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DROWNING, NOT WAVING

DAY 8

Kinsey doing my makeup transitions into her doing my hair, then insisting I borrow some of her clothes because according to her I dress like a slob. Unlike my small wardrobe of basics—mainly T-shirts, tanks, and shorts—she has everything from sequined minidresses to designer jeans crammed into her narrow closet.

The result? I look like a high-end hooker.

I sit on Kinsey’s bed squirming in my miniskirt as she curls her hair and prattles on about how much she misses the outside world. Topping the list: Brazilian waxes, pedicures, massages, and her teacup Chihuahua, aptly named Teacup.

I listen with half an ear, offering Yeahs and Rights at appropriate times, while the rest of my thoughts spiral in darker directions. If what Nix suspected is true, then Kinsey and Dr. Chastain screw on the very bed I’m sitting on. A repulsive line of thought, but one I can’t extinguish.

I wonder if he’s a missionary man, always in control, or if he loses his mind and body to passion. Does he talk dirty? Use his teeth? Does he like his woman meek and obedient or feisty?

“Why is your face red?”

I bury my thoughts and meet Kinsey’s curious eyes. “We’re in the desert in the middle of August. Are you ready?”

I watch her struggle not to point out that the cabin’s small air conditioner is on, but apparently she really wants to be my friend.

Bully for me.

“I’m all set,” she says with a grin. “Do you like my outfit?”

I make my lips stretch in a smile. “You look amazing.”

Kinsey chats the entire walk to the facility, her topics ranging from the dry air that’s wreaking havoc on her cuticles, to the temptation of a night swim—against the rules—to Callum’s incredible abs, to how excited she is that we’re hanging out.

I continue my shtick of pretending to listen. The bulk of my focus is split between not tripping in the ridiculous stilettos she made me wear and the evening sky. The western horizon still clings to a weak memory of sunlight, but overhead, millions of stars twinkle like tiny diamonds.

“It’s really beautiful here,” I say.

Kinsey, momentarily silent, shoots me a look of disbelief. Clearly my comment doesn’t dignify a response, because she keeps walking. I follow with a sigh, around the pool and into the Fish Tank.

Frank and another of the group facilitators, Charlene, stand near one of the couches, heads bent together as they speak quietly. When they hear the door, followed immediately by our pointed heels, they jerk away from each other.

“Hello, ladies,” says Charlene with a fake smile. “You both look lovely this evening.”

I’m not fond of Charlene; she runs the group on Mondays and Wednesdays and always comes across as condescending. I think she’s thrilled to be in a perceived authority role over people like Kinsey, Nix, and Callum. People like me.

There’s a calculating gleam in Charlene’s eyes as they fix on my face. I open my mouth to praise her for squeezing her gargantuan thighs into her stockings, but sharp nails bite into my forearm.

Kinsey drags me across the Fish Tank with a cheery, “Thanks, see you at the party!”

Once we’re out of earshot, I yank my arm away. “What the hell?” I hiss.

“You were going to say something stupid. I was just saving your ass. You insult Charlene and that bitch will make your life hell.”

My mouth gapes.

Kinsey smirks. “I’m not as stupid as I look, chiquita. Come on, let’s go drink sparkling cider and pretend it’s champagne.”

“Just when I think shit can’t get any weirder…”

She laughs. “This is going to be so much fun.”

I think we have different definitions of fun, because the second we walk into the room where our group sessions are held, I almost bolt. Not because of the decorations, which are of the recycled, dollar-store variety, or the supermarket sheet cake on a table. What fills me with panic isn’t even the number of people. Pretty much every staff member is here, including the two onsite nurses, kitchen and cleaning staff, and several security guards I’ve seen prowling the grounds.

The reason my knees lock, freezing me near the door as Kinsey squeals and traipses toward Nix, is that not once had I contemplated Dr. Chastain’s attendance. But he’s here, standing with one of the nurses, Nora, near the table with beverages.