Day Twenty-Five

Day Twenty-Five

Tracy is not happy about the decimated beanbag. When she steps into the Seg room, she takes one glance at it, tucks her folder under one arm, and pulls out her phone to tap out a text. She slips her phone into her back pocket and looks me over.

"At least you didn't hurt yourself. Did you?"

I'm sitting on the futon, wedged in the corner. I don't answer her. I feel electrical, like wires are strung tight inside me and they're malfunctioning, sending up random sparks every now and then.

She sits on the floor and pulls her knees up to her chest.

"Charlotte is fine," she says quietly. "A few bruises, nothing more. I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Holly."

I feel like I might answer her, if I had words, but I don't seem to have any left. Maybe I've said everything I had to say and I'll be silent forever. Maybe I can just stay in this room until my time is done here, with whatever days they'll add on for my outburst on Charlotte, and when I leave, it will be as an empty sort of human shell. Skin with nothing left inside. Maybe that would be better for everyone.

"It happens," she says. "What Gideon did. Even here. Things aren't linear in recovery. No straight lines. One day things are working out; the next day, a little fissure, a crack, and we go right back to where we started from. There isn't any shame in that. We get up, we bandage ourselves as best we can, and we start over."

She sighs.

"I don't really like the sound of just my voice. It makes me feel lonely," she says. She pulls some paper from her folder and rips off a piece, slides it across the floor and rolls a pen to me.

I wait a moment before grabbing it, then I do, and I scribble, is she dead?

I shove the paper across the floor at her.

"No," she says after reading it. "Gideon is not dead. She's getting care. She'll recover."

A little weight is lifted inside me. I didn't want anyone else to die. I cannot have one more person die.

"There's no way we could have known, Bella. Things creep in here sometimes. Addicts…and I am one, and always will be…the most interesting thing to me is how absolutely crafty we can be sometimes. Like, the things we'll think of to get wrecked, do you know what I mean? It takes so much work, you know? If we could just put that amount of work into trying to take care of ourselves."

She laughs. "I mean, honestly. We search people when they come in for visiting days. We do! But that was a new one for me, for sure. How long do you think they planned that? Her cousin buying the exact type of sneaker Gideon wears, ripping out the insole, slipping drugs in there, and then gluing it back down. And then the way they traded, just one shoe each, under the table? It's impressive, truth be told."

The sneakers. The matching sneakers. The way she held them so carefully in her hands that day in our room.

There's a knock on the door. Tracy gets up and opens it.

Fran hands her a dustpan, a broom, a bag, and a little box, and then closes the door.

Tracy leans the broom and dustpan against a wall and sets the bag on the ground. She holds the box out to me.

"For you," she says. "You've made a mess and you need to fix it. By yourself. When we make messes, we're responsible for cleaning up the damage."

I don't take the box.

She puts the box down by me and sits back on the floor, cross-legged this time. She pulls out her phone again and begins scrolling.

"I have all day," she says. "I get time and a half on holidays. We had a meeting and we won't add days to your time here. The only person you hurt was yourself. Charlotte was equally responsible for egging you on, but you've put in some work here, and whatever you needed to get out of yourself, well, it sure did come out."

I reach for the box and open it.

Inside are a needle, thread, and a small pair of scissors. I look over at the scattered white beans, the ripped fabric of the beanbag.

"Merry Christmas," Tracy says.

—

I'm sleeping when I hear a soft tap on the door. It took me a long time to gather all the beans and sew and stuff the fabric of the bag, to sweep up the bean dust and loose threads. There was nothing to do after that except go back to sleep. If I didn't, I'd just sit there and think about Gideon, and Holly, and Laurel, all lost to me now.

The door opens.

It's Janet.

"I shouldn't do this," she says. "But for some reason, I am. Come on out."

She motions to me. I wipe the sleep from my eyes and go to the door. Janet opens it a little wider.

Josh is standing in the hallway.

"Everybody made a Christmas party in the activity room," he says. "It isn't any fun without you."

Janet closes the door to the Seg room and looks at us sternly.

"Ten minutes," she says. "That's it. And you stay here, where I can see you. Understand?"

We nod. Janet walks back down the hall to the desk and sits. She turns on some Christmas music, very low, on her computer.

"Hi," I say.

"Hi," he says.

"Thanks," I say.

"You really did a number on Charlotte," he says.

"Tracy said she was fine."

I look away from his face. He's seen me, now. Naked. Drunk. Too much.

"Hey," he says. "That thing, what she showed? I don't care. I mean, I do care, because it was hurtful to you. But I don't think you should be embarrassed or ashamed."

I look at him.

He speaks more quickly. "I mean, I'm here, too, you know? I've…Things have happened to me, too, or I've done them. That maybe I don't feel so great about. I guess what I'm saying is, if you think that video is something that will make me not feel what I feel for you, you're wrong."

"I— That's good to know," I say.

"So. Also," he says, shifting from foot to foot. "I'm leaving."

My heart drops. "What? I thought that was the twenty-seventh? What happened?"

He shrugs. "My parents are pulling me. They've had tickets to Cancùn for a while, and I guess they figure a few days early isn't going to make much difference. They wanted to pull me after they saw what happened when Holly ran. I think that really freaked them out. But I wanted to stay."

"That sucks," I say.

"I know. I don't make the rules. I just try to stay out of their way, you know?"

"I know," I say. "I know."

"I just wanted to say goodbye and…you know, well, I hope you're okay. With everything. I was worried for you. And I hope we can talk. After all this. When you're out."

"Yes," I say. "Definitely."

He reaches into his back pocket and hands me his phone. I punch my number in.

"Cool," he says, taking the phone back. "Cool."

There's a very warm pocket of something between us. Something I want to lean into.

Josh steps closer to me.

"Four minutes," Janet calls from down the hall.

He steps away.

"Do you want to…They're dancing at the party," he says. "Do you want to dance? I mean, Janet has that music playing and all."

Janet has a slow Christmas song on, something I don't recognize, old-timey, maybe from the fifties. A singer with a mournful voice.

I nod.

Awkwardly we step toward each other. Josh puts his hands on my waist and I put mine on his shoulders. Slowly, we move in a circle.

I don't really know where to look. I can feel his breath on my cheek, and if I actually look at him, our mouths would be like an inch away and—

I look at him.

He swallows. "Your face looks a lot better. I'm glad I can see the other half now, because they're equally nice. I've been meaning to tell you that."

He moves his face closer to mine. Time…sort of slows.

The Christmas music abruptly stops.

"Oh, no, no, no, no," Janet calls out sharply. "Nope, nada, separate, that's it, time's up, merry Christmas. Time to go, young man. And time for you to go back in your carriage, Cinderella."

She's marching toward us. We drop our arms from each other and stand far apart.

"Off you go," she says to him. "You need to finish packing."

"Right," he says.

"Goodbye," I say. My hands are shaking a little. I turn toward the door of Seg.

"Wait," Josh says. "I have something for you."

I turn back to him. He's holding out a candy cane.

"I took it from the tree," he says.

Janet slips the candy cane from his fingers and hands it to me.

"Go," she tells him.

"Bye, Bella," he says softly. "See you on the outside."

I watch as he walks down the hall, looking back at me once, giving me a small wave, and then rounds the corner to the activity room.

"Don't tell anyone," Janet says. "It would ruin my reputation as a hard-ass."

"?'Your secret is safe with me," I say. I step inside and she closes the door, leaving me alone in the room again.

I stretch out on the futon, lay the candy cane next to me, turn on my side to stare at it.

I wasn't with Dylan at Christmastime, so I never got anything from him. This is the first Christmas present I've ever gotten from a boy.

A candy cane in rehab.