WHITE WALLS (17 page)

“Follow me,” Dr. Watson calls from the wide staircase as he starts up the steps slowly. I abandon my assessment of the foyer and follow him up the red carpeted stairs. We come to
     
another set of staircases. One on the right, another on the left. Dr. Watson turns right and
    
stops at the very top of the steps. He pushes a large wooden door open and says, “Go Ahead.”

“Is this where I'll be staying?”

He nods.

I walk into the room and my eyes nearly pop out of my skull.

This isn't like a room.

It's like a house all in its own.

The bed is big enough to fit at least five people. Violet draperies hang from the cast iron canopy and the bed is piled high with pillows. I trail my fingers along the satin curtains on the canopy and let out a sigh. I feel like royalty. Not some poor, crazy woman from the slums. I have dressers, a vanity. A sitting room. Even a closet big enough to walk into. Finally I find the bathroom. There's black marble covering floors and even half of the walls. My bathtub is wide and round and could comfortable fit at least three people. As I take in my surroundings for the umpteenth time in awe, I realize something. I can't do this.

I turn on my heel, walking to the door and smack into Dr. Watson. He must have been behind me watching. Studying. Observing. It's typical. “I'm sorry, Dr. Watson,” I gush. “I didn't see you there.” My hands press into his chest and I can feel the lean muscle beneath his white button up. Sliding my fingers across the ridges of definition, I don't want to stop touching him, but I do.

And I can't bring myself to look at him either.

I drop my hands and look around again. This situation is too good to be true. Something about it feels wrong even though deep down inside I know it’s not. I can't live here with
         
him. For one thing, I've developed some kind of feelings for him and to watch him date countless women, bring them home, and make love to them will rip my heart in half. Secondly, he must expect some sort of repayment for this generosity and I have nothing to
           
give.

In that moment I think of something Marlena Allen had said about me once. She said,
Girls like you.
What she meant by that was that I was different from normal girls because in her eyes I would always be trash. My eyes wander over to Dr. Watson who is staring at me intently, his thumb pressed against his plump lips. I wonder if he thinks of me the same way sometimes. I wonder if deep down inside that he's aiding me out of pity. Because if that's why he's doing this for me, I don't want it.

I don't want anyone's pity.

When a person is born nobody stands in the delivery room with a sign that says life is easy. You're welcomed into the world with tears, possibly smiles, and a slap on your rear. It's
        
like you're here kid, go make something of yourself. Also, when you're born no one can prepare you for what kind of life you'll lead. No one could have prepared me for my father to snap, murder my mother, beat me bloody for eight years straight, and then try to shoot me, killing the only boy I'd ever loved instead.

No one could have prepared me for that.

No one.

The one, vital thing I've learned through everything I've gone through is my life is what I make of it.

And I can't make anything of it being a charity case for someone else.

“I'm sorry Dr. Watson,” I say breathless, trying to suck back my oncoming tears. “Thank
 
you for your hospitality, but I can't live here with you.”

The smile on his face falters.

He frowns.

And my heart breaks because I love it when he smiles.

He clears his throat. “You don't like your room?” He's trying to read me again. “If that's the case we can have it changed to however you'd like it.”

“No,” I say. “That's not it.”

I don't understand why he's being so nice to me. I don't understand why he thinks I deserve so much when I know I don't deserve anything at all.

I push past him, ignoring him as he calls my name. I run down the wide stair case and out the front door. I stop only for a sliver of a second to gaze longingly at the porch swing then sprint through the miles of endless green grass.

The sound of huffing is added to the sound of my own raspy breathing. Dr. Watson comes up beside me and grips onto my arm. He jerks me the slightest bit and I come to a halt, leaning over to catch my breath. “Why do you always do that?” he asks, trying to steady
   
his breathing as well.

“Do what?” My breaths almost come out even. “Run?”

“Yes.”

“I don't want to be your burden. I don't want your pity.”

He stares at me incredulously. “Why would you think that?”

“Why else would you ask me to come and stay with you? You feel sorry for me, I know it.”

I try to walk away, but he places both hands on my shoulders, staring directly into my eyes.

“I don't pity you. That's not it at all.”

“Then why?” I ask, confused. “Are you some kind of saint?”

He howls with laughter and his eyes are dark. “Hardly.” He releases my shoulders and I collapse onto the ground, lying back, looking up into the powder blue sky. Dr. Watson follows my lead and lies down next to me. “I told you earlier you remind me of myself.
    
There was a point in my life where I would have given anything just to have someone. Someone who knew what I was going through. Someone to talk to. Someone who could ease the pain.”

“And how do you that I need someone?”

“I spoke to the police, Adelaide. And Oakhill. They were very forthcoming with information about your past. Especially when I told them I was doctor on the lookout for their escaped patient. I told them that they better fill me in so I knew what I'd be dealing with in case I happened upon you.” He rolls onto his side and props himself with his elbow. “I know, Adelaide.” He sighs. “I know everything.”

I close my eyes. I suspected that he might. “I'm sure you know some things, but you don't know everything.” He
     
doesn't know about the inner turmoil I've struggled with since that day. He doesn't know that even though I should hate Daddy I don't and that there is a small little girl somewhere inside of me that wants and hopes for his love. I decide to be a little bold with what I say next. “I don't think I'd be able to handle watching you date all those random women
         
either.” I blush and play with my fingers.

“You won't have to,” he says. “You're the first woman I've brought here.”

“What?” I'm baffled. If he's dated as much as he says he has I can't understand why I'm the first woman I've ever brought here. “Why? Why haven’t you ever brought a woman here?”

“Like I said before, I don't do relationships. I don't get attached. I don't want to get married or have children. The second I bring a woman to this house I know what will happen. They'll want me to commit to them. Plus, I don't want a woman to want me just because I have money. That's part of the reason I wanted to become a doctor, you know. I wanted to separate myself from my parents. I didn't want people to associate what I did for a living with them. I wanted to forge my own path. Have a career where I could make a difference. A career where I could save lives.”

His explanation still doesn't answer my question. “Then why me? Why bring me here?”

“I think you're like me in the sense that you want to be able to forge your path too. You just
       
need a starting point.” He looks at me, his amber eyes filled with understanding. “Answer me honestly. How long do you think you would have lasted out there on your own with only the clothes on your back and the money in your pocket?”

“Honestly?” He nods. “I don't know.” I wish I did know. I wish I knew that I could make it
      
on my own without his help because then I wouldn't have to be here with him at all. Being
    
here with him is too tempting. It's too hard to just admire him without letting my feelings get involved because a huge part of me wants to break this man down.

Open him up.

Expose him to the world.

But I know he's had years to practice keeping himself hidden. He's had years on his own to
        
shove the way he feels about things to the side.

Dr. Watson and I are a lot more alike than I originally thought. And maybe we just might be something good to one another. Maybe we just might be the missing puzzle pieces in each other’s lives.

“Dr. Watson,” I say. “I don't know how I'll ever be able to repay you.”

“Adelaide.” He shakes his head and helps me to my feet. “You don't need to repay me. Soon you'll be able to stand on your own two feet and knowing I helped you get there will be repayment enough.”

All I can think as we walk back toward the sprawling mansion that I'll call my home for the time being is that when I first saw him and thought of him as my angel, I was right.

Chapter Twenty Two

~Before~

I keep telling myself that I’m all cried out.

But I don’t understand.

 
If I’m all cried out, why do the tears keep falling?

Because the boy who used to be the love of my life is standing in front of me. He’s pacing and screaming, the most vile words I’ve ever heard. “I hate you!” he shrieks. “Do you hear me, Addy? I hate you!”

I wish I could find my voice so I could tell him; I can’t love someone who doesn’t exist.

But his words…

His words already puncture me so deep. Like a carving knife being twisted through my gut.

“I hate you, you crazy bitch!” He punches the padded wall above my head. “I hate you because I fucking love you so much!”

Stop! Is what I want to yell at him. “Damien,” is what I cry out to him. You’re a fragmented delusion of my mind is what I refrain from telling him.

I’ve managed to tuck myself into a ball and I’ve crouched down in the farthest corner of my room, but that hasn’t stopped Damien from screaming. Or spitting hateful words inches away from my face.

I keep rocking and sobbing. Rocking and sobbing. Rocking and sobbing.

I think of Mommy in this moment. How she’d soothe me with soft words. Run her fingers through my hair. Blanket me with her arms. I think of how I need her now more than ever, but know that I’ll never have her.

Damien has one of my white pills in his hand. He must have found it in the spot where I hid all the other pills I haven’t taken in the last couple months. Behind my dresser in a small crack in the tile floor. The pill is pinched between his two finger tips and he shoves the pill in my face. “Take the pill, Addy.” His voice is hard. Low. Raspy.

I shake my head and swat at him, trying to push the pill away. “No!” I cry. “No more pills!”

Damien chucks the pill at me and I hear it thud against the padded wall. “Take the fucking pill, Addy!” He’s screaming again. I hear a ping as the pill hits the floor. My head is buried in my knees and I don’t want to raise my eyes to meet his. I’m not afraid. I’m worried.

About the pain.

About gazing into his eyes and getting lost there.

About being swept up in the past all over again when I’m already on a path to the future.

I keep my face in my lap, trying to drown out the sound of Damien’s ranting. His voice is emotional and I can hear the sobs stuck in his throat. He’s panicking. In two days he won’t be a hallucination anymore.

In two days he’ll be nothing but a memory.

A boy that I loved.

A section of my heart will be reserved for him.

But other than that…

He’ll be gone.

Gone, baby gone.

My stomach clenches and my heart hardens. I’m not sure if I can even feel it beating anymore. Damien’s sobs escalate and mix in with my own. His crying almost knocks the wind out of my lungs and listening to it lifts my head from my knees.

No, Addy, I tell myself. Stay Strong.

I can’t bear to listen to the sound of his sobs. I can’t stand to hear the pain in his voice. I want to go to him. Hold him. Place my head on his shoulder. Inhale his familiar scent. I want him to flash that gorgeous smile that I’ve always loved.