Page 53 of Teach Me To Sin

I turn around to chase Victor across the parking lot, but he’s already starting the engine of his comfort car, a vintage Jaguar. The man has said a dozen times that he doesn’t blame me, but it’s clear he’s not coping well. Neither am I, but there isn’t anyone here to help me be strong. I just empty out the agony in my chest and act like I’m fine. The least I can do is take care of the people who need me.

By the time I reach my Prius, I realize I have no idea where to go or what to do. Victor and Ethan will be together, Tate went to stay with his family for a couple of days, Maya came by to express her sympathy and left again, and Willow is at home with her girlfriend. Benji…Benji is with his family, I assume. I don’t know what condition Colson found him in, only that he’s not critical. Every part of me needs to hold him and feel him hug me back, but Tate and Victor told me I shouldn’t go anywhere near the Atwood family. I’m trying to get my heart to understand that Benji was a made-up thing, a game played by a stranger named Bennett who turned my life to ash, but the longing in my soul won’t listen.

I still don’t have a purpose or a destination as I jam my keys in the ignition. When I try to think, it feels like my brain is being shoved through a meat grinder and coming out in useless little ribbons. My phone doesn’t show any new texts from Colson since the ones we exchanged early this morning:

C: Made it to the ship on time.

Me: Okay.

Me: Thank you for helping Benji.

C: Of course. Please take care of yourself.

That was all. It feels as gutting and cold in its own way as losing Benji, even though I know Colson is the smart one for walking away from this car crash before it sets him on fire too.

Leaning forward, I rest my head on the steering wheel for a second until I can figure out what to do. I dream about Benji’s smile, the one that breaks through when he’s not being coy. It stretches and creases his face into happy wrinkles, toothy and silly, his eyes sparkling. He looks at you like you’re sharing the greatest joke in the history of the world.

When I snort and jerk upright with a sour taste in my mouth, my watch says I dozed off for almost thirty minutes. The sky has gone dark, but I can see the firemen’s flashlight beams still bobbing around in the wreckage. My right hip, which banged the ground when Tate tackled me, hurts like hell in my scrunched-up position

On impulse, I climb out of the car and jog back to the edge of the caution tape. Mr. Silver Fox Fireman spots me and comes over, shining his light on my chest where it won’t blind me. When I pull down my hood so I can see better, cold rain pricks the back of my neck. “Is everything alright?” he asks.

“I was wondering…” I hesitate, trying to get my thoughts in order. “If someone were injured in this fire, what hospital would you have taken them to?”

He furrows his brow, his eyes full of pity. “Do you want me to answer that question or just find out where your friend got taken?”

“Oh. That would be fine.” I sway a little on my feet from the sheer exhaustion of only sleeping thirty minutes in forty-eight hours. “Thank you.”

Taking a few steps away, he talks on his radio, then comes back. “He was taken to Harborside.”

“Is he okay?”

His face softens. “I’m sorry, I don’t have information on his condition. You’ll have to ask the hospital.”

“I understand. Thanks again.” Burying my hands in my jacket pockets, I wander back to my car. My elbow bumps a half-full water bottle in the cupholder; the contents are probably a week old, but I chug it thirstily until my stomach hurts. If I’m not careful, I’ll go home and down dangerous amounts of alcohol.

I have no idea where I’m driving until I find myself sitting in the parking lot at Harborside Medical Center, staring up at the hulk of art deco brick lined with bright windows. As I walk inside and shake water off my windbreaker, I tell myself I’m just here to inquire. The waiting room is so warm and quiet that I’m half tempted to spend the night in one of the chairs along the back wall.

“Hi,” I mumble as I approach the receptionist. “I’m trying to find out if Benji– Bennett Atwood is here?”

She taps on her computer, then flashes the disheveled, pale man in front of her a smile tinged with concern. “He’s on the fifth floor, room 503. Visiting hours end in thirty minutes.”

“No, no.” I wave my hands vaguely. “I don’t want to see him. I just want to know how he is.”

Her smile grows more strained. “If you go upstairs, you can speak to his nurses.”

“Can you please just tell me anything you know? Just if he’s okay? I don’t want to see any of his other visitors.”

“Well…” She squints at her screen. “I don’t have patients’ medical records here, but I don’t see a log of any visitors since he arrived. So if that’s your concern, you should be safe.”

“He doesn’t have any…” I trail off when she gives me a very polite, professional version of aleave me the fuck out of thislook. Mumbling apologies, I wander back toward the door, then stop and just stare into space. I’m so fucking tired, and I’m so deep in my grief that all of me is made of edges, scraping and drawing blood.

Just as the receptionist calls out to me to ask if I’m alright, a family comes rushing in with a toddler screaming her lungs out and holding her arm. The frantic shrieks snap me out of my fog, and I turn toward the elevators.

As I come up to the nurse’s station on the fifth floor, I see a man in blue scrubs sitting at his desk with his face buried in his hand, talking on the phone. Since there’s no one else around, I stop and blatantly eavesdrop. “Sir, I understand. But you said he’d be here four hours ago and I need to know if he’s coming. We’re not a hotel.” The nurse’s jaw tightens as he listens. “Excuse me, sir. You cannotbuymore time in a room. I have four people downstairs in the emergency department, waiting for a bed. He can’t travel by himself, but if his caretaker isn’t here in the next thirty minutes, policy says I have to put him down in the waiting room.”

Whatever the person on the other end of the line says next, he wishes them a curt good evening and bangs the phone down. Massaging his forehead, he swivels his chair and startles when he sees me loitering in the dim hallway like a ghost. “Oh sorry, I didn’t see you. Please tell me your name is Gideon.”

“Um…no?” I shrug apologetically.

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