Spectacularly Broken (6 page)

God, I
needed.

Breakfast reminded me of eating in the company of my dad at home, when we sat on opposite ends of the dining-room table and each pretended the other didn’t exist. Green group managed just about the same level of awkward. I supposed we made a passable dysfunctional family as we sat there, staring at our food and trying to out-mute the others.

Great. Nicky was the poster child for ADHD, Lexa didn’t speak, Jarett snored and stole my food, and Cai was just a dick. And I still preferred their company to that of my dad.

To top it all off, after breakfast it was green group’s turn to help with cleanup. I had no idea what that was even supposed to mean until we were ushered into the industrial kitchen with its carts of dirty dishes. And once the realization hit me, I could only stare in complete disbelief.

I, Lysander Shepherd, was about to be forced to touch other people’s germs and saliva and chewed-up food remains.

Oh hell to the no.

“Who’s washing, and who’s drying?” Jarett asked and went to start filling the enormous metal sink with water. I couldn’t believe he wouldn’t even put up a fight.

“I don’t think I’m tall enough to get my hands in there,” Nicky pointed out. “I can throw in the dirty stuff from the cart, though. Then two of you can wash, and two can dry. Easy peasy.”

“I got long sleeves on.” Cai plucked his black turtleneck. “And so does Lexa. We’ll dry.”

“All right, I guess we’ll be washing, then,” Jarett said and looked at me.

Fuck. No.

My temper started brewing up a storm.

First of all, I was ticked off that Cai did stupid shit like wear a black turtleneck in the summer in his misguided attempt to look like a badass and was going to be rewarded for it by being allowed to keep his hands dry. Second of all, why the fuck didn’t this pathetic excuse for a summer camp have enough staff to wash the goddamn dishes? Or, you know, some newfangled invention like a dishwasher? I mean, seriously, what the hell? And then third, as I backed away from the soap-and-water-filled sink, I brushed against Cai and realized that he smelled like cigarettes.

The fucker had cigarettes, and I didn’t.

It seemed like the perfect time to flip my shit.

I backed up some more and pointed at the sink. “Fuck that.
Fuck
that! I’m not putting my hands in there. That’s disgusting. And unhygienic.”

“It’s
dish washing
,” Jarett said, looking confused.

“Haze, stop being a fucking baby,” Cai growled. I spun to face him.

“You quit being a baby. Just take your damn shirt off or get the sleeves wet or whatever. That’s a bullshit excuse you got there.”

“Yeah, well, what the hell is your excuse?”

“That it’s gross,” I snapped. “That it’s slave labor. That I refuse to have dishwater hands!”

“Get to the damn sink and wash,” he snarled and pushed me.

I saw red. Nobody had the right to touch me like that, least of all this jackass. I elbowed him off me, then grabbed his arm and propelled him toward the sink instead. “You wash, fucktard!”

He turned, grabbed my shoulders, and yanked me closer with surprising strength. I threw a wild punch that connected with his jaw, causing him to reel backward, and then he snarled and pushed hard, and I felt something solid in the small of my back, and then the world vanished.

My eyes stung. My ears were packed in cotton. I couldn’t breathe.

Helping hands pulled me up and out of the dishwater. I heard Angie’s voice—“What in the world? What in the
world
?”—while I coughed and wiped at my face with my still-dry forearms. I tasted soap in my mouth. I saw Cai grinning and launched myself at him. I wanted to kill the motherfucker.

Several pairs of hands kept us apart. Someone wiped my face with a dishtowel—
ew
—and then Angie was between me and Cai, fuming.

“That is not acceptable,” she snarled. “That is completely not acceptable. Both of you. Stop it this instant. What’s gotten into you?”

Neither Cai nor I bothered to answer that.

“Go to your rooms,” Angie growled. Damn, the girl could get angry. “You’ll both report to the kitchen after supper today and tomorrow and do whatever extra work is available. Am I clear?”

“Oh, whatever.” Cai looked pissed. “He started it.”

“What are you, in kindergarten?” I bitched at him. “Besides, you fucking started it.”

He stared. “Do you even listen to yourself?”

“End of discussion,” Angie snapped. “To your rooms. Now.”

At least, I reflected as I stomped up the stairs, my hands were still 100 percent dishwater free.

* * * *

“Why do you think you displayed so much outwardly directed aggression in the kitchen this morning?” Dr. Pierce wanted to know.

Therapy. Again. And I was sick of it already.

“Uh, because inwardly directed aggression isn’t my thing?” I wasn’t entirely sure what that even meant, but it sounded better than “because dishwater is evil.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

I shrugged.

“Do you believe that the world needs punishing more than you need to punish yourself?”

“Um, sure.” I could see in her face that she knew that I had no idea what I was talking about.

“What I mean is…” She crossed her legs and leaned forward a bit, which I had already learned was her “let’s get intense” pose. “Would you say you despise other people, Haze, occasionally, at least? Is that a true statement?”

I remembered what Finn had told me a couple of times—
I hate my life
—and nodded decisively.

“And would you say you hate yourself sometimes?”

Man, this was getting depressing. “No, I’m okay.” Noticing her skeptical look, I put some more effort behind the statement. “Really. I think I’m an okay guy. I mean, lots of times people think I’m not, because they don’t really know me, and I try not to let that bother me, but sometimes I can’t help it, you know? ’Cause how is it my fault they make assumptions? How is it my fault they’re all prejudiced? That happens so freaking often, you know, and yeah, it gets annoying.”

I realized I was starting to ramble, and shut my mouth. Dr. Pierce wrote something in her little booklet.

“So you feel misunderstood. Like nobody really gets you.”

“Mm-hm,” I said because it seemed easiest just to agree with her.

“And you feel like that isn’t going to change?”

“Mm-hm.” I leaned back comfortably and hoped she was done projecting soon.

“Is that why you tried to commit suicide?”

I went cold. Utterly cold.

I blinked at her. Once. Twice. I couldn’t remember how to breathe.

“You know that’s in your file, right?” she asked gently.

Jesus.

“But I see you’re not ready to talk about that, so we’ll leave it for now.”

Somehow I managed to nod. It was the last thing I remembered her saying before I decided to spend the rest of the session staring at the wall, freezing in the warm sunshine.

Chapter Seven

“Oh, hey, perfect,” Finn shouted out when he opened the door to his single room and saw me standing on the other side. “I need to ask you something anyway. I found this in the back pocket of your white jeans, and I don’t… What the hell is this?”

He waved my favorite silicone sex toy in my face.

Oh hell. So not the time.

“That’s mine,” I said, plucked it from his fingers, and dropped on his bed while he shut the door.

“Well, yeah, I figured as much. I didn’t know if I’d need it for anything.” Finn shrugged and grinned and then looked at me a little more closely. “What’s up? You’re all frowny.”

I lowered my gaze to the clear silicone contraption and squeezed it gently between my fingers. “You tried to kill yourself?”

I had to ask. I couldn’t just keep acting like I didn’t know, not when this was Finn, when there was something so wrong. I waited through the deafening silence, worried he would refuse to talk about it. I had to know he was okay.

“Who told you?” he asked in an eerily controlled tone. I looked in his face and found it blank.

“Dr. Pierce mentioned it today.” I bit my lip, hoped he wouldn’t hate me for pushing. “What happened, Finn?”

He stood there like a statue while the seconds ticked away. Then he mechanically took three steps and sat on the bed next to me.

“Fuck,” he said.

I put my hand on his thigh and squeezed in heartfelt agreement. “I’m not judging, I promise. I’m just worried.”

“I know.” He ran both hands through his hair and took a deep breath. “Well, I tried to OD.”

“On what?”

“Xanax and Lorazepam and Smirnoff vodka.” He snorted suddenly, looking down at his hands. “I wanted Grey Goose, but they were out.”

I put an arm around him because it felt right to do that. “It’s overrated anyway,” I assured him.

He made another choked near-laughter sound and leaned his head on my shoulder.

“So yeah,” he said. “Now you know.”

“Yeah,” I said, fingers still working the silicone. “Now I know. Will you tell me why?”

“I don’t really… It’s hard to explain.” He shrugged, breathing deeply again. “The world was just…really, really dark.”

I held him tighter. Somehow that felt important. “Yeah?”

“I missed graduation because I was still in the hospital. And I still don’t care that I did. I keep thinking it should bother me, but it doesn’t.”

“Does this have something to do with the girlfriend you had?” I took a stab in the dark.

Finn was silent again. “In part,” he said then. “Didn’t help, that’s for sure.”

“What happened there?”

“She was cheating on me,” he said softly. “Two years, and almost the entire time she was cheating on me.”

“Fuck.”

“With Lane.”

I thought I might throw up. “You’re kidding.”

“If I was, my life would be a whole hell of a lot easier,” Finn pointed out drily.

“God, what a bitch. And your asshole of a brother just…did that?”

“He thought it was hilarious.”

“Have you considered cutting his dick off?”

Finn laughed and threw himself backward onto the bed. “Tempting, right?” he asked, staring at the ceiling.

“Wait a minute, that wasn’t the same girl your brother was spending the night with when I stayed…”

“Yup, same one.”

“Oh God.”

“Yeah. Mom had to ask Lane to kindly stop rubbing it in my face after I got my stomach pumped out and everything. That’s the only reason he doesn’t bring her over to our house.”

I was temporarily out of words. Instead I turned to Finn and threw myself half on top of him as I grabbed him in a tight hug. I worried he might fight me on it, but he held me just as tightly and relaxed against me, as though I was someone who made him feel safe.

That was kind of a nice thought, actually. And it occurred to me that I hadn’t been hugged like this in a long time either, so I killed two birds with one stone and kept glomping onto Finn’s warm body like I was in the Arctic and he was my space heater.

“So now what?” Finn asked eventually.

“Now we know who gets the Douche Bag of the Year award.”

He managed a sniffly laugh. “You think there’s an actual trophy I could present Lane with?”

“I very much hope so, and I want to see his face when you do.”

“Deal.” He finally released me and rolled away. “Hey, what did I just…” He reached beneath his thigh and pulled out stretchy silicone. “So what is this anyway?”

“A cock ring.”

He dropped it like a hot potato. “Please be joking.”

“Sorry.”

“Why in the world would you carry that around in your pocket?”

“In case of surprise sex, obviously,” I told him with a smirk. I liked seeing the big grin on his face.

“You’re something else, Lysander, seriously.”

“Of course I am. Hey.” He looked at me when I took his hand. “You can talk to me, okay? Please? I know I’m not your favorite person, and I might be drunk or high way too often, but I’d listen.”

He squeezed my fingers. “Thanks,” he said—quietly, but I knew he meant it.

* * * *

Dinner was twice the fun of every other meal at Oak Hill Manor thus far because it came with the addition of near-constant hostile stares between Cai and me. Jarett and Nicky made tentative conversation while Lexa appeared to be doing her best to sink into herself and collapse like a black hole. It got me feeling a bit guilty because we obviously scared her, but it also got me wondering why she was here. Probably therapy for that no-speaking thing she had going on.

I was curious to find out what would happen if I refused to do the punishment kitchen duty, which was bound to happen if someone tried to get me to touch dirty dishes again. But luckily, orange group was already working on that mess, so Angie put us to work scrubbing the stove and counters instead.

“I want some gloves,” I demanded. They were sitting by Cai’s shoulder, so he turned and flung the box. It came at me like a pitched baseball. I barely managed to get my forearm up and block the box from smashing into my face, letting out an undignified yelp in the process.

“Jerk,” I snarled when I had myself under control again.

Cai rolled his eyes. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“You’re as much of a douche bag as your cousin.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I snapped.

“That you’re a douche bag, mostly.”

“Oh, shut the hell up.”

I attacked the counter with protective latex gloves and a scrubby sponge. It was a good way of venting my anger and frustration at this stupid punishment and at Cai, so I put a hell of a lot more elbow grease into it than strictly necessary. Next to me, Cai appeared to be doing the same with the stove. We were both too preoccupied to continue sniping, but there was an undeniable, crackling tension in the air.

It didn’t dissipate when orange group finished their dishes and left the two of us alone. Angie had set us a detailed list of prep work to complete for the morning, so after our grueling scrubbing task, we had to set out plates and silverware and measure out breakfast ingredients. Doing that had us inevitably scurrying all over the kitchen, and several times we very nearly crashed into each other, which didn’t do a lot to make things less tense.