Spectacularly Broken (5 page)

“Cai Fields,” he said. “Eighteen, Salt Lake City.”

The husky kid picked it up after him. “Jarett Wright, from Las Vegas. I’m seventeen.”

That left me. I cleared my throat.

“Haze,” I pronounced carefully. “Montgomery. I’m n-eighteen.”

“Great job,” Angie praised, making me feel like I was five. “And you’re Lysander Shepherd’s cousin, aren’t you?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. No wonder Finn hadn’t been fond of having me here. I gave Angie a minute nod and willed her to drop the topic.

“Who’s Lysander Shepherd?” That was Jarett.

“He’s Joel Shepherd’s son,” Angie told him brightly. “You know, the actor?”

“Oh, him.” Jarett’s eyes widened. “Cool.”

Molding my face into a carefully neutral mask, I nodded again. It was going to be a long four weeks.

“Anyway,” Angie chirped, “next I’m going to show you the grounds. You’ll see, the five of you are gonna be best friends in no time.”

I doubted any of us bought that.

* * * *

Dinner consisted of some kind of meatloaf-like abomination Sheri would never have allowed in our dining room even if I’d been into that sort of thing. I looked forlornly for an alternative and choked down exactly two mushy baby carrots before I decided on a temporary hunger strike. We had been kept in our groups, so I was stuck between Jarett and Nicky, across from Lexa and Cai, the five of us silent as graves. I spotted Finn once or twice, by the looks of it enjoying himself immensely at the other end of the dining hall.

Eventually Jarett turned to me. “You gonna eat that?”

I shook my head and pushed my plate his way.

Jarett also turned out to be my roommate, which I found out when we were herded to our rooms directly after supper. He had laid claim to the top bunk, leaving me to sleep in the bottom one while listening to the bed springs squeak every time he moved a muscle. It was maddening. I spent an hour wishing desperately for a pill, a fuck, a blunt, anything to make me feel the slightest bit better about myself.

I was also beyond disturbed at the contents of Finn’s luggage. I’d unpacked in ever-growing horror, torn shirt after torn shirt, baggy jeans after baggy shorts after
stained
baggy shorts. It was gross. Maybe for his birthday, I could invite Finn to LA and drag him shopping. Cupcake was in serious need of a makeover. And I was in serious need of clothes that showed off my body and didn’t make me want to break down weeping.

Obviously, that wasn’t gonna happen.

Chapter Five

Group sessions were bullshit. Boring, repetitive bullshit that shouldn’t ever be inflicted on anyone unless they’d killed someone. Green group met in a rec room tucked away in a far corner of the building, where we were harassed by Angie’s persistent perkiness and a long list of stupid exercises. There was drawing, meditation, word association. Any second, I expected her to break out the Rorschach inkblots.

Toward the end, Angie handed each of us a small slip of paper and instructed us to write exactly two words on it.

“A message to your ten-year-old self. Whatever you would want to tell them, any advice you wish you’d gotten at that age.”

It was vague enough and intriguing enough that I actually thought about it instead of bullshitting my way through it like I’d done with the other exercises. Ten-year-old Lysander was already spoiled rotten and getting close to the realization that he had a crush on the gardener’s son. My coming-out had been on the spectacular side because, true to form, I just couldn’t half-ass that kind of thing, and it had been a prime opportunity to get a rise out of my dad.

I fumbled my pencil. It clattered to the floor, loud and bright in the oppressive silence. I snatched it back up and decisively wrote
Be proud
. Then I stood, handed Angie my paper, and marched to the door, trying hard to keep my breathing under control. The room spun a little.

“Haze?” Angie called out to me. I turned.

“I need to go to the bathroom.”

“It’s almost lunchtime,” she said, as though that had anything to do with it.

“I’ll see you there, then.” I gave her a friendly wave.

Once in the bathroom, I locked myself in and sank to the floor in a boneless heap. There was slimy grit beneath my hands, but I had other worries.

It had never before occurred to me that, if I had to pick one specific point in my life that had set me on the path to my party-slut existence, this one would be it. That was when I had first begun to fight for attention, because I’d needed it then. I’d been confused, angry, screaming inside my head, and nobody had ever listened. My father had just kept going, business as usual. And I had decided to find out what it would take for him to notice me.

Some nine years later, and I was still trying.

Look, Dad, I like a boy. Is that bad?

Look, Dad, I’m staying out all night drinking. Aren’t you worried?

Look, Dad, I’m having a coke-fueled orgy in the living room. You don’t mind, do you?

Well, it had landed me here. So maybe I was finally doing it right.

On my way back to the rec room, I wondered if Finn had done the same exercise, and if so, what he had written.
Kill Lane
, maybe.

Only upon finding the room empty did I remember that I was supposed to be at lunch. My head really was all over the place these days. I turned to go but then turned back because my curiosity was getting the better of me, and the green group had left their things in the rec room while they went to eat. And the slips of paper from our last exercise were lying in a stack on Angie’s desk.

Try harder
, the top one said. I pushed it aside to read
Stop worrying
, and figured that such a disgustingly cheerful message probably belonged to Nicky. Next was my own,
Be proud
. Beneath that one I found the intriguing message
Save Cassiel.

But it was the last slip that gave me chills when I revealed it. In blocky letters made up of thick, decisive lines it said:
Run. Now.

* * * *

Therapy.

Yeah, therapy sucked floppy donkey dick. I figured that out in the first five minutes of sitting in an ugly-ass armchair opposite Dr. Pierce and having a staring contest.

“So, Haze?” had been her opening while she studied me over the rim of her glasses. “Is that right? You go by Haze? Your file says Finn, and so does the brief.”

File? Brief? I didn’t know what she was talking about, so I shrugged noncommittally.

“Yeah, well, they’re wrong. It’s Haze.”

“Okay, Haze.” She crossed her legs, leaned toward me a smidgen, and fixated on me with her creepily pale eyes. “Why don’t we start by having you summarize why you’re here, if you feel up to it.”

Uh. Well. I kinda wished Finn had bothered to mention that part.

“Doesn’t it say in the file?” I asked evasively.

“I want to hear it from you.”

Cue staring contest.

After what felt like a very, very long time, I gave up on trying to wait her out and broke the silence.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” she countered, “but you’re not going to get better this way.”

“Sucks to be me, I guess.”

She was not a fan of that answer, which was tough shit because it was the only one I had to give her.

* * * *

It probably would have made sense to ask Finn what the hell was written in his file, but I was strangely reluctant to do so. I’d brought the topic up once before, and he hadn’t wanted to share, so it seemed rude to keep digging. I didn’t want to upset him again. So I’d just have to fake my way through the therapy sessions with Dr. Pierce because anything else felt too much like an invasion of Finn’s privacy. Strange—that kind of thing generally didn’t even give me pause.

Green group met again in the early evening. We were still an extraordinarily quiet bunch, and Angie led us outside into the garden and allowed us to abuse pencil and paper in whatever fashion we desired. While we did so, she asked cheerful questions.

“What are you drawing, Jarett?”

“A Transformer,” he mumbled, absorbed in the act.

“Do you like being outside, Lexa?”

I still hadn’t heard the girl say even one word to any of us. She nodded in response to Angie’s question, though, and seemed relieved to have managed it.

“So, Nicky—”

“Why’s Lysander Shepherd here?” Nicky burst out loudly. He was looking at me.

“Nicky, that isn’t an appropriate—”

“No, seriously, I want to know. Why’s he here? What’d he do?”

“I don’t know,” Angie said sharply. “And it is not our business.”

I just shrugged.

“But you’re his cousin,” Nicky said, like that meant anything at all.

“We don’t talk much,” I snapped.

“But—”

“Nicky,” Angie interrupted, “step over here with me for a second, please.”

She walked him off, probably to give him a good talking-to, while he made faces at her. The rest of us fell into our normal awkward silence and continued our pencil-scratching. Because I didn’t feel like drawing at all, I’d been aimlessly zigzagging lines across the sheet, but even that was losing its luster.

“You could have just told him,” Jarett said suddenly.

I looked up at him sharply. “I really don’t know, okay?”

“You gotta know something! I mean, he’s your—”

“Jesus, will you fucking drop it?” I snapped.

“Will you both shut the hell up before I smack you?” That was Cai.

“Fuck you!” I flung back aggressively.

“Is that seriously your only comeback?” Cai sneered at me. “Oh, but I forgot. You’re
special
. My bad.”

Oh, man. Apparently the skinny wannabe badass really had a chip on his shoulder. But I didn’t give in and hit him with another curse. Instead I put on my bored face and flipped him off.

There. Classy as fuck.

* * * *

Finn found me after dinner. I had retreated to a secluded spot in the huge garden where I could sit and think without constant interruptions, but I didn’t mind him checking in on me. After all, we hadn’t had much of a chance to talk for over a day. And this might help me take my mind off the cravings that were hitting me again.

“So,” he said, inching closer and looking strangely tentative.

“So?” I raised an eyebrow and moved sideways on my flat stone perch to create space for him to sit. He took me up on the offer, pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them.

“So, I had therapy today.”

“Yeah, me too. I just didn’t say anything, so it was pretty pointless. Not that I’d know what to talk about anyway.” I shrugged.

“Um.” Finn swayed a little. “Dr. Brookhard asked me some interesting questions.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” He looked at me, biting his lip. “You want to tell me about your cocaine addiction?”

I groaned, throwing my head back. “I don’t have a cocaine addiction.”

“Oh. Well. Um.” Finn cleared his throat. “You kinda do now.”

“Jesus fuck, what did you tell him?”

“That I was working on it.”

I sighed. To be fair, I couldn’t blame Finn for being blindsided by the question.

“I don’t have a coke addiction,” I repeated. “I use it recreationally, sometimes. I’m smart enough not to make it a habit.”

“Okay,” Finn said.

“Okay?” His easy acceptance surprised me.

“Yeah, okay. I mean, I’m glad it’s not a huge problem for you. But why do you touch that stuff in the first place?”

“Fun,” I replied laconically. “Boredom.”

Finn didn’t reply. Together we stared at the lake for a good long while.

Eventually he released a deep breath.

“Our lives are really fucking different, man.”

“No shit.”

“I don’t get you, but that’s okay.”

“Thanks,” I replied, because it was all I could think of.

We sat and stared silently at the lake some more. Sitting next to Finn, the only person here who knew me at least a little, relaxed me, and I felt the stress of the day slowly slipping away.

Eventually I shifted and plucked at the gross, stained baggy jeans I was wearing. “I really hate wearing your clothes, sweetheart.”

“Likewise.” He gave me a look. “You own absolutely nothing that isn’t skintight, do you?”

“Don’t see the point,” I admitted. “I like my body. I like showing it off. Goddamn it, I want a cigarette. Or a blunt. I’d kill for a blunt right now.”

Finn chuckled at my abrupt change of topic. He ran a hand over his shirt—a green silk one I couldn’t even remember buying—and then tilted his head at me.

“People keep asking to hear stories about my charmed life,” he told me. “I never know what to say.”

“Make stuff up. No one’s gonna know.”

“How can you stand it?” he asked. “All those people being all over you, all the time. It’s honestly getting kind of creepy. How do you know who’s being genuine?”

I shrugged. “I keep pretty exclusive company.”

“Is that another way of saying you’re a snob?”

“Uh-huh,” I confirmed. “Don’t really have much of a choice. When you’re around other people who are used to having money, things are a lot less complicated.”

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never done that,” Finn pointed out mildly.

He sounded like he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.

Chapter Six

I felt like hammered shit the next morning. Yet another night spent barely sleeping, thoughts racing and spinning in circles, left me with bags under my eyes and a killer headache. If I’d been at home, I would long since have quieted the whole shebang with drugs and drink. The sluggish, comfortable buzz of alcohol would have been a godsend right about now, though sometimes I needed the focused, intense rush brought on by coke. Sometimes I did both, which usually led to some pretty impressive marathon sex.

Once I was out of Camp Naughty and back home, I would call Sawyer and Logan first thing and maybe try to break my own record of how much sex I could have in one night. Or, hell, maybe we could make it an all-weekend thing. I loved getting lost in the high to the point where I lost all sense of time and place and just drifted and felt and fucked.