The air shattered at the intrusion. Our bodies jerked apart, my heart thumping.
“Jesus, De
lia,” Thea said breathlessly. “None of your business, is what’s going on.” Her eyes were still locked on mine. “Jimmy, don’t,” she said, when I started to pull away.
But I let her go, my hands instantly feeling empty and cold without her skin and hair and vibrant life pulsing beneath them.
Not here, I wanted to tell her. I don’t want this here.
“It’s n-n-not… professional,” I managed.
“For once I agree with him,” Delia said, glaring at me. “He could lose his job for inappropriately touching a resident.”
Thea clenched her jaw. “Delia, I love you, but you’re crossing the line. Every line. I can’t even look at you right now.” She turned to me, almost pleading, her voice a whisper. “Don’t give up on me, Jimmy. Please.”
She ran out of the room, and Delia and I were left alone. She slowly turned to face me, her expression stony.
“My sister is impulsive and emotional after being woken a few days ago from what was essentially a two-year coma,” she said, speaking slowly, her voice low and hard. “If you think she knows what she wants under these circumstances, then by all means, put your hands on her again.”
“Ms. Hughes…”
“This was your first and last warning,” she said. “Emphasis on last.”
She strode out, leaving me alone with Thea’s painting. Not word chains but another kind of cry for help.
I finished my shift and left the sanitarium that night without changing or talking to anyone and rode my motorcycle at unsafe speeds down the winding road from Blue Ridge. I leaned into the turns, feeling the thrill of the danger coursing through me. Trying to recreate the potent feeling of Thea in my arms, her gorgeous face turned up, waiting and ready—wanting—me to kiss her.
At home, in my small, dark house, I went to the bathroom to splash cold water on my face. Then stared at the dripping reflection in the mirror.
I was still wearing my uniform—plain white shirt and pants. But now the white was slashed with yellow along the right side of my waist, where Thea touched me. And in the middle of my chest—Thea’s handprint in stark yellow, small and delicate, fingers splayed like a star over my heart.
Chapter 25
Thea
“Dr. Chen said a month, minimum. Maybe two,” I said when Rita came to bring me my morning dose of Hazarin.
“The procedure is so new, they’re scared if they declare victory and something happens, they’ll lose face,” she said. “Or worse, funding. The patients in Sydney are in lockdown too.”
“It’s not right,” I said. “Giving us the awareness of our freedom and then keeping it from us.”
“I don’t like it either.”
“Then help me bust out of this joint, Rita.”
A short silence descended. She knew what I meant. Give me the Hazarin.
“You know I can’t do that,” she said.
“I know,” I sighed. “I don’t want you to lose your job.” I took the one pill she’d brought with her from the locked medicine room and downed it with water.
“Try to make the best of it,” she said. “In a few weeks, you’ll be free to go.”
“And if the medicine stops working before then? What will I have to show for it?”
“I wish I knew how to answer that,” she said.
She left and I stared at the ceiling. The walls. The tiny window. Suddenly it was hard to breathe. I needed to be outside, even if that outside had fences too.