One Past Midnight (11 page)

He ignored me and started unwrapping the bandage until he got down to the Band-Aids. He was shaking his head, not looking at me.

I tried to squirm away. “Don't touch me.”

‘Trust me, I'd prefer I didn't have to, but these need to be cleaned properly. Did you even bother to wash them, or were you hoping you'd die from an infection?” His eyes darted from my arm to my face, daring me to argue. Carefully he began removing the Band-Aids.

I bit the inside of my cheek and refused to show any reaction when the last one, which had dried to the wound, was eased off. Ethan was breathing heavily through his nose, shaking his head every few minutes. I felt like a two-year-old.

He disappeared and came back with a tray of ointments and fresh bandages.

“I don't need this from you,” I said, after one too many headshakes.

He paused, mouth half open like he was about to say something, but then he just went back to tending my arm. I don't think I'd ever met anyone so frustratingly obnoxious.

I felt my face heat up. “If you just undo these straps, I can do it myself.”

“That's not going to happen.”

Now it was my turn to shake my head. “You don't know me. You don't know the first thing about me.”

“Let me guess. There's more than one of these
harmless
little cuts on your body?”

I didn't answer.

He gave a grim smile. “Thought so. I guess I know something about you then. Where are they?”

I didn't answer again.

He grabbed a handful of my blanket. “I'll pull it off if I have to.”

“And I'll scream bloody murder! Who the hell do you think you are?” I snapped.

He didn't let go of the blanket. “I'm the guy who has to come in here and clean you up. So when you're done feeling sorry for yourself,
if
that's possible, would you mind telling me where the rest are so I can get this done and get on with something else.” His tone was even, but the words cut.

I considered a long list of ways I could tell him to go screw himself. But there was something . . . It wasn't like with Mom and Dad. He was angry at me, which he had little right to be, since he didn't even know me, but there was an urgency to it. To
fix
me. Not my head, but my body.

I sighed. “I'll tell you if you promise me one thing.”

That earned me another headshake. “Whatever you're going to ask for, I can't do it. Can't get you out, can't get you drugs, can't smuggle you food, can't get you a phone, can't take you for a joyride, can't even bring you a toothbrush.”

“You can do this much, I know you can.” I'd heard Mitch tell him.

He clenched his jaw. “What?”

I took a deep breath. “Promise me that before midnight . . . Swear that you'll release me from the restraints. I need to know that at midnight I won't be tied down.”

His confusion showed. “Why?”

“Does it matter? I'm here and can't go anywhere. It's just . . . It's important to me. Please.”

He paused, watching me curiously. “What's going on with you, Sabine?”

“That's . . . It's complicated, Ethan, and we don't have time.” And then our eyes locked, and without thinking the mouth that had already landed me in so much trouble today opened again. “But if you truly want to know, I'll tell you. Another time.”

He kept watching me. “And why would you do that?”

I shrugged. “Well, I'm already tied up. Things can't get much worse.”

Ethan gave a small nod. “Famous last words,” he muttered. “Where are they, Sabine?”

“Promise me.”

For a moment I thought he was going to say no, but then he sighed. “You won't be restrained at midnight. You have my word.”

“And I can trust your word?” I asked, watching him carefully.

He half-smiled. “With your life.”

It was a dig, but somehow I knew it was also the truth.

“My right thigh and stomach. And I didn't break my own wrist.”

His look softened momentarily before he got back to work, moving the blanket up from the bottom of the bed to reveal one leg, folding back my hospital gown until he found the bandages.

As he peeled back the Band-Aids, I tried not to cringe.

“That one isn't as bad,” I said.

There was a sharp intake of breath when he got the last of the bandages off. “Jesus. What did you do this with, a butter knife?”

“Scissors and a razor. The scissors were a bad idea.”

“You think?” he deadpanned, then went back to shaking his head. “Does your life mean so little to you?”

“No. Having a life is exactly why I'm doing this. And you can stop shaking your head like it matters to you. You don't even know me, or care.”

After he'd finished re-dressing my thigh, he lifted my gown to just below my chest without looking, and then replaced the blanket at my waist. It was gentlemanly. Even if his other actions weren't. The rest of him radiated anger.

“I don't know you. What
I
care about is being made an accessory to suicide.”

“
What?
”

Ignoring me, he pulled the Band-Aid off the cut beneath my ribs and studied it. “So you started on your thigh, moved to this, and then your arm?”

I blinked. “How . . . ? How do you . . . ?”

He shook his head again and it made me want to scream. They get progressively neater and deeper. I saw your bag yesterday at the store. You were planning, weren't you?”

I looked away.

“Knew it. And that book? All planning, wasn't it?”

“Yes, but not for what you think. I mean, take a look, Ethan. Do you think I'm really that stupid? Do you think I would cut myself on my thigh, my stomach, and my upper arm if I wanted to die? My parents own a drugstore. Do you think I don't know the long list of how and how not to kill yourself?”

He crossed his arms as I went on the attack. Somehow it made me even more annoyed.

“Do you think I
want
this? To have everyone call me crazy? Think I would put myself in this position willingly for a failed attempt at death-by-small-cut-to-the-thigh? Yes, okay, I did it, but I have my reasons. And if you saw that stuff in my bag and thought I might be doing something with it, why didn't you just say something?”

Ethan stared at me. Time stretched. I was out of words and simply exhausted. Just when I thought he wasn't going to respond, he began to speak. “You were . . .” He clenched his jaw. This time he seemed unhappy with himself rather than me. “I saw that stuff in your bag, so I went with you on your errands. I looked for signs.” He glanced down at his hands. “I thought . . . You didn't fit the mold. You talked about your future, seemed so full of life.”

After that, he left the room. I panicked that he wouldn't come back. That he would leave me tied up as some kind of punishment. But a few minutes later he returned. With a syringe.

I tried to back away, but the restraints stopped me and my broken wrist ached at the pressure.

“Ethan, I . . .”

Shit.

He was going to put me under. I'd dealt with the issue of the restraints, but not this.

“Is there anything I can do to convince you not to drug me until after midnight?”

“No.” He didn't even look at me.

“Ethan, I'm sorry, okay. I was angry. You try being tied to a bed and drugged. It's not a happy time.”

He paused. “What is it with you and midnight?”

I wanted to cry. “Please. Please don't do this. It will . . . It hurts . . . It . . .”

“You're shaking,” he said, now watching me intently.

“It frightens me. Please.” I looked at him, trying to hold his gaze while he watched me. “I'll do anything.”

He reached forward and moved a strand of my dark hair out of my eyes, his own eyes shadowed with sadness. “That's just the problem, Sabine. You could do anything.” His hand dropped away quickly.

The syringe stung.

Tears streamed even as I tried to blink them away. The drug kicked in fast.

“I'm so alone,” I stammered, feeling empty and cold as everything went black around the edges.

“You're not alone, Sabine,” he whispered. “You're lost.”

The last thing I felt before I lost consciousness was the release of the restraints from my wrists. I'd be free of them when I shifted at midnight.

Ethan had made sure I'd know.

I stretched out like a cat, silk sheets gliding beneath my hands. The morning birds were out in full force, probably nesting in the tree outside my room.

As lucidity wormed its way into me, the memory of the last twenty-four hours descended like a heavy blanket. My parents. Being hauled away. The hospital. Ethan.

Ethan. Drugging me, putting me under.

Ethan releasing the restraints, shaking his head at me, dressing my wounds, and that small gesture: brushing the hair from my eyes.

I'd been locked up. Medicated.

I'd been put on SW!

I bolted upright in bed. Everything had turned to shit.

My hands bunched up my silk sheets, gripping hard. The morning birds kept chirping. I'd slept right through the Shift
and I was grateful for the small reprieve. Mom called out from downstairs. She was leaving, but she'd left waffles in the kitchen. Sunday ritual.

I glanced around my same-as-always Wellesley bedroom.

Everything had gone wrong.

“But not here,” I whispered to myself. “Everything's still okay—
here
.”

After staring into thin air for a while, routine kicked in. I got out of bed, showered, and dressed.

I was downstairs, lost in thought and nibbling on cold waffles, when the sound of the doorbell almost made me fall off my kitchen stool.

Both hands on the front door, I peered around the small crack to find Dex wearing an eager smile on the other side.

“You okay? You look like you expect someone to jump out of the bushes and attack?” he joked.

He didn't realize how right he was. With everything that had happened in my other life, it was exactly what part of me had expected. I tried to relax my stance and let the door drift open.

His eyes widened. “Whoa! I mean,
whoa
. Your hair! You look . . .” He fumbled, something Dex, athletic god loved by all, did not do very often. “Hot.”

The corners of my mouth curled into a smile as I patted my newly blond hair. “Thanks.”

“No, I don't think I'm being clear here. I mean, you look . . .” And then his eyes traveled down my body and up again, and I knew exactly what he was thinking.

“You're being plenty clear, Dex,” I said.

His gaze flicked back to mine sheepishly. “I really can't wait until graduation. You and me, we're so right together.” He pulled me into his arms hungrily. “Everyone envies what we have.”

Something about what he said touched a nerve, and I felt uncomfortable in his arms. And unsure why. In many ways it was true—Dex and I
were
a golden couple. Our friends all spoke about us as if we were perfect for each other. Even Dex's controlling parents had given me the big vote of approval. Essentially we were a great fit, but it being so important to Dex that everyone knew it unsettled me.

But I didn't want to upset anything in this world right now, so I planted a quick kiss on his lips before moving casually out of his hold.

“I can't wait for graduation either,” I said with a small smile.

He closed the distance again. “You know, we don't exactly
have
to. By the looks of it, your mom's not home.” He raised his eyebrows suggestively.

In some ways, I agreed. I would have preferred less buildup around our “first time”—just getting it over with seemed an easier option. But at the same time . . . I found
myself smiling back at him and saying, “I've planned the whole night, Dex. It's only days away. Patience.”

He bit his lower lip. I could see he wanted to argue, but the gentleman in him won out and he nodded. “I can be patient when I know what's waiting at the end.” A devilish smile played on his lips. “And anyway . . .”—he stepped back, putting a little space between us, for which I was grateful— “I came to see if you wanted to see a movie in the city.”

My knees almost gave out under me. “The city . . . Boston?”

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, Sabine. The city. I know you don't love going into Boston, but they have the best movie theaters, and I thought it would be nice to get out of Wellesley for the day. What do you say?”

I usually avoided city outings like the plague, trying to stay off the streets of my other life. It felt wrong. On so many levels. One time curiosity had led me to the address of my other home, only to discover that while the house was still there, it wasn't the same. Just like everything in my two worlds, it was similar and yet just slightly “off.” To start with, another family lived there, and they—or the previous owners—had attempted to build an addition. Since then, being anywhere near Roxbury unnerved me. I preferred to keep my two lives completely separate.