothes I came in with and hurry to the bathroom. The hospital smells especially antiseptic this morning, and I can’t wait to get out of here.

I hear footsteps echo into my room as I’m buttoning my cardigan, but I don’t hurry out because I know it’s not Torrin. His footsteps don’t sound like that— there’s more time between each one; they’re gentler sounding.

I check my reflection in the mirror for a second. It’s a second too long. Earl Rae had all of the mirrors removed from the house when he found me sawing at my chain with a sharp piece of the bathroom mirror I’d shattered. I haven’t seen my reflection in years. The image has changed from the last time I saw it.

My face has sunken to the point all I see are shadows and bones. I look like a skeleton with a piece of skin stretched over the hard bone. My eyes don’t seem to possess much color anymore, and my hair, along with everything else, has lost its shine. I’m pale to the point I can see frail webs of veins winding beneath my face.

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.”