STEP (The Senses) (15 page)

They parted ways with Balen and Danielle. then walked down Niagara Street towards Queen. Rayne felt her body weakening as she concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. Exhaustion and stress were taking its toll, add in a delicious pina colada and she was having trouble just making it the few blocks back to the gallery.

She stumbled as her knees gave out
, and Delara grabbed her arm before she fell to the unforgiving sidewalk.

“Rayne! Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, just tripped.” She was glad the street wasn’t well lit and Delara couldn’t see her lying eyes. Unfortunately, her body had other plans as the familiar wave of dizziness and the trembling in her legs heightened. She struggled to keep pace with Delara, but her limbs had had enough and refused to function any longer.

She called for Kilter as she crashed to the ground.

****

When she opened her eyes, Delara was sitting on the edge of her bed, stroking her forehead with a cool washcloth. Had she really fainted? It had been months since she collapsed. How did Delara get her back here by herself?

“How long have I been out?”

“Twenty
minutes. And you’d be in a hospital if I had my way. But Jedrik came and helped me bring you back here and Anstice is on stand-by.” Delara was all seriousness as her eyes watched her every expression. “This wasn’t the first time, was it?”

Rayne hesitated. “No.”

“You need help, Rayne. And if you don’t get it soon, you’re going to drop dead in the middle of the street one day. Can you imagine if you’d been by yourself tonight?” She sighed, running her hand through her short-cropped hair. “I know you can’t see it, but you’re way too thin. Your body can’t function any longer without the fuel. You’re not giving it fuel, Rayne.”

“I’m just stressed with everything that’s happened. By morning I’ll be fine,” she replied, knowing it was a half lie
, or at least it felt like one.

“You’re seeing a therapist. No objection.” Delara held up her hand. “You don’t want a rehab
center, I get it, but this can’t continue.”

“Delara I’m fine. I just need time to sort through some stuff.”

“Then sort it through with a therapist.” Delara put her hand on her arm. “Listen, I like you and I want to help. If you don’t want to talk about it, no one can force you, but at least walk the plank. Dive off and see if you can swim. If you can’t—” she shrugged, “—well I’m a great swimmer, so I’ll be there for you.”

“There is so much more.” And she wasn’t ready to tell anyone, let alone a stranger.

“All the more reason. Waleron will pay her, so don’t even think about using the excuse of money. He has so much money he doesn’t know what to do with it.” Delara passed her a glass of water. “I get that you don’t want to. I run from everything, but I’m not sick, Rayne. I’m not dying. You are. Listen, I’ll make you a deal. You go see her twice, and I promise I’ll talk to Waleron and tell him you’ve decided you’re not ready.”

Did she have a choice? Technically yes, but the Senses had already given her more than she could’ve asked for. It would hurt. Emotionally for certain, but she was already hurting emotionally. Besides, today had scared her. What if she had been alone? The fear of passing out on the road was worse than the fear of seeing a therapist a couple times.

She found herself nodding and, at that moment, she realized Kilter was right. Even though she couldn’t see it, she knew she was going to die.

****

Days and nights wove into one another as, never knowing how much time had passed, he hung like a lamb to slaughter. His telepathy was useless. He’d failed to reach anyone for what he guessed was at least a week. A steel band now covered his eyes. He’d fought them when they replaced the steel bucket with the band, and got a knife across his face from ear to brow. Without sight he lived in complete darkness. He could hear rats scurrying across the dirt floor beneath his feet, occasionally when he dozed off they’d nibble on his calves.

His throat was raw from sho
uting curses at his brother.

W
here were Tye and the others? Were they searching for him?

It w
as hard to think in this damp hellhole. His calm logical mind continued to play the devil’s advocate—uncertainty and confusion as to why his brother had turned on his own kin. The wheels kept spinning over and over in his mind about what he’d done to push Ulrich this far.

He kn
ew he’d die in this place. He wanted to die.

Gemma’s screams echoing outside his door was a
constant reminder that he still lived. Day after day, he suffered, struggling against his bonds, ripping his flesh open until blood pooled on the dirt floor where rats relished in a feeding frenzy. Cursing his brother. Begging him to let Gemma go.

But it was when her
screams had stopped that the ultimate torture had begun. Was she was gone? Had he failed to protect her?

He hung limp against the manacles, head lowered, ignoring the rats gnawing on his ankles. He had nothing left . Was nothing.

With everything he was, he failed her.

That was when he died inside.

“How much do you weigh, Rayne?”

“I don’t know,” Rayne replied
, shifting uneasily in her seat. She didn’t want to talk about her weight. Why had she agreed to see this woman?
Because you need help,
she reminded herself, as she’d done every single second on the way here. Delara had insisted on accompanying her and it was a relief to know that if she crumpled into a mess of anxiety in the middle of the sidewalk, at least Delara could pick up the broken pieces.

“Rayne, I know you want to get up and walk out of here.”
Understatement.
“You don’t know me and this is very personal subject to talk about. That’s normal. But I want you to know that I care what happens to you.” She leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, her gaze intent. “If you continue to lose weight, you will die.” She softened her voice. “Do you want to die, Rayne?”

Good question. Yeah, sometimes she did. Why continue living when no one cared whether she disappeared or not? She had nothing. No reason to go on. But then there was a small part of her that was fighting to survive and come out of the black void and live, breathe, experience joy.

“In order for me to help you, I need you to be honest with me. I don’t judge, Rayne. I am here to be that voice that is hidden inside you. It won’t be easy. This will be the hardest thing you’ve ever done. Suffering from anorexia is a battle. But you can defeat it.”

Yeah
, right. Why did this woman care anyway? She didn’t know her. She didn’t know what she’d been through. She didn’t know anything about her problems.

But she was tired. Tired and scared of the panic attacks. Tired of feeling dizzy. Tired of worrying whether or not she’d pass out. Just walking down the street today had been a chore. Voices in her head telling her that the people were laughing at her, t
hat she was fat and a failure.

“It will be a battle between your anorexic self and your healthy self,” Rebecca continued. “Both parts will war against one another continuously. You will fight for your anorexic self, that part of you that you have grown to know and understand.”

“I’m not anorexic,” Rayne shot back. She put her hand on her stomach, praying that it was still flat, hoping that just talking about weight hadn’t gained her two pounds. The thought of extra weight sent a tremor through her body. How could she trust someone who was spilling lies to her? It was lies, wasn’t it? She wasn’t anorexic. Couldn’t Rebecca see what she saw looking at in the mirror everyday? But an inner voice struggled to emerge, telling her that living in this entrapment of her own self-destruction was detrimental. That maybe Rebecca was right and she would die.

She met Rebecca’s hazel eyes and then flickered away. Okay, she looked concerned, like she really did care. Was that possible? She ventured another glance and noticed the fullness of her lips and
the lazy, plain brown curls that surrounded her oval face. It softened her narrow nose and severe eyebrows. Her guess was that she was around thirty-nine, maybe a little younger. Wearing a pair of dark blue jeans and a beige long-sleeved blouse made Rayne relax somewhat. Rebecca was not what she’d expected as a therapist, casual with a warm smile, but direct as a missile. Like Kilter, she thought.

“I’ll be straightforward here, Rayne. You will die. Your heart will give out if you keep losing weight. I’ve seen it happen. If you suffer from panic attacks—which I believe you do—they’ll worsen. Your hair will begin to fall out and then your body will stop functioning. Think about it
, Rayne. Because if there is an ounce of survival left inside of you, I want you to grab hold of it before it slips away.”

It was slipping away and yet at times she wanted to live. She’d finally escaped Anton and had her freedom. That was why she was here—to try. Despite believing that if she gained weight she’d lose control, a logical part of her knew Rebecca was right. She felt it in her body, the dizziness, the memory loss and the constant panic. Her body was screaming for food and yet every time she put food in her mouth she felt as if she’d blow up like a balloon—failing. It was one thing she was good at and had complete control over.

“Ninety-four pounds,” Rayne said.

“Thank-you, Rayne. I know that’s hard to say out loud
, and it’s even harder to trust a stranger. But I want you to remember that whatever is said in here is completely confidential. Between you and I. Never do I break that trust.”

Rayne wondered whether Rebecca would break it if she knew about the Senses, CWOs and vampires
who were sharing this world.

Rebecca handed her a journal. “I want you to write in this every
day. Feelings, what you did that day, anger, anything you want.” She passed her another booklet. “This one is for our work in here. We will do meal plans, reconstructions using past experiences. We’ll do some imaging, drawing funny stick people. Also, a big part will be role-playing, which is kind of like acting. We need to find that healthy voice.”

It sounded like crap to her, but she was here and she
’d promised Delara and herself that she’d at least listen to what Rebecca was offering. She didn’t like the meal planning idea; after all, she wasn’t a child to have to write down everything she put in her mouth. Nor did she want to see point blank what she was consuming everyday. The role-playing was a big time no way; acting in front of a stranger was a terrifying idea. Just thinking about it made her palms sweat.

“This is intense therapy. You will meet me five days a week for two hours. You won’t want to come, you’ll fight me every step of the way until you begin to get healthy again. But I promise you this—I will always be there for you. You can call me day or night and I will be there.”

Could she do this? Did she want to? Finding the strength to face the demons was harder than living in the shadows. What if she failed at this too? Could she survive that?

“First we will find you a safe place,” Rebecca continued. “A place so when you’re scared, panicked or just need to get away, you can touch a certain part of your body, like your wrist, and feel safe.”

Like that could work.

Rebecca passed her a basket of crayons. “Draw a picture. Something that reminds you of peace and safety. It can be anywhere you want, but without other people and judgments. Just someplace you can be alone and feel safe from everything.”

Rayne thought it was silly at first, drawing a picture with crayons, but she took the basket and opened her journal. As she began to draw, a feeling of relief came over her, as if she was immersed in the image that automatically came to mind: a large willow tree with drooping branches that nearly touched the lush, spongy grass. She paused, hand hesitating over the piece of paper and then she saw it, an old wooden swing with yellow ropes tied to a branch overhead. This was where she felt safe, sitting on a swing with the wind in her hair. She was about to draw a bright sun up in the corner, but then decided she’d prefer to have the rain lightly caressing her skin. Purple and yellow flowers surrounded her like a wall of beauty. This was a place where no one could find her. Not even a Senses.

H
er eyes filled with tears, as she thought of the one man she did want to find her, but had chosen to stay away.

****

Delara knew the instant he arrived. His enigmatic presence was like a warm wind shifting over her skin the moment he was within a hundred feet of her. It had always been this way, except this time she snuffed out the butterflies rising in her abdomen by pinching her thigh as hard as she could.

She took a deep breath before meeting his stark blue eyes. Pure ice.

He stood with an all-encompassing energy that suffocated the air in the small kitchen. “Problem?” she asked, trying to keep her voice from quivering.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he kept his eyes locked on her as he approached with long even strides. God, did he ever look afraid? Did he ever feel anything? No, he’d made certain of that. She bent down to continue emptying the dishwasher when he grabbed her hand.