Page 32 of The Catalyst

I lean down and throw up everything I ate at Judy’s house as more tears fall.

It's not working. Nigel really did to me what I know he did.

He—he…he fucking ra?—

"What are you doing out here?"

CHAPTER 14

OLIVER

I'm crouched down on my haunches, sucking in the smoke from my joint, as I stare off into the darkness. The sounds from within the house stopped a few minutes ago, but here I remain. I value my peace and quiet. That's one reason I don't like kids at all. They're too loud, much like the other occupants of the house. It's a good thing I invested in soundproofing my bedroom, but sometimes even that place is a claustrophobe's worst nightmare.

I spent a good part of my life in a small cell, staring at white walls, unable to let out any excess energy. It was no fun at all. The only companion I had was myself and I'm not the best at socializing, never have been. Part of it was my fault though. I did kill two kids in my first week at Arlene. It was their fault. They stared at me for too long.

Now, I crave the solitude, but if anyone tried to send me back there, it would probably drive me to true insanity. One stint there was more than enough to convince me not to kill people.

I was originally taken to Arlene to be assessed after watching my father die in front of me, but something about seeing what I did fractured something inside my mind. I'd never seen blood before and seeing his skull crushed on the pavement was too much for my young mind. I became numb to all human feelings so much so that the professionals at Arlene deemed me a danger to society and slapped the label of "psychopath" on me.

I was taught morals growing up, but even that didn't matter. I learned to weigh the cause and effects of all situations. "If I do this, are the consequences worth it?" That's what I ask myself every day. Usually, the answer is no.

The only emotions I have felt in any capacity since my father's tragic death are anger and protectiveness. Nothing else and those are very rare situations.

I felt the protectiveness stronger a few hours ago than I ever have and it was toward a crazy princess who looked at me like she was waiting for me to rescue her and what was she looking for me to rescue her from? Nigel, my only real friend.

Why did she look at me though? I've shown her nothing but the devil beneath my skin. I'm not her Prince Charming ready to storm the castle to defend her honor. I stay in my own lane and keep my head down until someone pisses me off or I have no choice but to step in.

I take another drag off my joint as I contemplate the possibilities, but my train of thought is interrupted by the door slamming open, ricocheting off the siding with a loud thud. My head snaps around at the noise and I watch from the shadows as the slender feminine figure runs out the door to the edge of the porch.

I know Judy is here and she has a much different shape to her and always stays covered, unlike the shadow before me. That only leaves one other possibility for who has intruded on my solitude.

She leans over, gripping her knees, and breathes heavily, taking air in rapidly. Then, she drops to her knees and vomits over the edge of the porch, sobs reverberating through the silence of the night. Not even the wind howls. The only thing I can hear is her.

This isn't the behavior of a woman who is ill. No, no, no. This is something much, much worse.

I won't admit it to anyone, but I'm guilty of watching every move she makes in my presence. Something about her draws me in like a moth to a flame and I've yet to determine what the culprit of my growing obsession is. In all the time I've spent watching her, I've never seen her like this, broken beyond understanding.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, announcing my presence before standing to my full height.

Her eyes lift to mine, the fairy green hue sparkling from all the tears, and she moves to her feet. Then, she utters a single word. "Why?" her voice cracks and breaks and I'm startled by the question.

"Why?" She rushes over to me with a mix of anger, pain, and shame across her face and she shoves at my chest, but my body doesn't budge from the weak attempt. She grips my shirt tight as more tears fall down her face.

"Why?" she snaps, her face scrunched in agony. "People are supposed to be safe here if nowhere else in Grove Hill and all of you fucking let him. Youlethim!" She sobs as she buries her face against my chest, her nails digging through my shirt and tearing into my skin.

I don't know what the feeling is that comes over me, but it's something I've never felt before—not even as a kid. It's something akin to sadness with a dash of anger and a bigger helping of protection.

I should be disgusted and recoil away from her. She is pressing her vomit-covered face against my shirt, but I don't push her away. That's what I should do, but for some reason, I can't.

I don't want to either.

I run my fingers through her damp hair as I feel the devil deep within my soul trying to claw his way to the surface and wreak havoc for whatever happened to her, for whatever one of the few people I give a damn about did to her.

I know that's the "him" she's referring to.

Nigel.

He did something and she was hurt by whatever he did to her. I don't know how much he has told her about what we do, but she knows enough to know we protect people and she was hurt in the very house she should've been safe in.

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