Trying To Endure

Chapter Thirty-Two

I love stiles. 

SONG: Glass Animals - Heat Waves

Trigger warning: references to self-harm, institutional mistreatment, suicide. 

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Derek Matthews

The Matthews Tower is an extensive, mammoth, awe-struck skyscraper circumscribed in vigorous viridescent, sixty floors, glass walls imprinted with the luminous beacon M.

A dimming radiance, grounds layered and layered of cracked leaves rustling like hissing snakes, dancing and elevating in circles. I steer to the underground parking lot. Grey, contemporary, fluorescent tubes, sturdy poles upholding the low ceiling.

April struggles to detach the modular helmet's strap. "I honestly thought you were going to kill me."

That was random.

"You are delusional to think I'd waste my time doing that."

"Well, you'd be doing a favour."

I frown at her choice of words. Three months ago, I would have joked along and agreed. "Again, you are delusional to think I'd waste my time doing that. Let me help," I insist, cringing as she wrenches on the strap. "You'll rip it and I can't be asked to get another helmet."

She dubiously drops her hands. I try to suppress the smirk at her mortified, velvet cheeks. Her blush is endearing, I suppose.

In the grandiose lobby, an instant welcome of reviving air-conditioning, scraping my nostrils like needles. Polished, marble floors and walls. A double staircase meanders upward to the first floor, and each barrier of each floor, bristling with workers, overlooks the foyer, blessed to witness a stream of spherical lights, suspended by the oblong ceiling twenty feet above. Clients in elegant attires rest in the lounge area — voluminous, black sofas, several glass coffee tables —, nattering to their colleagues, sipping tea and refreshment drinks.

The receptionist straightens. On the flawless, variegated wall behind is a stupendous portrait of Dad. In memory of Samuel Rhodes Matthews.

"Good afternoon, Mr Matthews."

"Good afternoon, Arnav."

Arnav eyes April, who offers a cute wave. "This is the special guest?"

"He kidnapped me," says April.

"Arnav, do you hear something?"

The receptionist curiously flickers between April and I, a glint in his gaze. He erupts into a hearty smile, somewhat satisfied and relieved.

"What?" I say.

"Nothing. Just ... quite concerned that you kidnapped her."

His side was chosen.

"He's planning to kill me," she deadpans. "Can you help me escape before I see Jesus?"

"Why do you want to ... kill this young girl?"

"I was hoping she's valuable." I peer at her, toe to hair. "Disappointing to be let down."

She looks at Arnav. "Do you hear something?"

Arnav shakes his head. "Not really."

"Tell her she's not valuable."

She counters, "Tell him he's wrong."