Return To Pandora: Book 1 in The Pandora Series (17 page)

She backhands my arm.

“Ow!” I glare at her.

“Stop drooling,” she whispers. “Psychopath, remember?”

Duh, nothing else stops me from falling for him. I roll my eyes and fold my arms. “Who else am I supposed to drool over? My doctor? Um, no!”

She tilts her head to the side. “Your doctor is a lot hotter than mine.” She snickers.

Zack clears his throat, coaxing us to pay attention. I take a deep breath. “I have the floor?”

I roll my eyes at him.

“Good, I’d like to make a few complaints,” he says, turning his fingernails gray with graphite. “The STAY IN YOUR OWN ROOM rule should be lifted for those of us over seventeen.”

Tiffany sighs, straightens her back, and rolls a pencil in between her index finger and thumb, allowing the grooves to massage the fingertips on her opposite hand. “Why do you say that?”

The topic comes up every once is a while, but no one has given a good argument. His should be interesting.

Zack leans forward and rests his forearms on his thighs, forming a triangle with his interlocked fingers. “Well, Tiffany, I’m sure you’re aware that the age of consent in New York is seventeen. If prisoners have conjugal visits, we should get them too.”

A few people laugh, and the psych ward’s very own nymphomaniac, Nikita, slides her hand from Zack’s neck to his tailbone. He recoils and scoots his chair away from her before leaning back. She licks her plump lips and winks at him. For a thirteen-year-old, she sure knows how to elicit sex.

Tiffany addresses the whole room. “Conjugal visits are for married couples, not unwed teenagers.”

Zack shrugs. “Eh, my point remains: the rule is an invisible cock block. If we’re legal, no laws keep us from having sex. I want the same rights as other teenagers.”

“You tell ’er, Zackalicious,” Nikita says.

Zack rolls his eyes. “I thought I was your candy stick.”

Her russet cheeks glow against her mauve lips. “And my buttered mashed potatoes.” She licks her bottom lip and growls.

“And now I’m hungry,” Elle says, slapping her thighs.

“And I’ve lost my appetite.” Zack gags.

“That’s enough.”

“Feed my addiction,” Nikita hisses, pushing out her breasts. Tiffany reprimands her again while Zack turns his head toward me and says, “I’m not requesting this so I can have sex, but I want to talk to you in private and get to know you without fifteen other people gawking at us.”

Warmth rises to my cheeks, but I don’t turn my head and shy away. His crystal-blue eyes captivate me as he continues to speak. “I know we’re not allowed to have relationships in here, but it’s bogus.” He breaks the tension by redirecting his focus to Tiffany. He tugs on the curly hairs at the back of his neck as if he hasn’t just told me how he feels. “Isn’t sex one of the four things we need to survive?” He releases his hair and crosses his arms.

I try my best to slow my erratic heartbeat. I suspected he liked me, but I didn’t imagine it was enough for him to attempt to change the rules around here. Why after five years of being friends? Why days before I leave? Is this a game to him, a side effect of his illness? Do I care?

My heavy breathing deafens me though I doubt anyone notices my reaction. Five years. For five years, I’ve longed to be with him, for him to prove he’s capable of forming an attachment, of falling in love. Five years!

The doctors could be wrong. It’s easy to misdiagnose a sociopath as a psychopath. No, that’s not right; they don’t even distinguish anymore. Antisocial personality disorder is the new term, but I prefer the separate categories.

Sociopaths are capable of love. He could be a sociopath. He could be capable of it. We could be happy together. Even if he is a psychopath with mimicry as his weapon, I could still fall for him. I understand his illness. He understands mine. A relationship with him could be even better than one with someone who’s
normal
. A stable person won’t get me the way he does. We’re perfect for each other.

Tiffany’s brows stay fixed in a raised position. I can’t blame her: he flips out when he can’t have his way; he doesn’t have a mature debate regarding what displeases him.

Zack exhales through his nose. “Judging by your expression, I’d say you’re considering having Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs Triangle removed from the school’s curriculum.”

My stomach flips. The foot of distance between us is too great. I grip the edges of my seat and command myself not to act a fool over him showing interest in me. What will I do now that I’m aware of his feelings?

“No, Zack, I’m impressed. You’re making progress. And you make a good point, but the fact of the matter is this is a mental institution: relationships interfere with treatment.”

My heart leaps off the Empire State Building and splatters onto the pavement below. I can’t breathe. I’ve been in here for thirteen years with no boyfriend to speak of or hold my hand for fear of a staff member separating us. Now that I’m willing to toss my fears into the bottom of a storm drain and watch them float away, she say I can never have what I want?

Angry tears surface, for I’ve missed so much because of my sickness, and I can’t give up love—not before I’ve even experienced it. I may mental, but I deserve companionship.

“We’ll
always
be crazy,” I say to everyone, “and need treatment. I’ve known this for years, but now you’re saying relationships
interfere
? Does that mean we can never love if we want to control our illnesses?”

Elle squeezes my knee, giving me the courage to go on. “Who says love can’t be the cure? It may sound clichéd and naive; but if most patients are admitted for having severe depression, wouldn’t love bring them the happiness they need to recover?” I close my eyes to prevent my tears from falling.

“That’s my point,” Zack says. “The whole reasoning against having relationships in here is flawed. I get that short-term patients need separation from their daily lives, but what about those of us who’ve been in here for years?” He touches my shoulder, summoning my eyes to open. “What about those who’ve never lived beyond these walls? Is it fair to restrict them in such a way?”

Tiffany flips over the pages of her notebook and stares at the flat surface before coming to her feet. I’ve never seen a question make her so uncomfortable. It must be because it concerns me. “That’ll be all for now.”

Zack’s hand leaves my shoulder, and he wipes his lips before leaving the room.

“Dang,” Elle says, “I could’ve sworn he’d yell at Tiffany for ignoring his question. And what he said to you when Nikita distracted her . . .”

I take in a deep breath, struggling to comprehend his actions. “I know. It makes me wonder if he’s a psychopath or if his whole time here has been part of an elaborate ruse.”

She squints and purses her lips. “Like he’s a method actor or something?”

I nod. “This is New York. It’s not that unfathomable.”

She smiles dolefully and grabs my hand. “Emma, I hate to break it to you, but the doctors would’ve busted him by now. Five years suffices to smell a rat.”

I shrug and mimic her sad facial expression. “Either way, what he said changes things. I can’t just be his friend anymore. I don’t want to.”

She huffs and shakes her head. “Emma, you’re too smart for that. He’ll hurt you.”

I take my pencil and shade in the frowny face on my feelings chart before removing the sheet. “Well, then I’m a masochist because I still want him.”

We both stand and leave our clipboards in the chair for the next group.

Over by the door, Tiffany holds out an old coffee can, which I decorated in her office when I was eight. It wasn’t long before she discovered that giving me something to do progressed our sessions. I connected with her before any other therapist. I deposit my pencil, add my paper to the stack beside her, and take a final look outside.

No more bird. It has its freedom. Soon, I’ll have mine.

Like it? Purchase it
here

About Author Kayla Smith

Kayla Smith was born in Southbridge, Massachusetts in 1988. She currently works full time as a department manager at McDonalds, and her second job is a Thirty-one consultant, when she isn’t working as a mommy of three wonderful kids. When she has a break from all of the craziness, she likes to spend her time reading and writing. She loves to write paranormal and she reads almost anything. 

Her favorite supernatural creatures are Vampires, Werewolves, and Witches. If she could become one of them it would be a Vampire with the powers of Witches. She wants to live forever and have additional powers to help keep it interesting.

Other books by Author Kayla Smith

Luna Series:
             
Luna
             
Possessed
The Sacrifice

Pandora Series:
Return to Pandora

                                Into Pandora-Coming November 
                                Freeing Pandora-Coming March

Where to connect with Author Kayla Smith

Facebook:
Facebook.com/kaybaby21317
Twitter:
@kaybaby213
Blog:
kaybaby213.blogspot.com
Website:
 
http://kayla1547.wix.com/kaybaby21317
Amazon:
 
amazon.com/author/kaylasmith