Break (16 page)

“Jonah. Jonah.”

It’s Tyler. I sit up. My eyes sting like I’ve soaked them in acid.

Tyler’s a film noir character in the half-light from my window. “Look,” he says, and holds out his hand.

His ring finger is bent and swollen.

I grab his hand and dig around in my backpack until I find a roll of medical tape. “You’re going to be fine,” I say. “Don’t let the doctor see. Please. Please don’t let him see.”

He smiles like a maniac. “Jonah,” he says. “The good of the group, right? You’re a fucking genius.”

Then it’s Halloween.

JESSE. I WALK OUT OF ARTS AND CRAFTS THE NEXT
morning, not perfect, but not altogether worse for wear, and there he is, chatting with Mackenzie at the desk while he signs the visitor’s clipboard.

I approach him. “You skipped school to be here?”

He shrugs. “At least there’s no chance of Mom and Dad bothering us. And there’s a notable lack of shrieking babies.”

“Rather extreme, brother.” I remember last time and say, “You want to go outside?”

I take him through the back doors, out to the courtyard. We sit on the rickety bench, and Jesse drags a stick across the ground.

“They really give you a lot of freedom, here, don’t they?”

“Yeah.”

“Couldn’t you just run away?”

I point toward the gates that block us from the real world and shake my bracelet. “Sensors go off if I get too close. It’s an illusionary freedom. How’s everything?”

“Fine.” He takes my arm and compares my crazy-bracelet to the med-alert tags on his wrist.

“Healthy?”

“Yes, Jonah.” He shakes back his tags and spies the basketball by the side of the court. “Hey, you want to play?”

“Is this just revenge for asking if you’re healthy? Okay. I didn’t mean it. I don’t care if you’re healthy. Want a peanut butter sandwich?”

“Shut up.” He stands up and throws the ball at me. “Let’s go.”

Jesse got taller than me when we were six and seven. That was also the last year I could beat him in any kind of sport. But I give it my all, just like always, because it’s what he expects even though I’m not feeling very basketbally at the moment. And it’s not as if I can move much.

He fakes left and almost sends me toppling. “Reflexes, brother. Haven’t improved, haveya?”

“Oh, hush.”

He holds the ball over his head. “No toes. Can’t jump.”

“I’ll do it.”

“Don’t.” He dribbles right and throws the ball toward the hoop like he’s punishing it. It sinks right through the net.

He smiles and flicks a bit of sweat off his forehead.

“You terrify me.”

He retrieves the ball and offers his other arm to me. “Want to go? I’ll pick you up.”

“You could not pick me up with one arm.”

“Hell yeah, I could.” He grabs me around the waist, under the sling, and lifts me a full foot off the ground. “Hurting your ribs?”

“Uh-uh. Holy shit, you’re strong.” I take the ball from him, balance it in my one hand, and shoot. “Score.”

“Yep. Putting you down. Watch your toes, okay?”

He could keep playing for ages, I know, but he senses I’m getting tired and guides me over to the bench. “How’s everything here?” he asks.

I consider telling him about Tyler and Leah, then decide that would be a really, really bad idea. “Fine,” I say. “The people here are wearing on me. I kind of want to come home.”

“Kind of?” He stretches his legs out. “I miss you like fuckass.”

“I know. But you’re doing okay without me.”

“Stop saying that.” Jess’s cell phone timer goes off and he pops a few pills into his mouth. “You look exhausted.”

“I haven’t been sleeping much.”

“Yeah, me neither.” He shifts and pulls his legs onto the bench. “So when are you coming home?”

“It’s sort of hard to say. The psychiatrist doesn’t think I’m ready.” I pull on my fingers. “Doesn’t believe me when I say I’m not breaking anymore.”

“But you aren’t, are you?”

I shake my head.

“But he doesn’t believe you?”

“He said nothing’s changed. Said there’s no real reason for me to change my behavior, and that people don’t just change without motivation.”

“He’s keeping you here to spout philosophies at you?”

“I just don’t understand what he expects me to change. That’s the whole damn problem, is that I can’t change anything.”

Jess scratches his cheek. “Maybe I could talk to him. Tell him we need you at home?”

“Stop scratching. And you’re not going to convince anybody. You got to just wait it out, Jess. They’re treating me well. Give me, like, a week to convince them I’m not crazy, and I’ll be at home making you sick just like always.”

He scratches his wrist. “What’d you say?”

“Nothing. Why are you scratching so much?”

He shrugs.

“You okay?”

He shrugs again, and I know what that means. And he starts clearing his throat. Shit.

“All right,” I say. “Come inside and wash your hands. You probably just touched something.”

He nods. He’s making those I-trust-you eyes.

“You have the Epi? Just in case?”

“Uh-huh.”

“All right. Come on. You’re okay.” I haul him up and lead him through the doors. “Mackenzie,” I say. “Do you have a bathroom on this floor we can use?”

She makes speed-of-light eye contact with me. I bite my lip.

She says, “Just bring him upstairs. It’s fine. I’ll clear it.”

“Thanks, you.”

She nods.

Once we’re in the elevator, I give Jesse a real examination. His eyes are red and swollen, but he’s not too broken out. “I think you’re allergic to this building.”

He squeezes his runny nose. “What a surprise.”

I bring him to the bathroom I share with Tyler and help him splash his face with water.

“You’re wheezing a little bit,” I say. “Is this going to be a big thing?”

God please no please no please no not
again
.

He inhales, slowly. “Just let me sit in your room for a while, okay?”

I bring him into my room and we sit on the floor, our backs against the bed. He puts his head on my shoulder and closes his eyes.

Tyler peeks in, his taped-up fingers on the door frame. “Hey,” he says.

I give him an apologetic smile and mouth,
Go away
.

He points at Jesse. “He okay?”

“He’s great. Can we get a minute, Tyler?”

He nods and whispers, “Sorry” on his way out.

“Who was that?” Jesse asks.

“Tyler. Just one of the boys here.”

“What happened to his hand?”

“Don’t worry about it.” I feel Jess’s heartbeat on my shoulder, and it’s slow and steady. Which could be good or bad, depending on how serious this reaction is. “You’re fine.” I grip his hand. “Everything’s fine.”

I feel my heart going double time to his.

Please be okay.

Please be okay.

He sneezes into my shirt. “Please be okay,” I say.

“Okay.”

“God, Jess, I’m sorry. Wait.” I find an extra dose of Benadryl in my backpack and make him take it. He keeps snuffling for a few minutes, but his breathing comes back and the whites of his eyes lighten and I see the reaction slow and then stop.

“Y’okay?” I say.

“Yeah.”

Fuck, why did I make him come here? He was perfectly healthy, and I drag him here when I
know
this place is bad for him. I could kill myself.

“You sure you’re going to be fine?”

“Positive. But I should probably go.”

“Of course.”

I get Jesse off the floor and dust him off. I put my hand on his chest and make him breathe, check his jaw for hives, make him open his mouth so I can look at his throat . . . just all the shit you have to do.

He’s fine.

“You should probably just call next time,” I tell him, and my stomach hurts.

And he looks like his does too. “I need to see you.”

“I know you do, Jess, but—”

“Jonah!” Mackenzie’s voice rings through the hallway like an alarm bell. I hear every muscle clenched in her throat. “Jonah, come here!”

She’s in the hall on her knees, clutching her arm. Her wrist is swollen and turning purple.

I say, “Did you . . . fall?”

Jesse skids beside me. “Oh my God.”

She keeps sputtering.

I drop to my knees next to Mackenzie. “What did you do?” I grab the tops of her arms and shake her. “What the fuck did you do?”

“I slipped,” she says. “It was an accident! It was just—”

Jesse’s white against the wall. “Oh my God.”

I shout, “Jesse, sit down!”

“What the hell is going on here?”

The unfamiliar voice breaks up all our screaming. No one speaks while I turn around.

A nurse stands above us. Her huge eyes dart from Mackenzie’s broken wrist to illegal visitor Jesse. To me.

I’m crazy dizzy and I barely remember to tell the nurse not to touch Jesse as she forces him downstairs.

I’m crazy dizzy and I don’t know what happens to Mackenzie. I just know the psychiatrist stands over me and smiles this wicked smile and says, “Well, well, Jonah.”

I just know they take me in the elevator and hit the 3.

IT TURNS OUT ISOLATION IS WORSE THAN ELECTRO-
shock therapy.

I feel like Rapunzel. Except no long hair.

And there is one door and one window. But the door is locked and the window is high and instead of curtains it has bars.

And through the window all you can see are skeletons of cherry trees. This is what they were hiding behind those trees. Third floor.

I hope Jesse’s okay.

This room is much bigger than my last. There’s no carpet, just an empty bookshelf and a cot. A tiny little intercom. Just tile floor and bare walls.

I sit on the floor with my shirt off, hoping the chill off the plaster can cool me down. And every time I worry about Jesse I start shaking even harder.

I’ve got to get out of here.

Jesse had hives when he left. He could have been driving home and his throat could have closed up and he could have crashed and it could have been all. My. Fault.

This room would be so much less scary if it were smaller.

I pound my cast against the floor. My swollen hand fights back. “Tyler!” I shout. “Tyler, I’m in fucking isolation! Get me out of here!”

The intercom buzzes and the psychiatrist says, “Jonah, quiet. It’s only a few days.”

I’m trembling so hard I hear my backbone hitting the wall.

“We can’t take the risk of you hurting more people,” he says.

I think if I’m going to keep on living, everyone’s just going to have to accept that I am going to hurt people.

I start crying, and the tears are even hotter than my face. “It’s not on purpose!” I shout. “Tyler!”

“He can’t hear you,” the intercom says. “You might as well just quiet down and try to get some rest.” The microphone clicks off.

My parents would come down with a fucking lawsuit if they knew what these people were doing to me. I wonder what everyone downstairs would say. I wonder if they know.

I wonder what Jesse would say. I wonder what Charlotte would say.

I wonder if she’d realize, finally, that some people are crazier than me.

I can’t believe they took my cell phone.

Charlotte. God, I need her so badly it’s hurting in the back of my head and there’s got to be a way I’ve got to have another chance with her there’s got to be a way I can get out of here and—

A voice says, “Jonah?”

I snap my eyes open, but it’s just the intercom.

“This is Nurse Bluser, Jonah. I’ve been assigned to your case.”

I say, “Hi.”

“You ready to admit what you’ve done, Jonah?”

“What?”

“What did you do to Leah and Mackenzie?”

“I didn’t do
anything
.”

My teeth are chattering, so I put my shirt on and crawl into the bed. The mattress is ridged and smells like urine.

She keeps talking, and I cover my ears up tight. I toss back and forward like I really think I can sleep. I sing, badly, to a Weezer song.

I have no clue how much time passes between the brutal singing and when I hear a key in the lock of my prison.

But I sit straight up, and the sweaty sheets fall right off my shoulders.

It’s Mackenzie. She’s out of her volunteer polo and is wearing a T-shirt and jeans. Her wrist’s in a splint. She probably went to one of those corporate hospitals that can’t figure out how to set and cast on the same day.

She holds her fingers to her lips and then edges the door shut. She takes a screwdriver out of her pocket and carefully disconnects the intercom. It lifts off the wall and hangs from a bunch of wires, and she snips them all with a pair of nail scissors.

“We don’t have much time,” she says.

“Hi,” I say, and then I can’t stop saying it. “Hi. Hi. Hi. Hi.”

She comes to my bed and puts her hand all over my forehead and the back of my neck.

“Is your brother okay?” she says.

“I’ve got to find out, yeah?” My heart is screaming inside my chest.

“Uh-huh. God, you’re sweaty.”

“Mackenzie, Mackenzie. You’re letting me out, right?”

She leans very close to me. “There are stairs down the hall. Code for the lock. It’s Four-four-two-five. Run down the stairs, three flights, and you’ll get to a back door. Don’t stop running. Get the hell out of here.”

“Okay,” I whisper.

I head toward the door, and she says, “Wait.” I turn around and she hugs me.

She cuts my bracelet off and says, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

She just smiles, and my stomach churns.

“No,” I say. “It was an accident. This isn’t my fault.” I bend over and cough, and she puts her hand on my back. “None of this is my fault,” I insist. “I’ve got to get out of here.”

She opens the door, and I run down the hall. My breath rags and threatens to make me cough again. I no longer give a shit about my broken toes. Any second I’m sure I’m going to hear sirens. . . . Any second they’re going to drag me back. . . . They’re going to tie me up. . . .

4425.

The door won’t open.

Oh, God. I’ve been set up.

She’s working for them. Her wrist isn’t really broken. It’s all an act and I’m screwed I’m screwed I’m fucking screwed.