Page 46 of Braving the Valley

I feel personally offended, attacked even.

I barely even muster the energy to laugh my ass off when Dean and Zane beat the shit out of each other in the hallway again, making the floor look like bloody Carrie just transferred in and hasn't had a chance to shower yet. One of them is going to need a transfusion after that shit.

While she's gone, I burn through a lighter every forty-eight hours, which is impressive but also has me questioning the quality of Marshall's contraband. Then again, I've only been igniting them every ten seconds or so for hours on end. The bottom of my fucking finger looks like it got toasted extra crispy by the fire nozzle, and I think I smell fried chicken now every time I light up.

I can't eat.

I can't sleep.

I can't even jerk off because my pansy ass is worried that they're going to steal my Firefly away.

There's too much fucking noise, and it all revolves around her. I smoke a carton of cigarettes and then have to raid Saint's stash to get through until the end of the month when Marshall can bring in more again. My bro's going to freak when he realizes his cigs are gone, and it's a good thing we aren't roommates. Else he'd probably try to suffocate me with a pillow or some shit. On second thought, the dude would definitely use his hands so he could see my face and feel the crunch. That's what I'd do if I were him.

One week feels like ten weeks, and it's driving me insane, even though I know where she went. Her daddy must be paying the Asylum a lot of money for all the bells and whistles they've rolled out for her. She has no free time between classes anymore, or very little of it, at least. Guards are with her from the moment she steps foot into the line for meds each morning, always carting her off somewhere else and onto the next thing.

I've sat back and watched as she's been taken to group therapy and cognitive-behavioral therapy with the mind docs and then nutritional counseling sessions with the nurse. They even brought in Dr. Boucher one day to do a consultation or some shit. I hated it for her. It's not fair to meet his ancient ass outside of the hole because it's like watching a lion behind the fence at the zoo. You don't realize how dangerous the lion is because he's not in his natural habitat. He looks tame by comparison, but if he jumps that fence, he's going to eat you alive.

God knows what her father promised Headmistress if they cured her. I can't remember the last time they pulled out this many stops for anyone, not even that heir to the English throne who graduated last year. Granted he had like one hundred forty-nine people in front of him who had to all perish before he could be the King of England, but still, he had royal blood, even if it was only a teensy, tiny amount only visible under a strong microscope.

If all that wasn't bad enough, the administration is still forcing all the rexie students to eat together too, though they now keep her an hour after she's done with her tray, probably to make sure she doesn't send their hard work directly into the nearest toilet.

Every minute of her day lately has been pre-planned and all of it designed to ensure she will be cured, which is stupid. These fucks don't seem to understand that I'm the only one who can fix her now. They've tried and failed, and it takes one broken person to understand another, and despite what Avery may think, I do understand her.

At the end of the day, we both lack control. She needs to control what she eats, and I need to control her. Maybe her parents fucked her up like mine did me, I don't know. But I'm sick of her pretending like we aren't the same.

She measures her self-worth in calories. I measure mine by how many words I can figure out on the page. She hates herself, but I hate myself even more. She regains control by controlling what she puts into her body. I regain mine by controlling her.

We both need a fresh start, and the best way to do that is to cleanse all the bad shit away with the flame. This time I think when I get her alone, I might actually light her ass on fire because my patience is wearing thin.

I need to fix her, but I'd prefer if she agreed to come with me voluntarily. If I force her, her paper-thin self-esteem might incinerate in an instant, and if that happens, she'll be lost to me for good.

It's a fine line I'm walking, giving her a choice to come with me to the basement, while also not giving her one at all. I'm the worst type of good guy, the one who tricks you into submission before you even realize you've been misled.

She'll call me more than a creep before this is all said and done. I'll be a freak, a bully, a sadist, and more. I don't care, though. She can believe I'm the devil itself if it stops her from killing herself.

The school staff is wasting precious time I could be using to save her.

I just need to get her alone.

At the thought, my hand reaches into my pocket, and I play with my Zippo, opening the lid and starting the flame, over and over again. I hold my finger against the flame nozzle as I roll the wheel with my thumb and hit the button at the same time, burning that spot on the underside of my finger again and again, like I always do. Either the skin is going to get even tougher by the time I manage to get her alone, or I'm going to burn a hole down to the bone.

I don't have much time to act, but I think my best chance might be during shift change when the dumbass guards from the first shift fill in the dumbass guards from the second shift. I'm in the deserted hallway outside her group therapy class with my back against the wall as I wait for her to come out with all of the other students who like to starve themselves. Speaking of, I'm fucking starving, having skipped breakfast and lunch to stalk her like an actual creep since six this morning. I snatched a bag of salt-n-vinegar potato chips from the vending machines twenty minutes ago, but they taste like they're original to the building. I'm going to chip a tooth on this trash, but I shove the last of my chips into my mouth and toss the wrapper in the trash bin. I know from the cigarette butt incident in the bathroom on her first day of school that she doesn't like it when I litter on the floor.

Why do I care?

What is happening to me?

I stand there some more, feeling like a dumbass as I stare at the doors and start to wonder if her session is ever going to let out. Then the doors finally open and out she walks, the first one to flee therapy. The light from the windows that line the exterior wall hits her just right, sending starbursts dancing through her hair. Her bright blue eyes are pinned straight ahead, oblivious to me, as I press off the wall and walk until I arrive behind her.

"Hey, baby girl," I tell her, throwing an arm around her shoulders and bringing her in for a side hug.

She yelps, and it's like music to my ears. It's nice catching her by surprise. I didn't realize how much I missed the thrill of doing that.

As I hold her tight, though, I notice that her shoulders feel even bonier today. I reach over with my free hand and pinch her side. I hit a rib.

Fuck.

I think she might've lost even more weight.

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