Sweet Dandelion

“I thought she should go to jail.” I forgo the couch and perch my butt on the end of his desk. He scoots back so he can see me better. “She knew what her personalities were doing, but she didn’t stop Jackie when she killed that elderly gentleman. She let her. Going to a psych ward and not facing prison felt like she got off too easy.”

“But she couldn’t control her personalities when they were in possession,” he argues.

“That’s true,” I oblige, giving in on that point. “But Jackie’s personality was still there, like Loretta and Mae. Jackie will come back. Shouldn’t she be punished?”

“Isn’t she still punished though? She’s trapped in a psych ward for the rest of her existence, and Keeley, the real person and main personality, isn’t insane and isn’t technically a murder.”

“Ugh,” I groan, standing to pace the length of his office. “It hurts my brain.”

He laughs and the chair squeaks as he gets up. “I think a good healthy debate is fun.”

“That’s what old people say.”

Something flickers in his eyes and he looks away, clasping his hands behind his back. “Want something else to read?”

“Might as well.” I shrug, stopping beside him. His cologne fills my nose. It’s something fresh, like bergamot, with a hint of something light like water and oak. “It distracts me,” I admit softly. My head bows with shame. I don’t know why I feel ashamed of that fact, but I do. “It’s an escape.”

“Reading is a good escape,” he agrees, looking down at me. His blue eyes hold me in my spot, unable to move or even breathe for a second. “It’s nice to be lost in another world for a little while. But we can’t forget reality forever.”

His tone holds a warning, reminding me that I have to choose to face that day head on, the months that followed of pain and rehabilitation.

When I don’t respond he clears his throat. “You’ll have to come by my place again this afternoon. I’ll set some aside this weekend to bring here.”

“Actually, can I pick it up tomorrow morning?” I hedge, biting my lip.

His head tilts questioningly. “Plans tonight?”

It’s the first Friday in forever that I’ve actually had plans. “Yeah, I’m going out with my friends.” First to the football game and then the after party where I’m sure there will be copious amounts of alcohol and other illegal and illicit behavior.

“Mhmm.” He nods, licking his lips as he fights a grin. He’s not stupid, I’m sure he knows what’s going on tonight. There have been plenty of whispers in the hallway. “Enjoy yourself. Stop by around nine. I try to sleep in on the weekend, if that’s too early I’ll be home around four.”

“That’s sleeping in?”

He chuckles, crossing the room and looking out the window. “I’m normally up at five-thirty every morning, so if I can sleep in until seven or eight it’s a miracle.”

“What are you doing tomorrow? You said you wouldn’t be back until four.” I wince as soon as the words leave my lips. I sound nosy as fuck and it’s none of my business. He’s an adult, the school guidance counselor, someone in charge of me and I have no right to expect an answer but I still want one. I don’t know why, he probably has a girlfriend, it’d be crazy if he didn’t. He’s hot, nice, smart. He probably has plans with her tomorrow, some woman beautiful enough to be a Victoria’s Secret model. “Don’t answer that,” I say suddenly. “That was … not my business. I shouldn’t have asked.”

He laughs, clearly amused at my unease. His eyes crinkle at the corners. “I’m going out with friends. We’re going to the batting cages.”

“That sounds fun.” I exhale a breath I didn’t know I was holding, all because he didn’t mention a girlfriend.

I’m insane.

The bell rings. It always cuts my time with him short. Fifty minutes five days a week is all I get and I’m beginning to treasure every second of it. In these precious minutes I feel like myself again, the girl I was before I was struck by tragedy and unimaginable pain. Sure, that part of me is still there, and he’s the one person I feel like I can confide in, but even when I do he never pities me.

I’m just … Dani.

Chapter Eighteen

“Does your brother know where you’re going?” Ansel asks with amusement when I slide into the passenger seat of his car.

“He knows I’m going to the football game and I’ll be home late. I’m sure he suspects, but he won’t be too mad. I mean, he partied all through high school. It’s not like he can judge.”

“Whatever you say, I don’t want to be murdered.”

“He’s not going to kill you.” I roll my eyes, pulling the seatbelt over my body. “Maim you, possibly.”

Ansel looks at me wide-eyed and I laugh.