Collared

  He doesn’t say anything after that. He doesn’t seem to move. He just sits there, holding my hand and staying watch for whatever we’re both afraid will come at us next.

  Just before sleep is about to pull me under again, I whisper his name.

  “Yeah?” His voice doesn’t sound sleepy like mine. It sounds the opposite.

  “Are you really a priest?”

  A soft chuckle vibrates in his chest. It’s the single best sound I’ve heard in a decade. “I really am.”

  I curl deeper into my pillow. “Why?”

  His exhale comes out sounding like he still holds the weight of the world on his back. “Sleep.” His thumb skims down the side of my hand. “We’ve got time to go over all the whys and whats. Just rest.”

  For one short second, my eyes open, and I see a look on his face that makes my throat tighten. His head isn’t on the bedrail anymore, but it’s still close. I can see his collar now though. In the darkness, that square of white is almost blinding.

  The last thought I have is wondering if his collar feels as confining to him as mine did to me—keeping him from the people he loves and the life he wants to live.

  “I missed you, Torrin,” I whisper.

  I’m more asleep than awake when I hear him exhale. “I miss you, Jade.”

  I CAN’T WAKE up. I know I’m having a nightmare, but it won’t let me go. It won’t let me surface from it. The more I fight, the tighter it binds around me, strangling me.

  My neck. It’s rope instead of metal, but it’s twisted around my neck, constricting tighter and tighter with every step I make to wake up. I rip at the rope, trying to tear it away, but I’m helpless against its pull.

  Jade.

  A voice creeps through the fog of the nightmare.

  You’re safe. It’s okay.

  The voice keeps whispering to me until the black shell hardened around me cracks and I see the faintest dot of light.

  Wake up. You’re safe.

  The dot spreads into a hairline crack. More light creeps in, blanketing me. The rope around me loosens.

  “Wake up, Jade. I’m here.”

  The dark shell shatters, and light floods in.

  I wake up like I’m drowning, gasping for air and clinging to whatever life raft I can grab hold of. The closest thing to keep me from falling back under is Torrin’s arm.

  He’s leaning over me with an anxious look on his face. He doesn’t move. He just stands there, letting me cling to him until I feel like I can let go.

  “It was just a dream. It’s okay.” He looks a little pale, like he was crawling through that hell with me.

  “Just a dream,” I repeat to myself and force my fingers to loosen before I cut off the circulation in his arm.

  I’m coated in sweat¸ and my blankets and sheets are twisted like a tornado around my legs. It’s light outside, and from the looks of the shadows hugging Torrin’s eyes, he didn’t sleep at all.

  “What time is it?” I ask as I release his arm. I’ve left angry red marks on his skin.

  If he notices, he doesn’t show it. He just stays beside me, unwinding the twists binding my legs, one at a time, until I’m free.

  “Almost nine o’clock.” He doesn’t look at the clock.

  “I slept that long?” I sit up to check the clock on the wall. I have to blink my eyes awake a few times before I can read it. Even then, the numbers are a little foggy.

  “Yeah, mostly.” He smooths the blankets over my legs now that they’re fixed. “Except for the few times you did . . . what you just did.”

  “But I didn’t wake up?” I can’t remember any of the nightmares except for the last one. It’s a small mercy I’m happy to accept.

  “No, I just gave you my arm to cling to each time, and you calmed down.” He twists his right arm to check it out. “Remind me to don armor the next time I agree to sit bedside vigil.”

  There are scratches, welts, and what looks like the start of bruises on his arm. I never would have guessed the kind of strength necessary to inflict that kind of damage was left inside me. “God, Torrin, I’m sorry. You should have just let me scream and flail. I’m used to it.”

  The breath he’d been exhaling comes up short. “No, I shouldn’t have,” he says quietly, then he forces a smile. I can tell because his eyes don’t join it.

  I swing my legs over the side of the mattress suddenly. “I have to get out of here. I have to leave.”

  Torrin comes up beside me as I test out my legs. “Wait, like . . . now?”

  “Now.”

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  He holds his arms out as I stand, but I stay upright. My legs feel stronger—stronger than they’ve felt in a while. “I’m sure it’s a good idea.”

  Standing up, I realize how much taller he’s gotten. He’s grown at least a few inches since the last time I saw him. That puts me almost at eye-level with his neck—right in line with that black-and-white collar.

  It hits me hard again—as hard as it did last night. “How am I supposed to put what happened behind me when this hospital, these doctors and nurses, all of it reminds me of what happened to put me here?” I can’t keep staring at his collar, so I walk toward the window. Seattle is buzzing; everyone’s on their way, wherever that way leads. I wonder if anyone down there feels like I do—totally and utterly lost. “The longer I stay here, the longer I hang on to what happened, the worse off I’ll be.”

  He’s quiet behind me. “Jade, I don’t know . . .”

  There are too many sounds here. Too many people. Too many strong smells. The bed’s too soft and the temperature’s not right and the mealtimes are off and . . .

  My eyes close when I realize I’m comparing the hospital to his house. The place I spent the past ten years in. The only home I’ve known. I never wanted to get used to it. I never wanted to equate it with “home.”

  I never wanted to be kidnapped either.

  Some things in life we get to choose, and some things are forced upon us.

  “Well, I do know. I need to leave. I’m going to leave. If you want to help, great, but if you don’t, it’s not going to stop me.”

  He sighs, but it’s more one of giving in than giving up. “Do your parents know you’re checking yourself out?”

  My head shakes. The floor is so cold here. All of Earl Rae’s—the parts I was allowed in—was covered in carpet, even the kitchen. The bathroom was linoleum, but it felt warmer than this icy tile. Spongier too. “No. They’ll find out when I show up at the front door.” I don’t tell him I don’t remember their phone numbers anymore. If I did, maybe I would call them to let them know.

  “What do you need from me?”

  I cross my arms and pretend like I know what I’m going to do with the rest of my life. Like I’ve got it all planned out and just need to cross things off the list one at a time. “Tell the nurses’ station I’m checking myself out.”

  “Done.” When Torrin’s halfway to the door, he stops. He looks at me over by the window.

  What does he see when he looks at me? A piece of his past? A damaged woman? A girl who needs saving? A duty? I could ask, but I’m too afraid of the answer.

  “Will you be okay here on your own?”

  His question does something to my chest. “I’ll be okay.”

  He nods and rushes to the door. “I’ll be right back.”

  As soon as Torrin leaves, I grab the plastic bag holding the clothes I came in with and hurry to the bathroom. The hospital smells especially antiseptic this morning, and I can’t wait to get out of here.

  I hear footsteps echo into my room as I’m buttoning my cardigan, but I don’t hurry out because I know it’s not Torrin. His footsteps don’t sound like that— there’s more time between each one; they’re gentler sounding.

  I check my reflection in the mirror for a second. It’s a second too long. Earl Rae had all of the mirrors removed from the house when he found me sawing at my chain with a sharp piece of the bat
hroom mirror I’d shattered. I haven’t seen my reflection in years. The image has changed from the last time I saw it.

  My face has sunken to the point all I see are shadows and bones. I look like a skeleton with a piece of skin stretched over the hard bone. My eyes don’t seem to possess much color anymore, and my hair, along with everything else, has lost its shine. I’m pale to the point I can see frail webs of veins winding beneath my face.

  I look more dead than alive. My face matches the way I feel inside.

  Dried blood stains the collar of my sweater from yesterday, and I know it doesn’t matter how much time or cold water I use—those stains are never coming out.

  I rake my fingers through my hair a few times, splash some water on my face, and rinse my mouth out a few times. Whoever’s waiting for me isn’t leaving. I have an idea who it might be.

  When I slide through the bathroom door, I discover I’m right.

  “I just heard you’re leaving.” Dr. Argent isn’t as tall as she seemed yesterday. Maybe that’s because my perspective has changed.

  I close the bathroom door. “News travels fast.”

  Dr. Argent exhales through her nose. “I’d strongly advise against that, Jade. You have been through a trauma that would crush most people. You shouldn’t be checking yourself out of the hospital the next day and planning on picking up your life right where you left it.”

  I’ve been told what to do every day of the past decade. I suddenly feel like I can’t take one more person telling me what to do one more time. “Yeah, well, the day you’re held against your will for ten years, come find me, and I might take your advice a little more seriously.”

  She crosses her arms and leans into the foot of my bed. “What are you so afraid of, Jade?”

  Nothing. Everything.

  How can I say that without sounding like I need a straitjacket and a Dixie cup of pills at breakfast, lunch, and dinner?

  “I’m not afraid,” I say because I don’t want to be afraid of anything. I don’t want to be afraid ever again . . . even though I can feel it pulsing in my veins right this very moment.

  “If you can wait a few more minutes, I’ll round you up some fresh clothes.” Dr. Argent’s eyes skim the reddish-brown stain circling my sweater.

  I know it looks gruesome, but gruesome’s subjective. Some blood on my sweater feels like the least of the worries pummeling me.

  “These are my clothes. I’m fine,” I reply.

  “Actually, those are Sara’s clothes.”

  My teeth grind together. I don’t know if Dr. Argent’s objective is to piss me off with every conversation, but maybe that’s part of her “electric paddling my psyche” approach. “They. Are. Mine.”

  Dr. Argent sighs, and it’s the kind that makes me think she’s reached the conclusion that I’m as hopeless as I think I might be. “If you’ll let me give you one final piece of advice . . .” She’s looking at me, waiting, but I don’t look back. “Find an emotional tether. Someone you trusted before and someone you can trust now. A person who can connect you to your past but can pilot you into the future. Someone who can pull you back from the ledge when you find it and from the dark when it finds you. Find that person, hold on tight, and don’t let go.”

  That’s when Torrin bursts through the door. He’s clearly been hustling since he’s breathing a little hard. “We’re good.” He doesn’t seem to notice Dr. Argent, but he doesn’t miss the stains on my sweater. They seem to pull the air straight from his lungs. “I pulled my truck around front too.”

  My posture relaxes now that he’s back. I wonder if he’s talking about his old truck, the one that had been his dad’s before it became his. It had been old ten years ago. “They let you leave it there?”

  Torrin pointed at his neck. “Perks of the collar.”

  “Well, there better be some if they’re going to make you commit to celibacy, right?” I say without flinching.

  I’d just been making a joke, but it makes Torrin shift. Yeah, I guess talking about celibacy with the girl you lost your virginity to would be kind of awkward. That should have been obvious. It would have been if I hadn’t spent the last decade in forced seclusion. I’ve become the socially awkward person who doesn’t know what to say or when to say it.

  “Who are you?” Dr. Argent shoves off the bed and angles toward Torrin.

  Torrin clears his throat and finally seems to notice Dr. Argent. “Father Costigan.”

  Father Costigan. My god, that, more than anything else, drives home the realization that he really is a priest.

  From the way she looks at him, I can picture her flipping through the stack of notes I know she has on me in her office. Her eyebrows lift when she remembers. “As in Torrin Costigan? Who grew up next to Jade?”

  “The very one.” He lifts his chin at me. “The boy next door.”

  This time, it’s his comment alluding to the past that makes me shift.

  “You were her boyfriend at the time of her kidnapping, correct?”

  Torrin looks at me like he’s checking to see what he should say.

  I move toward Torrin, watching Dr. Argent. I don’t trust her. I don’t have a reason not to, but I don’t. I probably won’t be able to trust people for a long time though . . . if I’ll be able to trust them again. “Hey, I thought I was the patient. Leave him alone.”

  “I’m here to help. That’s all,” Torrin tells her.

  When she looks between the two of us, she doesn’t try to hide what she’s thinking. Her gaze flickers to Torrin as she moves toward the door. “Just make sure you don’t confuse helping her with hurting her.” She peaks her eyebrow at him. “Father.” When she passes me, she holds out her business card. She waits until I take it. “If you ever want to talk, I’m a phone call away. My cell number’s on the back.”

  I take the card, but I don’t have any plans of using it. What happened happened. I’m not about to spend two hours every week dissecting it into tiny, ugly bits. The key to fixing myself is moving on.

  “Good luck, Jade,” she says before leaving the room.

  The room’s silent now that she’s gone. Until Torrin’s footsteps puncture the quiet. “Where are we going?”

  I haven’t really thought about that. All I know is that I need to leave the hospital. My forehead creases as I consider my options. There aren’t many. “My parents’, I guess.”

  Torrin nods and turns around, inspecting the room. “Do you have any bags?” he asks as I move toward the door.

  “No. I only came in with what I’ve got on.” I pinch at the faded cardigan that’s a couple sizes too big.

  Torrin glances at the dark stain ringing around the collar again. His hands go to his hips, and he has to look away. “Sorry. Dumb question.” His voice is light, but his expression doesn’t match. “There’ll probably be a lot of those, and you have my permission to just punch me in the nose when I ask too many, okay?”

  As we leave the room, I drop Dr. Argent’s card in the garbage. I have enough baggage already. “You’ve played soccer since you were three and never managed to break your nose.” Or at least he hadn’t until he was seventeen. I’m not sure what’s happened during the last ten years to him. Going to school and becoming a priest is the extent of what I know Torrin has been up to. “I wouldn’t want to be the one responsible for finally breaking it.”

  He holds the door open and lets me pass through it first. “A person can fix a broken nose, no problem.”

  As we pass the nurses’ station, Torrin waves at them. Everyone’s already looking at us though. Not quite with morbid curiosity but something that comes close.

  “Yeah?” I say, moving toward the elevators a little quicker. I don’t like being stared at. I don’t like it because most people can keep their dirty secrets from the rest of the world—mine are on display for the whole entire world to learn about.

  “Yep. Some breaks are easier to fix than others.” He punches the down button when we stop in front of the elevator, an
d he glances up and down the halls. Kind of like he’s looking for someone. Or expecting someone.

  I scan the hall with him. Nothing but a couple more nurses pretending they aren’t watching me. “Some breaks can’t be fixed at all.”

  Torrin doesn’t reply, because I know he’s on a first-name basis with breaks that can’t be fixed. He learned about those after his dad died. I learned about them after I died to myself.

  He holds the elevator door when it opens and motions me inside. I go in easily enough; it isn’t until the doors slide closed that I feel panic start to claw at my stomach. Small, confined places. Doors that can’t be opened easily. My breathing’s picking up, and I feel my hands get clammy. An elevator. I’ve ridden in a thousand of them, but now I can’t travel down five floors without feeling like I’m going to hyperventilate.

  From the corner of my eye, I see Torrin glance at me. “Are you okay?”

  I nod and grip the railing behind me a little harder. He watches me for another second then slides a little closer. We aren’t quite touching, but the warmth of his body breaks across mine. I feel the energy he’s emitting. It doesn’t put me out of the panic zone, but it gets me through the rest of the ride until the doors whoosh open on the first floor.

  I nearly crash out of the elevator.

  “Jade?” Torrin comes up behind me, lowering his face to mine.

  “I’m okay. Just give me a second.” I lean over a little to catch my breath, wiping my hands on my jeans.

  It takes a minute, and I know people are watching me again, but I don’t care. They’re just watching me because I look like I’m about to have a baby, not because I’m the girl who’s just been rescued after being kidnapped ten years ago.

  “Good?” Torrin’s hand grazes my lower back.

  I squeeze my eyes together tightly before opening them. “Good.”

  I straighten up and give him a smile, but I’m shaken. An elevator just made me lose my shit. What else would be responsible for doing the same? An alarm clock? Rush-hour traffic? A woman tapping my shoulder at the grocery store?

  Everything seems scary, which is ironic since I just did a ten-year stint in the mecca of scary. An elevator should feel like a relaxing massage in comparison.