Asylum (44 page)

            The
heavy feeling of someone else’s frustration vanished instantly.  The
stuffiness, the closeness of the room receded, like it grew larger.  It was
gone, he was gone.  She felt alone.

            “Okay,”
she whispered.

            Turning
towards the desk, she picked up the bottle and poured another shot.  She lifted
it to eye level and stared through the clear liquid for a moment.

            “Apparently
no one wants me,” she told the glass.  With a surprisingly steady hand, she
threw the drink back.

            Tink…tink…tink…

            The
tapping sound had resumed.  Chloe’s back was to the mirror.  She set the glass
down on the desk, and slowly, ever so slowly, she turned to face it.

            Tink…tink…tink…

            Chloe
locked eyes with the faint image of a man in the mirror.

            Tink…tink…tink…

            He
tapped one finger impatiently against his side of the glass.

            Like
an old-time photograph, like a faded black and white relic of the previous
century, he stared out from the room on the other side of the mirror.  High
starched collar, thick bushy sideburns, a razor straight moustache covering his
upper lip.  George Townsend watched her with unreadable dark eyes.

            Chloe
took a step forward.  George stopped tapping.  He pressed his hand against the
glass.  He looked down at his own hand and back up towards Chloe and then down
at his hand again.

            The
meaning was unmistakable to Chloe.  She took another step forward.  He was
watching her again.  Where his hand flattened against the glass it looked,
whiter… brighter, maybe glowing.

            One
last step.  She was only inches away from him.  She raised her hand to the
mirror, holding it palm outward, almost touching the glass.  For a moment, she
stood that way. 

           
Seth
,
a quiet voice reminded her,
choose to be healthy, choose to be happy.

           
Seth
and Sam!
The other voice reminded her
.  Go ahead, listen.  You’ll be
choosing pain
.

            Chloe
gritted her teeth.  She slammed her hand forward, into the glass, smashing into
the spot where his hand was still pressed.  She thought it would shatter.  She
thought she would feel the cold clammy flesh of a dead hand, or the pain of
dozens of tiny glass shards splintering into her palm.  She felt nothing.  She
felt absolutely nothing.  No barrier to even stop her movement.  Her hand
seemed to go right through the wall.

            And
then she was falling forward, and there was no ground, and she was falling down
and down and down.  She closed her eyes.

            There
was no end to the fall.  There was nothing to hit, no bottom.  There was only a
time when she no longer felt like she was falling.  It was more like floating.

            When
she opened her eyes, all she could see was black, but from the smell she knew. 
Somewhere, something was burning.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

            As
a rule, Samantha Klingeman did not believe in apologizing.  If she really
thought about it, she could probably count the number of apologies made over
the last ten years of her life on one hand.  If she were being honest, she
couldn’t actually remember meaning any of them.  Her mother, angry and tired of
fighting had once demanded to know why?  Why couldn’t she just say ‘sorry’?

            Sam
had told her that if her mother had really known her, and loved her for who she
was, she’d understand that it was just how she was.  It did not go over well.

            Still,
Chloe did deserve an apology.  Seth might have deserved an apology as well, but
two in one day was two over her personal limit.  He really had behaved admirably
though.  She was sure most guys would have pushed her roughly away, called her
a skank or a whore and began swearing to the girlfriend that it was all her
fault, that they had nothing to do with it.

            At
the very least, a normal guy would have demanded she leave afterwards, or
screamed at her and shoved her out.  Seth just sat there, in his arm chair,
leaning his face on his hand, massaging his forehead.  He hadn’t said a word to
her.  She half-expected that it was just shock.  That at any moment he would leap
up and scream insults at her, tell her to get out.  She watched him patiently,
still standing in the same spot she had been in when Chloe shut the door.

            “I’ll
tell her it was my fault,” Sam offered.

            Seth
might have nodded, or he might just be rocking his head back and forth, she
couldn’t tell as he hadn’t yet stopped.  Sam frowned.  Watching him was making
it worse for her.  She didn’t like the feeling of being wrong.

           
Not
that I MEANT to do anything wrong
, she reminded herself.

            And
really she hadn’t…mostly.  She had run into Seth at the Eat.  He was there with
his hockey friends, cute hockey friends at that.  Sam had gone to his table
partly to dish about Chloe, a topic she knew he would be interested in, and
partly to flirt with the other cute hockey guys.

            Seth
had been drinking beer like breathing air, and she was pretty sure that he and
his friends had pre-partied before getting there.  He had fired off question
after question about Chloe, and she had done her best to be vague and coy.  But
after assuring Seth that Chloe was basically doing okay, and that she was
pretty sure she missed him, she had given him Chloe’s cell phone number, and he
had departed abruptly.  Most of the cute guys took off soon after, and Sam was
left with a group of annoyingly drunk freshmen girls.

            When
she got home and found Chloe still at the library, she made the fateful
decision to see if Seth was still awake.  She told herself it was just to have
someone to drink with, but at the same time…she wondered.  Seth and Chloe were
technically broken up, so maybe…

            But
before she left the room, he was knocking on the door, looking for Chloe, of
course.  She had done the friendly thing and walked him back to his room, and
then stayed.  Sat through his last phone call to Chloe’s answering machine (she
had told him already that Chloe was the only person alive who didn’t actually
use their cell phone.), listened to him ramble on about fixing things, about
having pushed Chloe too hard.  She nodded at appropriate intervals and made encouraging
noises in her throat.

            And
then he ran out of words.  He stood there looking tired and hurt
and…desperate.  She really did feel bad for him.  So she stood, and put an arm
on his shoulder and told him that she was sure everything was going to turn out
alright, and then he took a step back.  Away from her.  It was almost
accusatory.  She was angry, but she knew not to show it.  She made her voice
soft, low.  She sweetly told him that he misunderstood her, that she felt bad
for him.  Her hand on his shoulder again.  Sliding upwards she began rubbing
the back of his neck.  He took another step back and she came with him.  He
didn’t shrug her off.  It was bad.  She did do something bad.  It was on her,
wasn’t it?

            And
then what happened?  She said something, some small thing and moved closer, and
he didn’t move that time.  And then…and then…Chloe, in the doorway.  Chloe’s
face going blank, like she was examining a wall, reading an instruction
manual.  Chloe telling them calmly that she didn’t care to look at either of
them.  She felt sick just remembering it.

            “I’ll
tell her it was me,” Sam repeated.

            “You
can stay here,” Seth said as though he hadn’t heard.  “You can stay here, I’ll
leave.  I’ll go somewhere.  Do you think…do you think that if I go down there-”

            “No,”
Sam said.  “No, I don’t think that’s going to do any good right now, and I
think me staying here is going to make things worse no matter what she said. 
You stay.  I’m going down there.  It’s my room too.  I have a key, she can’t
keep me out.  I’ll talk to her.  She’ll listen to me.  She knows how I am,
she’ll know it wasn’t anything.”

            Seth
shook his head again, but he didn’t say anything.

            “I’ll
tell her it was my fault,” she repeated and closed the door.

            Yet
out in the hallway she wasn’t so sure.  The thought hit with her first step
that she could still get out of this.  She
could
say it was him.  She
would be the first one to talk to Chloe.  She could say that she was super
drunk and he had tried to come on to her.  That she was sorry, but maybe Chloe
was better off without him.

            “No,
no, no,” she whispered out loud.  “You’re such an ass!”

            But
the thought was enough to stop her.  It wasn’t that far to their door.  Her
brain was working furiously to rationalize what had happened, to crawl out from
under any sort of blame.  It was like a survival instinct to her.  It made her
feel disgusted.  Chloe was her best friend.  Chloe was her real friend.  She
hadn’t lied when she’d told Chloe that much.  Chloe didn’t try to compete with
her.  She didn’t secretly feel happy every time Sam messed up or failed at
something.  She wasn’t the sort of girl that talked shit behind your back. 
Chloe wanted her to do well, lectured her about doing her homework, helped
her.  Chloe said things like, “I wish I could talk to people the way you do. 
You’re so smart Sam, I wish you would try harder.  You look so pretty when you
do your hair that way, you should wear it that way more often.”  And she meant
it!

            She
wouldn’t blame Seth though.  She wouldn’t.  Somehow she could make Chloe
understand that it was nothing, stupid.  Maybe she wouldn’t shoulder all the
blame, but she would be careful not to blame him.

            Sam
began walking again.

            Outside
the door she squared her shoulders and cleared her throat.  It was always best
to have an opening line.  She would let it flow from there, but she had to have
a practiced start.

            “Chloe,
we need to talk,” she whispered under her breath.

            No
good.  She would just say ‘no’.  She could go into a rant from there, it gave
her too much of an option.  Sam would have to start stronger, more forcefully.

            “Chloe,
you’re being irrational-”

            Too
accusatory, she decided quickly.  Something strong, but not offensive.

            “Clo,
I’m going to talk, and you’re going to give me five minutes.  You’re my best
friend, you have to give me at least five minutes.” she whispered, drawing her
eyebrows together, practicing her determined face.

            Good
enough.  Sam snatched her keys out of her purse, and unlocked the door.  She
tried opening it, but couldn’t.  The knob turned, but the door only opened a
crack.  Was Chloe in there holding the door closed?  Was she really that mad?

            “Chloe!”
she yelled, pushing as hard as she could against the door, “Clo, stop!  This is
ridiculous!”

            The
door inched forward, Sam was able to wedge her hand between the door and the
frame, wincing in expectation of Chloe slamming it as forcefully as she could. 
It didn’t happen.

            “Clo?”
she asked through the crack in the door.

            She
used her hand in the door as a lever, forcing it open wider.  Letting go of the
door completely, she realized that it stayed open.  Chloe must have wedged
something against the door.  Sam felt a surge of anger.

            She
backed up a few steps and ran at the door, slamming it with her shoulder, it
budged open another couple of inches.  She heard something heavy and wooden
squeal as it rubbed against the tile floor inside.  She backed up again, and
ran at the door, hitting it as hard as she could.  The door opened a lot
wider.  She was able to turn sideways and squeeze herself in.

            It
was one of the desks.  Sam had to climb over it.  Chloe was crouched down in
the corner by the window, her back to the door, little shards of glass
scattered all around her.  The mirror!  What had she done, put her fist through
it?  She didn’t bother to turn around and face Sam.

            “Well
this is real mature!” Sam snapped, forgetting her opening line entirely.  “Real
nice, Clo!  We’re going to have to pay for that now, and what the hell is up
with the desk?  And what the hell’s this?”

            Sam
grabbed her comforter by one corner and yanked it off the curtain rod, bringing
the beads clattering down with it.  Chloe didn’t move.  Didn’t even turn around
to acknowledge Sam.

            “Alright,
alright,” Sam said, calming down.  “I know you’re mad.  I get it.  I’d be mad
too.  I fucked up, okay?  That’s what people do though, they fuck up.  Come on
Clo, look at me…please?”