Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18

I don't waste any time.

I put on my slippers and robe and I'm running out of my room, not bothering to lock it. What's the point when people like Kincaid can enter any damn time they want?

I hurry down the stairs, past Noor and Toshio, still playing backgammon, who watch me curiously as I run outside with no pants on. Drunken singing emanates from the dock below but I head for the north dorm, hoping to find Kincaid in his office. If he's in his boat despite the party on the docks, well, I might have to wait. The last thing I want is to make a scene in front of everyone.

The north dorm is unlocked, and I step inside, closing the door behind me. I hurry down the hall and frantically knock on Kincaid's office door.

I'm breathing hard, still drunk, still livid, and I know I need to control myself, I need to calm down and handle this rationally, but I can't. I feel like everything I've been going through these past weeks has come to a boiling point.

Before I have time to take a deep breath and count to ten backward, a last ditch attempt to thwart my rage, the door swings open with Kincaid on the other side.

I hate how fucking good he looks, even working late at night. Black dress shirt unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, his dark hair spiked up as if he's been running his hands through it. His expression is slightly unhinged, a wild sort of concern that belies any professionalism between us.

"Sydney?"

"I need to talk to you," I manage to say, anger bubbling over as I storm past him into the room.

He closes the door behind me, and I slam my hand down on his desk, displaying the two cameras and microphone.

"What is this?!" I shriek, whirling around to face him. "Tell me what this is! And don't you dare fucking lie to me."

He strides over to me but as soon as he spots them, his pace slows. He stops in front of me, a sharp inhale.

I watch his face closely. I'll know a lie when I see it.

He meets my gaze and swallows. In the dim light of his office, lit only by a couple of candles that emit the scent of santal, and a lamp in the corner, his eyes are the color of a thunderstorm, mirroring how I feel inside.

"I can explain," he finally says, licking his lips.

"Then explain it," I snipe, leaning back against his desk and crossing my arms. "Explain why there are fucking cameras in my room. Was it you? Was it Everly? Michael?"

"It was me," he says. He says it so simply without an ounce of remorse.

I grind my teeth together, huffing through my nose. "Do they know?"

He stares at me for a moment then shakes his head. "They don't know. If you want to report me to them, I completely understand. My studying of you is…unauthorized."

"Studying?" I repeat. "You call that studying?"

"Observing, then."

I blink at him, my mouth open. "You violated my privacy! What have you been doing, just sitting in your office, watching me get undressed? Watching me sleep?" The horror hits me. "Oh god, you knew I was having sex dreams! You saw it! You heard it!"

He doesn't say anything. His face remains so impassive that I can't help what I do next. My anger rolls through me like an earthquake, my palm shooting up and across to SLAP him in the face.

The sound reverberates across the room, and my palm stings, sharp spikes of pain.

His nostrils flare but he takes it.

He doesn't repent nor does his expression change.

He just stands there and takes it.

"Say something!" I scream at him.

"What do you want me to say?" he says, gruff but still calm.

"Tell me why!"

"You don't want to know why," he says quietly.

"Fuck you!" I shout, and I attempt to slap him again.

This time his hand catches my wrist and holds my palm inches away from his face.

"You've been drinking," he says. "You need to calm down, for your own good."

"Don't you dare tell me to calm down," I sneer. I feel violent, out of control, like I'm finally unraveling, every thread that had threatened to come loose is finally being pulled. "As if I don't have a right to be upset! To be horrified!"

His grip on my wrist tightens. "I won't let go until you do. Come on, Syd. Let's get your heart rate down, take in a deep breath."

"Fuck you," I say, trying to pull out of his grasp, but he reaches out and grabs me by the back of the neck. I automatically freeze.

"Calm down," he repeats sternly. His grip on my neck is as strong as the one on my wrist and for a moment I feel true fear. It penetrates my alcohol-induced bravado, a sharp shard of clarity, and I realize I've been a fool. I came here alone to confront my teacher, someone I barely know, someone who has all the power and all the secrets, and I stoked him into these flames, a fire that could consume me whole.

He could hurt me. It would be my word against his. Who would believe me after all the stuff I've been saying? I'm sure his computer is full of files about me and my behavior.

About how crazy I am.

"There," he says softly, still staring deep into my eyes. "Breathe. That was fight. Next is flight. But right here I see fear. It's good to be afraid of me, Syd. It's good to be afraid of everyone. Promise me you won't lose that."

What the fuck is he talking about?

"Why?" I whisper, noticing the grip on my neck has loosened. He starts to move his thumb back and forth over my skin, rubbing it. It's bringing my heart rate down but it's doing something else to me. Making my knees weak. "I hate you," I whisper.

"I know you do," he says with a sigh. "You deserve to hate me. I hate me too."

And yet somehow that angers me, like it's the easy way out.

"Tell me why you were spying on me," I say through a clenched jaw. "Are you…obsessed with me?"

It sounds absolutely stupid when I say it though there is no other word.

A small, sad smile on his lips. "We're all obsessed with something, aren't we? We all have our little fixations. You know that better than anyone."

I swallow hard. "This is more than a little fixation, doctor . Cameras, standing outside my window, following me on walks, those are all more than a little fixation."

"I know," he says, gaze dropping to the floor. He lowers my hand but he's still holding on. "It can't be helped. The moment I first saw you I knew I was done for."

My cheeks burn. I remember that moment like it was yesterday, bumping into him outside the learning center. "You looked like you were scared of me," I mutter.

"I was. Because I knew." He pauses, glancing back at me to meet my eyes, his brow crumpled. "And I know my role. I know my position. I know that this power imbalance is why I can't ever act on anything. I was doomed."

His words are starting to sink in, to have an effect.

I can't let them drown me because I'll just put my hands up willingly.

"And so you decided to put cameras in my room? Because the one during our sessions wasn't enough?"

He lets go of my neck and wrist and walks across the room, running his hands over his face. My skin aches where he held me. Some sick part of me hopes it leaves a mark. "No," he eventually says. "It wasn't enough."

He stops by an ornate mirror on the wall and stares at himself.

"I just don't understand," I say.

"Come here and maybe you will."

I hesitate and then walk over to him. He moves out of the way, gesturing for me to take his place.

I step in front of the mirror and stare.

I look like a fucking mess. Streaks of mascara under my eyes that the cleanser didn't get. My hair wild, my robe hastily fastened.

Though for a moment, just for a second, I think I see a flash of something else.

But no, it's just a trick of the light.

Kincaid stands to the side of me and says, "Do you see that girl?"

I see her , I think. Sydney Denik, hot mess express.

"That's what I'm up against," he says, his voice so low and rough that it sends fingers up my spine. "That's who makes it so damn hard to come to work every day because I have to pretend. Pretend I don't want her. Pretend I don't need her. Pretend I don't crave her."

Fuck, I'm turning into a puddle on my feet. The way he said he craves me is combining into a messy brew, along with every other feeling I've had tonight, until I'm not sure if I want to slap him again or fuck him senseless.

"The only thing I'm allowed to do is try and save her," he adds. "And so I watch you. I don't need to watch you undress or fuck yourself in your sleep. I need to make sure you're alright."

I blink at his words and stare at his reflection in the mirror.

"I should report you," I tell him, though it doesn't sound like I mean it and I hate that. Hate how weak he makes me feel.

"You should," he agrees solemnly. "It would be the right thing to do."

"Would you be sent away?"

He shrugs.

I have a feeling he wouldn't be. They need him here.

"And no one else watches me?"

"Not like I do," he says, a sharpness in his gaze. "They don't have your best interests at heart."

That's apparent now. I feel bamboozled by Everly after hearing what she said.

I turn to face him. "Why do you need to save me? Are you saving me from them? What is really going on here?"

"I told you. I need to save you from yourself. I know your background. I know what happened to you. I know the things you won't let yourself see, the things you won't let yourself face. This place…" He shakes his head. "This place will lead you into the forest one day and never let you out. I can't let that happen to you."

"Please tell me that's metaphorical."

"It's the forest of your mind, Syd. The Lodge, it messes with those who are most vulnerable. I've seen it happen time and time again. I don't want any harm coming to you, not if I can stop it."

My chest suddenly feels cold, constricted, like my ribs are made of ice. "You're the one who made me go off Adderall. I haven't been able to think clearly ever since."

"Yes, you have," he says. "Tell me, have you noticed your symptoms? Has it felt like you've been missing your meds?"

I rub my lips together, trying to think. "I don't know. It's hard to tell. There's just so much happening."

"You have to keep trusting me."

"Oh, so you can keep spying on me?"

"The cameras are recent, Sydney," he says. "I put them up a few days ago."

And just like that, I'm angry again.

"Do you know how it feels to have your trust violated by the one person who asked you to trust them?"

"I do. And I hate that you feel that way," he says. "I apologize, deeply and sincerely. But I still need you to trust me."

I stare at him. I can tell he really is sorry for making me feel this way, but I don't think he's actually sorry about doing it.

How deep does his obsession with me go?

How can I find out?

Or should I cut my losses and run?

"I want to go home," I say quietly. The admission surprises me, but the moment I say it, I know it's true.

Kincaid looks like I slapped him yet again. His face falls, his brow crinkling in something like sympathy, something like pity. "Where is home, Syd?"

And of course he's got me there. I have no home. No school, no job, no money, no prospects, no home.

You have nothing , a voice whispers in my ear. You are nothing. Nothing but alone.

That's when it strikes me, a poisoned lance that spears deep in my heart, one I've tried so hard to shield myself against.

I am so alone in this world.

So completely unmoored, untethered, and alone.

I cover my face with my hands and burst into tears.

There's a pause, perhaps another look of shock from Kincaid, but then he's up and beside me, wrapping his arms around me and holding me against him. I press my palms against his chest, a feeble attempt to push him away, but his arms are strong and they keep me in place. He holds me, tight, so tight, until I relent and place my cheek against him. The tears stream down and he puts his palm at the back of my head.

"You're going to be okay," he murmurs. "Trust me, you're going to be okay."

How? I think. How?

"I have no one," I sob against him. "I truly have nobody. Not a single soul in this world loves me. Do you know how awful that feels?"

"I do," he says, kissing the top of my head. That makes me melt into him further, undoes another thread that was so tightly wrapped around me, that was holding me together. "I wish I didn't."

"I just thought I could still get through life without it mattering," I say, my chin trembling so hard that my words are staccato. "I thought I was okay with being alone, just me, stuck in my head with only myself for company. I've always been so different, but I took pride in it, and when others complained of loneliness, I thought that was something that happened to other people and not to me. But I was wrong. I was so fucking wrong."

He doesn't say anything to that, just continues to hold me, his palm cradling the back of my head.

And yet I can't stop the words from flowing any more than I can stop the tears. "I had my grandmother, she loved me more than anything. She loved me enough to make up for the loss of my mother. She loved me enough to fill that void when my father was gone, at sea for days and weeks at a time. And then I lost her. I lost her to that horrible disease, one that ripped me from her memory until I was nothing to her, a nobody."

I take in a shaking breath. "And then I thought that maybe I should become closer to my father, that this was a sign to try to get to know him better, even though he worked all the time. So I made the effort, and so did he. Our time was so brief. It was too brief. I finally felt like I saw the man in the shadows of my life, and then he was taken from me. We didn't have enough time together. We never have enough time!"

"I know," he says. "We don't."

"Now what? Now the only people who loved me unconditionally are gone and I have no one else. There's just me. I only have myself, and I don't even feel like I know myself anymore. I don't even like her."

Silence fills the room. I can hear his heart beating against my ear, quick but steady. I inhale his scent, that sweet tobacco and cedar mixed with the warm santal from the candles.

"You'll find someone, one day," he eventually says.

"You don't know that," I snap, the anger at it all.

"But I do. Because I know you are someone worth loving. That you are worthy of being loved. And there is someone out there who will one day lay down their life for yours."

If he wasn't holding on to me, I think I'd be on the floor.

Can it be you? I think, settling deeper into his arms. Can your obsession turn to love without either of us going up in flames?

"You just need faith," he goes on, voice soft. "You just need patience. You just need to keep surviving for now. It won't always be this way, I promise."

"But I don't see the way out," I whisper. "I don't see how I'll ever stop being too much for someone. Too impulsive, too brash, too reckless, too self-centered, too cold, too sensitive, too much . Too me."

He exhales loudly and kisses the top of my head again, and my god, I want him, want him to be what's on the other side of being patient. Or being a patient.

"There is always a way out," he says. "Oh, Syd, sweetheart. If only you knew how much your words break me."

Sweetheart?

I pull back enough to glance up at him. He stares down at me, his eyes glassy with emotion.

"You're a good person," he says, swallowing hard. My eyes are glued to his lips, a compulsion running through me, something heavy in my veins that feels pulled to him, iron to a magnet.

I can't help myself.

I stand on my tiptoes.

And with the taste of my own tears, I kiss him.