We'll Never Be Apart (22 page)

I can't even manage to watch Amelia walk out the door.

“Tonight I'd like to discuss relationships,” Dr. Goodman says during evening group therapy.

Chase sits next to me. He's not paying attention. The big headphones looped around his neck emit a soft beat, just low enough so that no one can hear it but us. Every once in a while he shifts in his seat and brushes his leg against mine. My body hums, pulses at his light touches. It's been hours since our kiss in the pagoda, but I can still feel him, his lips and body pressing into mine.

I remove the piece of blue origami paper from my hoodie pocket. Flipping it over, I reread Amelia's contact information. Amelia's gone. I'm happy for her. And sad for myself. It's weird how two emotions can war inside you.

But I'm not worried about what she said about Chase. Based on our kiss earlier today, I'd say he's pretty into me. Plus, I've told him things. Things I've never told anyone. Let him have a part of me that I'd kept locked away, even from Jason.

“I want us to examine our past and current relationships,” Dr. Goodman says. “Let's discuss how we behave in them, how we react in them—really study how they define who we are and the choices we make.” I start to fold Amelia's note into the shape of a swan.

It's like Dr. Goodman has pulled tonight's group therapy topic from my head. Everything used to be so black-and-white. Cellie was bad. Jason was good. But my memories have taken on different shades lately. I think about Cellie and her terrible love. I think about Jason and how his love was terrible but in a different (and possibly more dangerous) way, only I didn't know it at the time.

Chase nudges me. “You know swans mate for life, right?” he whispers, and plucks the swan from my fingers to look at it.

I stifle a laugh. “How do you know that?”

Chase sprawls back in his chair. “What can I say? I'm a marvel of weird and inexplicable facts. People would pay good money to study me.”

“Why do I like you?”

He grins, and a little dimple appears in his cheek. “Because I'm tall and semi-dashing?” He winks at me. I snatch the swan back and tuck it safely in my pocket.

Dr. Goodman clears his throat, effectively bringing our private conversation to an end. “Alice, is there something you'd like to add?”

I shake my head.

Dr. Goodman turns his attention to Chase. “Chase?”

Chase says no more forcefully than seems necessary. He's really got it in for Dr. Goodman, but I don't know why. While Dr. Goodman drones on, I pull out another piece of origami paper (green, this time) and make a second swan.

Group therapy continues uneventfully and Dr. Goodman ends with his usual speech about what good work we've done and how we should pat ourselves on the back for the progress we've made. Chase and I are the last ones in the single-file line to shuffle out the door. As we pass Dr. Goodman, Chase trips. His broad shoulder pushes into my back, and I fall to the floor with an
oomph.
Pain splits my knees and stings my palms as I land on all fours.

“Jeeze, Allie, are you all right? Shit, I'm so sorry,” Chase says, crouching down to inspect the damage and help me up, but Dr. Goodman beats him to it.

“It's fine,” I say, shrugging out of Dr. Goodman's light grasp. I take a step forward and adjust my sweatshirt.

“Are you sure you're all right?” Dr. Goodman asks, sincere and concerned.

“I'm fine,” I say, rubbing my stinging palms together. “Thanks.” I make a beeline out the door, my cheeks warm with embarrassment.

Chase catches up to me. “You sure you're okay? You went down like a ton of bricks.” He takes off his baseball cap and runs his fingers through his hair.

“Thanks for the observation.”

“You're mad.”

“Again, another stellar observation by Chase Ward.”

Chase puts a hand on my shoulder and stops me. “I'm sorry.”

“Whatever.” I roll my eyes, realizing that I've overreacted. “What'd you trip on, anyway?”

“Nothing.”

“I don't understand.”

“Maybe I tripped on purpose.”

“Why would you do that?”

“To get something,” he says. “To get
you
something.”

“You pushed me down to get me something?”

He grins. “Yep, and before I show you, let me give you permission to prostrate yourself at my feet with thanks and gratitude.”

I fold my arms over my chest and wait for Chase to get to the point. We're alone again, like we were in the garden, only this time, I can tell Chase isn't going to make a move. He's up to something else entirely.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he pulls something out of his pocket. A white badge attached to a red lanyard dangles in front of my face. Realization sinks in. Chase has lifted another security badge. But this time it's not just any badge. The photograph in the center smiles at me, a thin face with wire-rimmed glasses. Dr. Goodman. Below Dr. Goodman's picture are three of the sweetest words I've ever seen:
ALL SECURITY CLEARANCE
.

I press the badge into Chase's chest, covering the white plastic with one of my hands. “This might be the best present anyone's ever gotten me.”

Chase's look grows serious and maybe a little grim. He lays a hand against my neck. “I want to help you find your sister.”

“When?” I lean into his touch, feeling soothed.

He gives his head a little shake. “Tonight. Come to my room.” His hand travels down my shoulder, over the bumpy burn scars, then down my arm and right into my hoodie pocket. He comes out with the second swan I folded, the green one. “I'm going to keep this.” Then he's gone.

As I walk back to my own room, a voice in my head chants,
Tonight, Cellie, I'm coming for you. Tonight, Cellie, I'm coming for you.
But the voice sounds hesitant and smaller than before. Somewhere between my vow to kill Cellie and stolen kisses in a Japanese pagoda, my resolve has weakened. Chase has gotten under my skin. And I'm not sure anymore if I am willing to trade his warmth for cold revenge.

F
ROM THE
J
OURNAL OF
A
LICE
M
ONROE

 

I don't know how they found us holed up in that shitty hotel room. But we were surrounded. Someone banged on the door. A voice shouted for us to come out with ten fingers pointed toward the sky. When we didn't cooperate, when we refused to come out, they broke down the door.

Jason and I fell to our knees, hands behind our heads. We were pressed to the ground, cheeks digging into the grimy carpet and hands cuffed tightly, uncomfortably, but Cellie fought. She wouldn't be Cellie if she hadn't. She laughed the whole time, a manic, high-pitched laugh that overrode the cops' voices and the blare of sirens.

They dragged us away, put Cellie and me in one car, Jason in another. As they were shoving him into the back seat, he winked at us and told the cop that it was worth it.

We were taken to the local police station. Once we were processed, Cellie and I were sent to Savage Isle. We peed in cups and spoke with intake counselors who checked questions off a list. I met with Dr. Goodman, who peered at me over his glasses. Cellie screamed from the office next door. He asked if my sister was all right. And I told him no, she had never been right. Cellie's room was just across the hall from mine, and every night she howled.

One day she came and stood in front of me during arts and crafts. She had stopped talking as soon as we were admitted. Her face was gaunt and hollow under the yellow lights. How had I failed to notice she'd become too thin? Dark circles hung under her dull black eyes. She wasn't well, and I didn't know how to help her. I reached for her, wanted to tell her to sit with me. I would make her a paper animal or tell her stories from our childhood, maybe one from Pam and Gayle's house—the house she liked best. But I didn't get the chance. Her hand locked around my wrist and she tried to sink her teeth into my forearm.

Techs had to come and pull her off me. They dragged her to the Quiet Room, where she screamed all night. She screamed until she was hoarse, and the techs had to come and administer a sedative with a long, sharp needle. I watched from the background, even though the techs tried to keep me away. I wanted to be there when they opened the door. Foolishly I thought that if she caught a glimpse of me it would calm her down. But my presence only made her more agitated. She shook and she cried and she whimpered. And all she would say, over and over, was
Everybody's lying. Everyone's lying.

CHAPTER

I
DON'T BOTHER KNOCKING WHEN
I
GET TO
C
HASE'S ROOM.
Instead I slide the keycard over the black box, knowing that the beep preceding the opening of the door will alert him. When I enter, only the bathroom light is on. It illuminates the space, washes it in a soft glow, like candlelight. My green swan is sitting atop his nightstand.

“Hey,” I say, shifting uncomfortably in the doorway. Chase lies on his bed, one arm behind his head, the other tapping a rhythm on his chest. He gives me a smile. “Where's your roomie?” I ask. The bed next to his is empty and made.

“He freaked out earlier. Something about how he hates forks. Started throwing a bunch of shit, hit Nurse Dummel right in the eye with one of his shoes.” Chase scoots over a little and pats the space next to him.

I bite the inside of my cheek. Why does everything suddenly feel so awkward? “C'mon,” he says. “I have a present for you. I forgot to give it to you on the bus.”

I arch a brow and take a step closer. Two presents in one day? This is a record for me. He pulls something from his pocket. I have a flashback of Cellie pulling a unicorn lighter from her pocket and my stomach turns. But when Chase opens his fist, it's not a lighter. A speckled gray rock rests in his palm.

I set the keycard on the nightstand, sit on the bed, and take the rock from him. I examine it. “Thanks.” I'm not sure what to say. I know Chase well enough now to know he doesn't do things without a reason. But I can't for the life of me figure out why he would give me a rock.

“It's from the garden. I picked it up on our way out.” He sits up so we're face-to-face. “Don't you notice what shape it's in?”

I turn the rock in my fingers. That's when I see what it resembles. “A heart?”

He touches my waist. “It's to remind you . . .” His eyes swim with sincerity. “To remind you that you deserve to be loved.”

I close my fingers around the rock. I don't know how to process his words. Something inside me denies it. I lower my lashes. “Everyone deserves to be loved, but that doesn't always mean that they are.”

He tilts his head at my cynicism. His mouth curves up into a smile, and his voice is so full of warmth I think it could melt a glacier (or my icy heart). “You will be.” He says it so quietly I almost don't hear.

He kisses my lips, so soft and sweet and full of promise I could weep. My arms wrap around him. We kiss again and again, small pecks that turn to lingering open mouths. We grip each other and tumble to the bed. As we fall, a vision of Jason dances before my eyes and I'm taken back to the night on the roof, when Jason and I had our first kiss.
I blink, and Chase kisses me long and deep, ripping every thought of Jason away. He kisses my ear, then my cheek, my eyelid, and my pulse—right in my neck where it's hammering. “I promise. I won't let you down, Alice.” He keeps murmuring it between kisses.
I won't let you down.

We break the kiss, mostly because we need to catch our breath. I rest my head on his chest. “That was . . .” I don't know what to say. I don't have the words.

He chuckles, and the rumble I feel under his T-shirt makes me smile. “Ah, Just Alice, you sure do make a guy feel good.” He kisses my forehead. “Stay here with me tonight.”

I start to pull away, but his arm around me pins me in place. “We can just sleep. I want you to stay here. I'll set my alarm to wake us up before the morning bed check.”

We were supposed to go find Cellie, go back to the D ward. But suddenly my desire for revenge is outweighed by my desire to stay in Chase's arms all night. Because this won't last. Whatever is blossoming between us is bound to burn out. I'm still holding the rock, thinking about how the heart shape is now imprinted on my palm from clutching it so tightly. I rub my cheek on his shirt. “Okay,” I say. I'll stay. I won't think about Cellie, because maybe everyone does deserve to be loved. If only for a little bit. If only for just one night.

We fall asleep wrapped up in each other. I wake up shivering in a room full of blue light. Dawn is coming. Chase lies next to me on his back, his breathing even and deep. I yawn and shift to move out of the bed, knocking Chase's present, the rock, with my feet as I do. I don't know how it ended up there. Smiling, I bend to pick it up. As I'm stuffing the rock into my back pocket, my eyes catch on something shoved under the mattress. A corner of paper pokes out.

“Alice?” Chase's sleepy voice drifts over to me.

I smile quickly at him and then go back to the paper wedged between the mattress and box spring. “What's this?” I ask.

He follows my gaze, worry sketched all over his face. My curiosity doubles, then triples. “Allie.” His voice holds a slight edge of warning. “It's nothing.” He lunges for it at the same time I do. But I'm closer and quicker, and I get to it first.

I wiggle it out. It's a thick file.

Chase's eyes narrow. “Give it back, Allie. It's nothing.” He moves toward me, ready to snatch it from my fingers, but I step back, file in hand.

I pace in front of him, far enough to be out of reach. Chase runs an aggravated hand through his hair. He kneels on the bed and cusses. I read the name on the file. First I'm curious, then surprised, then confused. I feel the color drain from my face. “Chase?” He turns his head—in shame? In embarrassment? I'm not sure. Why can't he look at me?