Page 26 of Actions and Reactions (All It Takes #5)

Silas

I think I identify the two patients who love hockey during my brief appearance at the cafeteria-like room when I go in search of food.

It’s one man and one woman, she looks to be around middle age and he’s somewhere in his thirties, both sitting at one of the far tables—which are all covered with tablecloths.

I don’t know exactly why, but that really surprises me enough to keep thinking about what kind of place this is for the rest of the night instead of dissecting their stares and how they try to look away really quickly.

Besides them, I count four other people who are wearing the same uniform as me. A tough looking guy who looks like he’s in his twenties, a young woman—girl maybe? She looks really young and is wearing pigtails, so maybe a teenager or bordering on early twenties?

There’s an older woman who’s knitting something bright yellow, and lastly another woman, maybe in her forties, and she’s just staring blankly at the wall.

It’s an unsettling thing, so I eat my roasted chicken and veggies quickly then get back to my room.

Not having my phone with me is annoying, truly frustrating, and I’m very grateful that Dad gave me his watch, because being able to look at the time—as useless as it is to me to know the time in here—gives me a sense of control.

It’s the only thing I can know right now.

I have no clue how my parents like their rental, if Lottie’s staying with them, if they went out to dinner, if I’m actually going to be able to see her in three days when the family day happens.

I forgot to text Vinny about the rules here and how often I’m going to have my phone, but I’ll do that tomorrow at three.

I grab the pen and paper Dr. Jody gave me, and think about what I want them to get from my luggage.

I found a toothbrush and toothpaste here, but I want my own, as well as pajamas. I want my shampoo and the moisturizer Aunt Lyla sends me every other month.

I look at the very short list for a long time, and then I decide to write what I want my parents to bring me on Sunday on the back so I can send them a picture tomorrow when I get my phone.

It’s basically only a few books I’ve been meaning to read but haven’t had time—all fiction, because I’m not interested in reality at the moment—but I also want some framed pictures.

I know exactly which ones, so I’ll send those over too.

Hopefully I can find them quickly enough in my gallery so I won’t waste the whole fifteen minutes on that.

I also make a note to send a text to Gab and to grandpa Rich. I have no clue what my parents have told him, but he didn’t change his attitude toward me at all when I fucked up my future, so I’m hoping that having a fucked-up head because of it won’t really make a difference to him either.

He’s still up in Edmonton, refuses to move to the US no matter how much Dad has begged over the years, but maybe he’ll come for a visit. I haven’t seen him since Christmas, and I feel like I really need him right now.

When that’s all done, I stare down at the piece of paper and decide this melancholy really isn’t helping me in any way.

Maybe the best thing I can do right now is to just try and sleep.

The cast on my hand isn’t really what’s kept me from sleeping well this past week, but the constant buzz around the hospital was very distracting so I’m sure I could use a few extra hours.

I take off my uniform and fold it up, clearly taking extra time just to have something to do, then I set the watch carefully on the nightstand and lie down.

Sleep doesn’t come, though.

My thoughts race for what feels like hours and hours.

Vinny, our relationship, my parents and the fact that I haven’t told them about our relationship .

Do I want to tell them?

How would that go?

I’m sure they’re not bigoted, Dad’s comments on that last show he did are enough to confirm that, but it’s different when it’s your son, isn’t it?

Then again, I doubt I could disappoint them more than I already have, so maybe they’ll just take it in stride?

I can only hope.

Since I don’t have my smart watch, I have no way of knowing how well I slept except by how I feel, and I really don’t want to explore that too deeply.

All I know is that I’m awake, there’s daylight coming from between the curtains, and I want coffee.

I do my best to get ready for a new day, then I check the watch before I strap it on and see it’s seven fifteen, so I’m right on time to get myself together before breakfast, where I have no clue what’s going to happen.

I feel like a dumbass for hesitating right before opening my door, and then peeking out slowly when I do.

“Good morning, Mr. Wayne.”

“Oh, sweet Jesus.”

I jump about a foot in the air and spin around quickly to see a big, really huge man walking toward me. He smiles sheepishly at me.

“I’m sorry for startling you. ”

“It’s fine,” I tell him, though I’m still breathing hard. “And please, call me Silas.”

“You got it.” He nods once and clasps his hands in front of his stomach. “I’m nurse Li. Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Nice to meet you.” I have to swallow hard, the nurse thing kind of reminding me of where I am. Not that I’d forgotten, but... “I just want to use the bathroom.”

“Right there.” He points at the second door down, and I see it’s marked as unisex, but there are two doors marked that way, so I know I won’t hold anybody up.

“Thank you.”

“No problem. Breakfast is in half an hour.”

I nod once. “Is there any shampoo around here I can use? I haven’t given anyone the list of what I want from my luggage.”

“Yes, there’s shower soap and shampoo you can always use in there, and your therapist will make sure you get your belongings later.”

“Perfect.”

It’s a relief that it won’t take another day for me to get some of my stuff. I want underwear and more socks too. I need to remember to add them to the list.

I discover that the bathroom does lock from the inside, though I have no doubts nurse Li could probably come in here at any moment if he feels it’s necessary, but it’s a nice thing, to flip that lock and know that not just anyone can barge in.

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 that are 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 . . .