Page 66 of Actions and Reactions
It’s a full bath, with a simple but clean shower, toilet,and sink, so I make use of them all, and by the time I’m done and walk into the pseudo cafeteria, I see I’m not the first one there.
The girl with the pigtails is here, and the guy who I suspect is a hockey fan too. They’re lined up by the buffet table, and I get the surprise of my life when I realize hockey-fan dude has two prosthetic legs. He’s wearing shorts, so I can see they go up to his knees at least.
The stone that materializes in my throat is beyond uncomfortable, as is the realization that I really don’t belong here. There’s no way I can complain or lament about anything in my life when faced with a real loss like that.
Like last night,I don’t talk to anyone but the cook who’s standing right next to the buffet table, and I just say a quick thank you before I flee to the table I sat at for my dinner. I’m very obvious, I know, but I sit with my back to every other table and face the wall.
I’m keeping my head down, while I scarf down my scrambled eggs and toast as fast as I can, when someone puts their tray on my table and sits opposite me.
I’m scared to look, but there’s no way I’m ignoring anyone here, that would be absurd.
I look up and see a new face.
Somewhere in his sixties, I’d say, the man has wire-rimmed glasses that fit his face perfectly, and kind eyes thatare bracketed by deep laugh lines, which tell me the smile he’s offering is typical for him.
Aunt Lyla’s voice pops into my head immediately. “Those are the only kind of wrinkles I want,” she’s said many times. She loves old-people faces, has always said that’s where true beauty lies, and for a supermodel with her own beauty and cosmetics line that sells countless anti-aging creams, serums, and whatnot, that’s an interesting perspective to have, but I’ve always agreed with her.
This man looks like he’s had a good life, and right now that’s really pissing me off.
Irrational, I know, but considering where we are, who surrounds us, and why we’re all here, that just seems like such an asshole move.
“Good morning, Silas.” I don’t want to speak, especially because I know anything I say would come out in a rude tone, and I really want to avoid that, so I only stare at him. “Nurse Li told me you preferred that to Mr. Wayne.”
“That’s right,” I manage to mutter through gritted teeth.
“I’m Dr. Dave Hunter. They force me to introduce myself like that, but I prefer that people call me Dave.” That smile stays intact before he looks down to scoop up some scrambled eggs on his spoon. Who eats eggs with a spoon?
“All right.”
“I’m your therapist.” He flashes that smile again before taking his bite, and I... don’t feel like doing this shit—pretending, being nice. I just want to leave. I want none of it.
“I know.”
“Good, no problem retaining details, then.”
“I have a great memory,” I defend myself for some stupid-ass reason.
“Usually, people are overwhelmed their first few days here,” he explains, like I care.
“I don’t know of any reason why I should be here, so I guess nothing about this is usual.”
Instead of losing his smile or his sunshiny fucking attitude, he chuckles while he chews, and I mean, his shoulders even shake from his laughter.
This really isn’t how a therapist should act in front of their patient, is it?
“Do you always laugh at your patients?” I snap in a furious whisper. I don’t want to bother anyone else with this stupid conversation.
“Only when they say funny shit.” He doesn’t seem fazed in the least, and that makes me finally snap my mouth shut and go back to eating.
I don’t look at him while I work on emptying my plate, and he doesn’t ask me anything or try to start a conversation either, until he finishes at the exact same time I do.
That’s not suspicious at all . . .
We take our trays back to the cart where we took them from, and when they’re both securely on there, he waves a hand toward the end of the room that’s opposite the hallway that leads to the rooms.
“Let me show you around.”
“Okay,” I mumble and follow him through the opening.
