Desperate to Touch

“Bethany asked me how you’re doing last night,” Jase says and exhales audibly, standing to walk to the bar on the other side of the office. “She’s prying and wants information about what you’re thinking in regard to her friend.”

“You can tell her you don’t know anything,” I suggest and then hold a hand up to signal no when he offers me whiskey. Declan nods though, so Jase pulls out two glasses and they clink as he shakes his head, his lips forming a thin line.

“I did and she told me to ask.”

“You sound pussywhipped.”

“I’d like to make her happy, Seth. In case Walsh fucks us and I end up having to go away for a while,” Jase admits harshly, his words drenched with the fear of the unknown. He takes a swig of his own drink before handing Declan his and taking a seat once again. All the while I stand and watch the emotions play on his face.

“You really like her? Is that something I could tell her?” he asks with a defeated tone.

For a moment, for some fucked-up reason, I see Derrick sitting there instead of him. I see the man I left behind. The friend who defended Laura. My partner who I couldn’t look at anymore because he wanted Laura back just like I did, and he was man enough to admit it. Man enough to keep in contact with her and he had the balls to look me in the eyes and tell me.

It’s been years since I’ve said a word to him. In this moment I want to tell him. I want to tell him I have her back.

“I’ve missed her and I don’t plan on letting her go so easily this time.”

Jase nods, again his focus drifting to nothingness behind us before he asks, “Was that so hard?”

He has no idea how much it fucking hurts to say that I missed her out loud to anyone. Telling her is brutal, telling anyone else? Agony.

“We don’t know the history. But if you need to talk,” Declan offers, leaving the suggestion that they’re there for me implied.

A question nags in the back of my head. “Did Bethany tell you anything about me and Laura I should know?”

“Nothing apart from her thinking that Laura still loves you but she’s afraid you don’t love her back.”

His statement hardens me. Love is a word and nothing more to Laura.

You don’t leave someone if you love them.

With my jaw clenched I debate on saying just that, but it shows more about me than anything else. Parts of me they don’t need to know about. My phone pings and I’m grateful for the distraction until I read the text.

My blood turns to ice and I have to read it again.

“What’s wrong?” Declan asks.

“Laura just thanked me for the flowers.” I’m not even cognizant that I answered him until he speaks again.

“Then why do you look like—”

I cut off the question and do my damnedest to keep my expression from showing how close to the edge of recklessness I am. “I didn’t send her any flowers.”

Laura

I felt eyes on me the moment I got out of my car and walked into the doors of the Rockford Center. It’s a weird prickling sensation that claws at me from behind.

Even now, as I pick up the tray with the last two cups of pills on it, I swear I can feel someone watching me. It’s an eerie feeling. As I slowly turn, just peeking over my shoulder toward the elevators, I truly expect someone to be there.

This late at night, most of the patients are settled into their beds. Visiting hours are over. I tell myself no one is here, but I can’t help but feel that I’m wrong. Call it my gut instincts.

I anticipate someone staring at me, but all I find are the simple silver doors, closed and the night hall quiet.

Letting go of a breath I didn’t know I was holding, I make my way in my favorite scrubs, a pair of white ones with deep red roses on them, to my last two patients.

They were supposed to get their pills five minutes ago, but the patient I checked on before them refused to take his. It took me a while to convince him the pills are helping, not hurting. Schizophrenia is a bitch.

That patient comes and goes as if this place is a revolving door. He never keeps up with his medication when he leaves. His symptoms get worse and he finds himself back here. Self-admitted or because his addiction and lack of employment lead him to a judge ordering him a sentence that includes a term here.

It kills.

With the thought settling deep in my gut, and the vision of that man’s face in my head, I have to close my eyes just before the 3F on the door greets me. It’s a calming breath that leaves me. And then another after a deep inhale.