He nearly chokes. “I do like them; every man likes them. We just aren’t fond of feeling things in front of you ladies. It makes us look weak. No man wants to look weak.” His eyes dart to me. “Not in front of ladies we want to try to date, anyway.”
A stupid grin slips across my lips. “We sort of like it when you put up a fight about those movies. The fuss guys make is kind of cute.”
His lips lift even more, setting a dazzling glow in his green eyes. “That’s because you always win. We always cave.”
“That is my favorite part.” Angie laughs. She serves herself a plate of food and starts eating, but my eyes are locked on his as if we are telling each other secrets without speaking. She doesn’t see it, but I know he does.
I just don’t know what it means.
4. Why do I have to be the bad guy?
Binx’s purring and rubbing against me as I fill his food bowl brings a smile to Angie’s lips as she climbs into bed after her shower. “Look at all that love and affection. Even Derek didn’t rub against you quite that much.”
I roll my eyes. “Whatever. He was being polite. He’s a prof, not a student.”
“No, he wasn’t. He likes you. I can tell. And he isn’t an instructor at our school, so the whole teacher-student thing isn’t applicable.”
That perks my ears up. “What?”
She sighs, smearing lip gloss over her lower lip. “Were you not listening when I said that he teaches literature? That’s not a class here, dumbass.”
I bite my lip, giving way to some unsavory thoughts, but Binx disturbs them with his after-meal grooming. Something feels off, but I ignore it, petting his fur. I glance at Angie, puzzling at the way things feel in my head. It’s still fuzzy from the drinking, I think. “How did we end up with him?”
She shrugs. “You started getting sick, and he came and carried you to the car, saying you needed a doctor. I told him you just needed to sleep it off. So he said we should stay with him.”
“And you agreed?” The whole thing makes no sense.
She sighs. “I know him—he’s a good guy, so of course I did. It was better than going home in a cab with us girls both being drunk.”
I close my eyes and snuggle into my surly cat. “Still seems like a risky idea over a cab ride alone.” The purring of the cat and the warmth of my bed make the swirling in my brain cease, and I feel a deep sleep on the horizon. My mind wanders like water flowing down a drain, and it’s then I realize I am losing her. No, I’m pulling away. I’m leaving on purpose. I’m staring into the wooden box with the clovers, getting lost in the darkness.
I blink three times and the room is no longer my dorm. I whisper to the crumbling walls and cracked ceiling, “Tell me about the swans, the way the swans circle the stars and shoot across the sky.” It becomes like a painting as I step back somehow, moving away from the world that Ashley Potter belongs in. It becomes smaller, twirling and swirling in my mind like a top. It gets smaller and smaller as I leave it all behind, leave her behind, trapped in the awful painting that was her life.
When I blink for real in the warm room, I am Jane, and Ashley is next to me.
Angie is there, wearing her white coat, but there now are the beginnings of laugh lines on her face, reminding me she is in her thirties and not at the end of her teens. We are not freshmen, and I am not Ashley Potter. I blink as whatever I ate last crawls around in my throat.
She smiles but there is worry in her eyes. “Ya all right? It’s only been fifteen minutes since the last time you woke up.”
I swallow the acrid taste in my throat, shaking my head.
“Can ya talk yet, or do ya need a minute?”
Immediately anger wells inside of me, adding to the fire burning in my throat as I rip the headphones from my ears. The soft voice in my mind is not the right one. “Where is he?” I know Dash has somehow meddled with the subliminal messages and hints and pictures I am meant to be seeing in my mind. The whole point of the recording is to bring me to the places she’s been, get me comfortable. The series of words spoken, including Dash’s name and the description of his face, are meant to help me bring my triggers with me. If we have anything on the patient, it is whispered in my ear with a series of subliminal messages, helping me to find the keys in her mind.
If someone tampers with that, they can change the entire outcome, including the patient’s experience.
“Where’s Dash?” I ask again in my croaking voice.
She pauses. “What the bloody hell are you on about?”
“Dash!” I shout with my croaking voice.