The Hate Between Us, page 11
Thankfully, Jason stayed in character for the most part during the first act, much to Ms. Holloway’s pleasure and my relief.
But that relief didn’t last long. We reached the part where Nathan came to Chloe’s house after a beating he’d received from his foster dad, and Chloe took him to her room. This was the first time Nathan touched Chloe, and it led to a hug.
I made a little noise in my throat when I took in Jason’s face. At this point, it was supposed to be all covered in bruises. “What happened?”
He looked away, his breathing labored. He didn’t complain about the pain, but it was obvious it hurt a lot. “My foster dad happened,” he spat out. “I shouldn’t have come here.”
“No, don’t say that. Come in.” I ushered him in, and he stepped over the tape that marked the door.
“Aren’t your parents going to flip out to find me here?”
“Don’t worry about it. They’re not here.” I moved stage left to my “room,” and he followed. “I’m going to get the first aid kit from the bathroom.”
He sat down on the low table that represented my bed.
I went upstage to fetch the box serving as the first aid kit and returned to him.
My expression was bashful because this moment felt intimate for Chloe, but the sudden pounding of my heart had nothing to do with her. Even the shaking of my hands that was in the script didn’t have anything to do with her. No, it had everything to do with the fact that Jason was about to touch me.
I stopped my chair next to him and opened the prop first aid kit.
He watched my moves carefully. “Your hands are shaking.”
“Are they?”
This was it, the moment when he touched me . . . but he didn’t.
His look morphed into that of annoyance, and he was no longer Nathan. “Do you have to look like you’re about to throw up? You’re supposed to look timid.”
“It’s hard to do that when I don’t know what you’re going to pull on me.”
He growled. “Believe me, it’s not like it didn’t cross my mind. It’s hard to focus when your Chloe isn’t believable.”
He was probably right, but I couldn’t help the aching in my chest. “It’s not like—”
Ms. Holloway sighed loudly. “Okay, everyone! This calls for a short break.”
She approached us while the others swooped down on the refreshments table. They were talking in hushed whispers, and I didn’t doubt it was about me and Jason.
Ms. Holloway didn’t do a pep talk. She went straight for the kill. “Jason, take Katie’s hand.”
My jaw dropped. His face matched mine.
“What?” he gritted out.
“Take her hand.”
I looked at my hand like it had grown a giant, hairy wart. Not only was it shaking, but it was also clammy now. Extra clammy.
I wiped it against my thigh, but the action was useless.
Taking a sharp breath through his teeth, Jason grabbed my hand, and everything in me came to a halt. Just like then when we’d touched for the first time, the contact was leaving a mark on my skin, and my fingers squeezed around his reflexively. His eyes snapped up to meet mine. He didn’t look away from me even when we retracted our hands and Ms. Holloway spoke.
“Good.” Her tone was pleased, but she didn’t look pleased at all. “Now do it again and make it last for ten seconds.”
Ten seconds? At this point, that felt like an eternity. I expected Jason to complain, but he just took my hand and held it, and with each passing second, I was more and more aware of every inch of his skin against mine. Of his warmth seeping into me. My breathing grew uneven. I was so glad he wasn’t looking at me because I wouldn’t be able to ride this out otherwise.
I was supposed to feel relief when he released me, but instead, my hand felt too empty, like it was missing something. Missing him. I curled it into a loose fist.
“Perfect. Now do that while holding both her hands and finish off with a hug.”
Jason scowled. “That’s not necessary.”
“I’m afraid it is. This scene ends with a hug, and I don’t want you to feel awkward.”
Clamping his mouth shut, he gave in and reached for my hands. This time, he looked me square in the eye, his gaze dark and simmering. I knew I should look away. But I couldn’t. I was a hostage of his gaze, unable to breathe evenly. Heat spread over my neck and chest, and just when I thought I wouldn’t be able to take it anymore, he released my hands and slid his arms around my waist, pulling me into a hug.
His scent engulfed me. It was a leather fragrance mixed with body wash, and I barely stopped myself from taking a sniff. His arms wrapped so hard around me I could almost believe he wanted this. His breath fanned my ear, coming out faster when I returned his hug, and my own breathing quickened. I was too aware of where our hands were or how strong his body felt against mine, and all I could think about was, I’m hugging Jason Adams. I’m hugging Jason freaking Adams.
And it shouldn’t have, but it felt good—so goddamn good—and it was easy to forget why I shouldn’t feel this way. It was easy to stay like this, so easy that a sudden longing gripped me the moment he let go of me.
“There.” Jason jumped up to his feet. “I’m off to grab some water.”
He didn’t wait for Ms. Holloway’s permission, which was probably for the best because I needed some distance from him. My heart refused to slow down as I met Ms. Holloway’s surprisingly pleased gaze.
“Well. That was something. Just like I thought it would be.”
I frowned. Say what? “What do you mean?”
Just then, I noticed wide-eyed looks from some of the girls. Tallie’s eyes were full of surprise, and Jimmy was watching me too closely. My cheeks reddened.
“It was just as I predicted. You had me convinced that you two wanted nothing more than to be with each other for a moment there.” She gave me a big smile. “You’re going to be just fine.”
With that, she walked off.
Nothing more than to be with each other? Had she maybe watched too many sappy romance movies?
My heart sped up as I entertained the possibility of Jason enjoying our hug even for a fraction of an instant—just like you did, my mind happily reminded me—but then I remembered something. And I wanted to smack my forehead for acting stupid.
Of course Jason had to look that way if he was any good as an actor. This was nothing personal. Just acting. Why was I forgetting something so basic?
And he was my enemy. As long as he didn’t make things worse for me, it shouldn’t matter how he felt when we were touching or hugging.
No, I needed to get my head back in the game. Concentrate only on what Chloe felt when Nathan touched her, not what I felt when Jason touched me.
So, when we started the scene from the beginning, I gave my best effort to remain focused, and this time, when he asked me why my hands were shaking and took them in his, I was able to stay in character and act out Chloe’s surprise. I was able to look him in the eyes and whisper it was because he was there and I’d wanted that for so long. I was able to hold his gaze for a long time and then hold still as his hands slid up my arms and to my waist, creating all kinds of rampant sensations in me. And I was able to sink into his hug as though it was my next breath, nestling my head against his shoulder as though there was no place I’d rather be but there.
But my heart was a loud, pounding mess the whole time, giving me away.
And I enjoyed that hug a little too much. Not as Chloe.
But as myself.
“Tell me about the accident,” Dr. Peterson said once he’d stationed himself in his tall armchair.
My stomach gave a small flip. I hadn’t known what to expect from this session, but from the moment his nice secretary ushered me in, he’d gone easy on me. Not that it made much difference, because I had the constant reminder in my head that I was here because I was a paraplegic, and I hated my life more.
Dr. Peterson was as old as the hills, so I’d expected his office to reflect that, but I was wrong. It was utterly modern—from the iPad he used to take notes to the Alexa standing in the middle of his Boho coffee table. His laptop was closed, resting next to a Zuzu plant on one side and a big box of tissues on the other. A box I hopefully wouldn’t have to use. The vent above us hummed quietly, joining the distant sounds of traffic.
I’d come here ready to rely on good old yeses and nos as answers, but there was something about him and his office that loosened my tongue.
“I was standing on the sidewalk when this drunk girl, a sixteen-year-old, drove up onto it and hit me. She drove so fast the impact of the hit sent me flying across the street. I was unconscious on the spot, and my life was hanging by a thread. The doctors managed to save me after a long surgery for a traumatic brain injury, and I ended up in a coma. When I woke up ten days later, I was . . . this.” I motioned with my hands at myself.
Dr. Peterson noted something on his iPad, surprising me with the speed at which his fingers moved over the surface.
He adjusted his glasses on his nose. “Were you alone when the accident happened?”
“I—” I stopped myself. I didn’t remember that tidbit. But I didn’t think anyone had been with me since it would’ve come out in the police report and at trial. According to Caroline, I was alone.
Sometimes, it bothered me that I couldn’t remember that night. My nightmares and flashbacks only added fuel to it. Why had I been there? What I knew for sure was that I’d come home from school because my mom had been there to testify to it, but that was the thing—she’d left our house then to visit a sick friend, and Dad had stayed late at work. By the time either of them returned home, I was gone, my phone still in my room. There were no texts or calls that would shed any light on where I’d gone or how I’d ended up in that part of town.
Maybe if I knew what I’d been doing there, I wouldn’t have felt that hopeless about the whole thing.
I wouldn’t have let Jason even for a second get into my head and make me feel as though, yes, it had all been my fault.
I released my fist. “No, I think I was alone. I can’t remember most of that whole day.”
“And what is the last thing you do remember?”
“The light of her headlights just before she hit me.”
My heart accelerated at that memory. I looked through the window. I couldn’t see anything save for maple trees.
“That’s all?”
“Yes.”
He tapped something on his iPad. “Tell me how you felt when you woke up to learn you were paralyzed.”
I glued my gaze to my hands. The echo of the pain and fear I’d felt then pulsed through me. That moment was vivid in my mind, always there to haunt me when I was at my lowest. First, the confusion I’d felt when I couldn’t feel my legs. Then the panic when I’d tried to move them. And then the sheer devastation when the doctor had told me I’d never be able to walk again.
It didn’t settle in at first. I thought they had made a mistake. They had made a grave mistake, and it would soon turn out I was completely fine. It was just temporary. Nothing serious.
But I wasn’t fine. I tried to move each day, tried to push against the invisible wall with all I had, but no amount of strength could help. I waited and I waited . . . I waited for that feeling again. I waited to open my eyes one day and find that the nightmare was over.
But it wasn’t over.
It was quite the opposite—the nightmare showed new facets to it. I came home and realized the lack of sensation in my legs was the least of my problems. For I was shoved into the world of bowel management, self-catheterization, meds, pressure sores, inaccessible spaces, and so much more.
That was when the rage came in.
I felt betrayed. I felt like the whole world had turned against me, for what had I done to deserve something so cruel? Something so essential being taken away from me? There were murderers, rapists, and abusers who walked the earth with absolutely no consequences, while I, just a simple teenager who hadn’t done anything wrong, had to suffer such a fate.
I wanted to scream my lungs out, to break things, to feel at least some control.
But there was no control, and soon, everything morphed into depression and self-denigration. The nightmares and flashbacks were there only to taunt me, as if laughing in my face, reminding me how fucked up everything was. I stopped seeing colors to the world. I stopped enjoying regular things. I didn’t see the point in getting up to live another day.
That was when I started to contemplate dying.
“How I felt? I didn’t believe it immediately. I thought they were wrong and I would feel my legs again, but I didn’t, and then I went through a hard period. I was crying all the time. Nothing seemed to interest me anymore, and I wanted to be alone. I started spending whole days in my room, often skipping the meals my parents were bringing me.”
I inhaled a sharp breath when I felt something wet on my cheeks. I hadn’t felt when the tears started. I jerked my hand up to brush them away, and Dr. Peterson offered me the box of tissues. So much for not using them.
With my cheeks burning, I plucked a tissue from the box and wiped my face.
“Thanks. I’m sorry.”
“That’s what they’re there for, and don’t apologize. Let it all out.” He leaned farther into his armchair. He didn’t look uncomfortable seeing me cry, and I felt silly expecting him to, because of course he wouldn’t. He’d most definitely had countless clients losing it in here.
He didn’t ask me anything else; he waited for me to calm down and continue my story.
“So, I was one very depressed and lonely girl. Everyone wanted to cheer me up. My parents, my best friend, even my physical therapist with his overly loud jokes. But I didn’t have it in me to even fake a smile, and it felt like I’d never find a reason to smile again. I felt useless. I still do.”
“Why do you feel you’re useless, Katie?”
My lips twitched into a half-smile. “Why do you think?”
“I think you’ve gone through something huge and still can’t process it. You still can’t let go of the old Katie.” He shifted so that his arm rested against the armrest. “Tell me about that Katie.”
My gaze went to the wadded-up tissue in my hand. “The old Katie was a very boring person. She didn’t lead an exciting life. Her days were one and the same, just like now, actually. She had only one friend, and she never dated.” I let out an empty chuckle. “Nothing remarkable about her, is there?”
“That Katie must’ve had some interests, right?”
“She loved—I love—acting. Ever since I was a little kid, I liked playing the parts of different characters and pretending I was in front of a camera. And as I grew into a teenager, it served as my only way to experience something different in my life. If you can call that an experience. I lived through those characters. They basically filled my whole day, and sometimes I’d perform well into the night, unable to sleep because I was having so much fun with it. Other than that? Watching movies. Movies and TV shows.”
He asked me about my dreams and school. I told him about the stares I was receiving, but also about the few mean comments, and how I felt like I belonged there even less now than before. I had just enough time to tell him about the nightmares and flashbacks and how specific they were before our time ran out.
“We’re going to talk more about the nightmares next time, Katie. But I have a little homework for you. Every time you have a nightmare or a flashback, write them down. Note everything you saw. Maybe in time you’ll be able to glean more details from them, and we’ll see how we can work on them.”
“You think they’re important?”
“You went through a trauma, Katie. It has naturally left a mark. This way we’ll try to decipher it and see where it will lead us. See if it can help you come to terms with what happened that night.”
“You mean with my paralysis.”
“That too.”
“That doesn’t seem at all likely.”
“It’s completely normal that you feel that way right now.”
I raised my brows. “It is?”
“You feel as though something was stolen from you. You feel it’s unfair and undeserved. This is something new, something that was forced upon you, so of course you’ll feel that way.” He placed his iPad on his desk and leaned closer to me. His expression turned encouraging. “But humans are interesting creatures. We can adapt to anything. Even when it feels as if we’ve reached the very bottom, like there’s nowhere to go anymore, it turns out there’s something that keeps us afloat. And before we know it, a door we didn’t know existed opens, and life isn’t so difficult anymore.
“Katie, I won’t lie to you. You have a long way ahead of you. But you’re here, and that’s an important part of your journey. The first part. Gradually, in time, your journey will become easier. In time, you’ll be able to learn to live with your disability. Until then, take it easy. Try to find something positive in the present and enjoy the moment. The rest will come in time.”
“So, did you kiss yet?” Dylan asked, her eyes firmly on the road. Of all the things I’d told her since getting into her car this morning, detailing my first therapy session and the first rehearsal, this was the only thing she wanted to follow up on.
“Not yet, and Ms. Holloway wants it to be real. No faking.”
“You know you won’t be able to avoid it for much long.”
“I know. I just don’t know how Jason will react. I’m guessing all hell will break loose. Although . . .”
“Although, what?”
“He was good when he had to hug me. Convincing. Even Ms. Holloway said so.”
She adjusted her vintage black retro glasses. She didn’t need glasses, but she wore fake ones just for the hell of it. “You know as well as I do he’s a good actor. A little too good, in my opinion.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, you’ve heard the stories. He can make you feel like he really cares about you, and then the next thing you know, you’re left with a broken heart. Half of the math club can’t stop talking about him. And don’t get me started on his size.” She rolled her eyes.
