Page 11 of Haunted Prey

He nodded as if expecting that answer. “It’ll be hard for a while. If it troubles you too much, we can see about getting you on something to help you sleep.”

“I sleep fine. It’s the nightmares that wake me.”

“Your mind is trying to process the trauma you went through.”

“Boy, that’s a professional explanation if I ever heard one.” I paused, realizing I had said that out loud. I looked at him apologetically, knowing he was only trying to help even if I didn’t want it.

And wasn’t that ironic? Coming from someone who had once been in his position.

Amused, he said, “You’re right. I should know better.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “I probably would have said the same thing at some point.”

“But that’s just it. You get it,” he said as he ducked his head underneath a set of leaves. “You know no one can understand what you're going through, you know how bad it is. I just want you to know there is no judgment here. If you want to scream, scream. They make this place look like a little vacation, but deep down, it might just be a pretty lie.”

I glanced at him, surprised. “Aren’t you friends with Tyler?”

“I am. Doesn’t make it not true. And he gets it. Everything here is just to help if people want it. Many do use it. Truthfully, it isn’t our intention to deceive. To make people forget what happened to them. We want them to face it head-on. But if they want to enjoy themselves, they can do that too. Because how you deal with your trauma is up to you. We just want to provide a place of comfort where you can safely do that. But it doesn’t work for everyone and that’s okay.”

“An asylum wrapped in a pretty gold package, you’d say.”

He laughed. “Maybe something like that. Still, better than the alternative, wouldn’t you say?”

“What, likeSilent Hill?”

“Was there an asylum in that game? I haven't played it in years.”

“I can’t remember, maybe it was a school...” I said, trying to remember.

“Not much of a difference in a place like that.”

“Yeah, guess not.”

“But yes, this is far from the institutions of the eighties and nineties. I think we’d prefer to be called a recovery center.”

“So does that mean I can go?”

He slowed. “Do you want to?”

I thought about it. It wasn't that I wanted to. Here, people checked on me, but would leave me alone if I asked. I believed him when he said I could sit in my room all day and no one would bat an eye. The only other places I could think to go were Lena’s or Jamie’s, but the more I thought about them, the more I dreaded seeing them. I didn’t want to face the pity in their eyes or hear their hollow words of comfort—words likeHe’s gone. He can’t hurt you anymore. You’re safe. You’re free.They would never understand.

“Guess, I’m not exactly recovered,” I said, almost sarcastically. “But if I did want to go, could I?”

“I’ll tell you the truth, Eve. We’d like you to stay so we can monitor you, in case…”

“I’m suicidal.”

“You know how it goes. It’s just a precaution. But we are also fully committed to working with you in whatever you need.”

“And my uncle already paid for this place, right?”

“No. He didn’t pay a thing.”

I turned to him. “I thought he sent me here.”

“He did because Tyler promised to make sure you were taken care of. And because Tyler sees him as a friend, he refused youruncle’s payment. Tyler wanted to help you, knowing you would need the best treatment.”

“I don’t know if wandering around and giving me happy pills is considered the best treatment,” I said, this time not regretting saying it out loud.

---