Getting Hot (Jail Bait Book 3) (18 page)

Chapter 28

Lilah

When Destiny’s therapist called and asked me to come in for a session, I thought we’d be talking about Destiny. We’re not. Destiny’s not even in the room.

Mary The Therapist looks at me expectantly, waiting for my answer.

“I don’t really see what this has to do with anything,” I say, evading.

She leans forward, her elbows on her knees. “It has to do with how trauma from your past manifests in your life today.”

“But what does that have to do with Destiny?”

Mary’s face goes all concern. “You and your sister were subjected to some horrible experiences by the people who you instinctively trusted to protect you. That leaves scars. In situations where siblings have shared trauma, they can feed off each other triggers.”

“So…you’re saying what happened to Destiny is
my
fault. I triggered something?”

She springs back, surprised. “No. No,” she says with wave of her hand, as if erasing the thought from an imaginary whiteboard. “This isn’t about assigning blame. It’s about helping both you girls understand what happened so you can develop healthy coping mechanisms.”

I take a deep breath. “So, what are you asking me, really? Because ‘Tell me about your childhood’ is a pretty broad topic.”

“From what I understand, it was pretty tumultuous.”

I slump into the couch. “Understatement.”

“What do you remember about your parents?”

“That they were too busy getting stoned to care about anything else.”

“Including you girls?”

I look a dagger at her. “Especially us girls.”

“Where are they now?”

“In jail.”

“Both of them?” she asks, jotting a note.

“That’s what happens when you burn down half a city block cooking meth.”

Her eyes lift to me and search my face. “You know everything you say in this room is confidential, Lilah.”

I huff out a derisive laugh. “So I’m supposed to what? Confess how much I hated my parents? How I’m glad they’re in prison? How I wish they were dead?”

Her eyes twitch and she leans forward. “Do you?”

“Do I what?” I ask, flopping onto the back of the couch, a frustrated itch under my skin making me antsy.

“Wish they were dead?”

I shrug. “Wouldn’t that make me just like every other American teenager?”

She sets her pad down and looks at me a long moment. “Let’s talk about the night of the fire. Tell me everything you remember.”

“I already told you everything the day Destiny came here.”

“There are pieces missing, though, Lilah. I think they might be important.”

I squirm in my corner of the couch, fighting to stay seated against the sudden compulsion to run. “I came home from school early. Our parents blew up the house and we got trapped upstairs by the fire. We had to run through the fire to get out.”

“How old was Destiny then?” she asks.

I roll my eyes to the ceiling, adding in my head. “Nineteen, I guess.”

“And did she still live at home?”

“She…” I shake my head as the question jumbles in my mind. “She was gone a lot, but yeah.” Her searching gaze feels like it’s burning the skin off my face, so I cover it with my hand.

“Why did you come home from school early?” she asks after forever.

“My best friend and I got suspended for gambling.”

“And who do you remember seeing when you got home? Was Destiny there?”

My heart’s beating out of control. I can’t sit anymore so I stand and pace a circle around the room. “She wasn’t home when I got there.”

“Who was? Did you see anyone in the house?”

“Dad and…some guy.” I shake my head. “But there were always people I didn’t know.”

“Did you see them afterward, outside the house? Your dad and the man?”

I hug myself tight and stop pacing at the window, looking out at the drizzle dampening the sidewalks outside. The ants under my skin are making me twitch, but no matter how much I rub, they won’t go away.

I search my memory, and in it, see fire trucks rolling up the house, sirens blaring. On the sidewalk, in the glow of the flames shooting into the night sky, I see Mom and some neighbors. I don’t see Dad.

I shake my head at the image.

Night sky…

But the fire happened during the day. I came home around lunchtime and went straight upstairs. It was only a few minutes later that Destiny and I were running through the flames to the front door.

I’m sure of it.

“Where were you when the fire broke out?”

“I…” …don’t remember.

“Do you remember how you got out?” she presses.

I rub harder at the ants under my skin. “I told you. Destiny got some wet blankets and we ran through the fire.”

“So, she
was
there.”

I spin on her. “Why are you asking me all this? Destiny’s your patient, not me!”

“Why don’t you sit, Lilah. Can I get you some water? Or something else to drink?”

“Where’s Destiny?” I say, crossing to the door and opening it. The small waiting room is empty.

“She’s in her room. And, to answer your question, I’m asking you because she’s having difficulty recalling all the details about the night of the fire. It seems to be the focal point of whatever trauma caused her to break down last week. I’m just trying to sort through some things so I can help her.”

I close the door and lean against it. “We were trapped. We thought we were going to die. It was terrifying.”

She nods slowly. “That’s totally understandable. When one’s survival is threatened, the whole system goes into survival mode and decisions aren’t always conscious. Details blur and actions don’t get recorded in short term memory. In extreme cases, when the trauma threatens the psyche, the mind will deliberately block the memory as a defense.”

“You think Destiny’s doing that?”

“Neither one of you seems to have a clear recollection of events that night.”

I move back to the couch and sit. “How can I help her?”

“Anything you remember could be significant.”

I try to trace my steps from the time I got home until the fire, but I only get flashes. A yell. A scream. Water.

A sick feeling settles in my stomach and the ants are itching my skin again.

I was wet, and it was more than the blankets we soaked in the tub. Why was I wet?

The image I sometimes see in my nightmares of blood swirling down drain surfaces in my mind.

There was blood.

I shake my head, shaking off the ants along with the clammy feeling. “I don’t remember.”

“I’m discharging Destiny,” Mary says slowly, “but she’ll need to continue to some with outpatient therapy. I’d like to see you separately for a few weeks and then we can work into sessions with the two of you together.”

I stand, feeling the need to run again. “Why do I need to come?”

She smooths her skirt as she slowly gains her feet, then moves to her desk. “You’ve clearly both suffered a horrible trauma. Destiny’s never going to truly recover until she can face what it was.”

“I’m fine,” I say, shaking my head again. It just keeps doing that.

She pulls open a laptop on her desk and looks over the screen. “Will Mondays after school work for you?” she asks as if I said nothing.

“I have to work.”

She looks up at me. “What is your schedule? Do you have a day off?”

“Not if I can help it. We’re broke. And, also, we have no insurance, so I don’t think we can afford to see you.”

“Let’s not concern ourselves with that,” she says, shaking her hand in the air without looking up from her screen. “I could see you Saturday mornings if that’s the only day you’re available.”

“I still don’t understand how me coming here is going to help Destiny.”

“So, nine o’clock?” she says, looking at me with raised eyebrows.

And I get that she’s not taking no for an answer.

♫

When I get to Destiny’s room, she’s ready to go. We take the bus down the hill to town and when she sees the security door, she looks a question at me.

“Bran,” I say as I turn the key in the lock, a little afraid to bring him up.

Her lips purse, but then she nods.

“I’ve got a box of mac and cheese that I can make for dinner, if you want,” I say on the way up the stairs.

“Okay.”

It’s the first word out of her mouth since she said hi when I walked into her hospital room, and I’m not sure if I should try to make her talk or not. There was no instruction manual for my slightly crazy sister in the discharge paperwork, so I’m flying by the seat of my pants.

“There might be an apple I can slice to go with it,” I say.

Once we’re through the door, she looks at the boxes, but doesn’t say anything.

“I only unpacked the things I needed,” I volunteer.

I wasn’t sure if we were staying or going, and I didn’t want her to come home and be upset that I’d unpacked everything.

She goes to the kitchen and starts filling our only pot with water.

“I’ll get that, Destiny,” I say, following her. “You should just rest.”

“That’s all I’ve been doing.” She sets the pot on the stove and cranks on the burner. “I’m supposed to be taking care of you.”

“I’m fine. It’s my turn to look after you for a change.”

She braces her hands on the counter without turning. “What did Mary say to you?”

My heart jumps in my chest. “She just…” I shake my head. “Nothing really.”

Finally, she turns and leans against the counter, watching my face as she says, “She wanted to know about the fire.”

It’s not a question, but I nod anyway.

“What did you tell her?”

I shake my head and drop into a kitchen chair. “When I tried to remember what happened…” I shrug. “Maybe I just hate Mom and Dad so much that I blocked it all out, but I can’t really remember much.”

I expect her typical concerned squint, but what I see in her eyes instead is relief. “You don’t have to go to that appointment, Lilah. She can’t force you to.”

“Good. She kind of creeps me out.” But even as I say it, I know that’s not entirely accurate.
She
didn’t creep me out as much as the loose fringes of memory I couldn’t weave into a whole tapestry.

“Good,” she repeats with a nod, turning back to the pasta. “Then it’s settled.”

While the pasta cooks, she starts unpacking the kitchen things back into the cupboards.

“So, I guess this means we’re not leaving?” I say.

She shoots me a glance. “I think I’ll see if Ambling Rose is looking for any help.”

I smile at the idea. “You should bake something and take it over when you go. Even if they’re not looking for anyone, one taste and they’ll hire you on the spot.”

She smiles back. “Grandma would roll over in her grave if she thought I was divulging her secret recipes.”

I pick up the slightly mealy apple and rinse it in the sink. I grab the carving knife Destiny just unpacked and slice it in half, then quarters. But as I’m cutting the core out, the knife slips and the point digs into my hand. I pull it out and watch a bead of blood pool in my palm. As it grows, the ants start crawling under my skin again.

The image of the sharp point of a knife against Destiny’s forehead flashes into my head and I my eyes fix on the white scar there.

Blood on the carpet.

Blood swirling down the drain.

My vision goes red and all I see is blood…

Destiny’s on the floor, a spray of blood across her shirt that’s not hers. And I’m covered, my hands and my clothes soaked.

I grab some fresh clothes from Destiny’s closet and help her to her feet. We make it to the bathroom and I strip, then help Destiny out of what’s left of her clothes. She’s unsteady and I get in the shower with her to prop her up while I rinse the blood off us both. By the time we finish and I turn off the water, she’s starting to get her wits. I sit her on the toilet and she’s able to dry herself off.

“Do you smell that?” she says.

And I do—the smell of something burning. I push open the door and the smoke nearly chokes me.

“Oh my god!” I croak, covering my face with my towel.

We yank on our clothes and stumble to the stairs. Flames lick the broken banister and the drapes on the window near the front door are a torch.

“What do we do?” I shout, then start coughing and can’t stop.

Destiny pushes me down and tells me to stay there before staggering to her room. She comes out with the blankets off the bed. She takes them to the bathroom and I hear her coughing too as she turns on the tub. She comes back a minute later and throws a wet blanket on top of me. “Wrap it around you, including your head.”