CHAPTER SEVEN | HEATHER MILLER
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At first, there's silence.
People in the main lobby glare at us, quietly shooting daggers at her for speaking so loud in a library, out of all places, but Betty hardly seems fazed about what just happened. Though she lowers her arm, she advances in confident strides towards the reception area, where no one stands behind the counter, and we wait.
I'm dying to explore the library and its selection of books, but the murderous looks being shot our way root me in place, even though Betty has since gone quiet and I have yet to open my mouth. I'm guessing they're also side-eyeing baby Sidney, who has done nothing wrong and is truly the best companion I could have asked for, so well-behaved I don't have to pull her back by her leash to prevent her from running off. I bring her service tag with me wherever I go to try and avoid awkward situations like that one from the bus that first day and it usually works, but occasionally I get the stink eye from nearby people.
The smell of fried fish is getting a bit unbearable, especially in a closed room, even though most of the windows are open—like it's not about to start pouring outside, a kind of bravery I've never been subject to—and regret briefly flashes across Betty's facial expression. I open my mouth to tell her that we should have brought something less overpowering for Odette's lunch, but she rings the small bell on the counter and I miss my chance.
Then, a dark-haired girl leaves the office behind the counter, eyebrows furrowed, and I'd have to be terribly oblivious to not notice the way Betty completely lights up at the sight of her. That doesn't soften the brunette's reaction, though; if anything, she looks more annoyed than anything else.
"You know, it wouldn't kill you to be discreet," she tells Betty, yanking the bag right out of her hands and peeking inside. "Fried fish?"
"We stopped for fish tacos on our way here," Betty explains, nudging me with a jab of the elbow to my ribs. I stumble forward, supporting myself on the edge of the counter so I don't fall face first against it. "Odie, meet Wendy. Wendy, that's Odie. You've heard of her, right? I might have mentioned her a couple of times."
"Please don't call me Odie." She sets the bag aside, then raises her hands, covered by latex gloves. "I'd greet you, but we're cleaning old books at the back, and I don't want you to start sneezing all over the place. Sorry. I'm Odette. Don't listen to Betty; the nickname is abhorrent and she knows it. Coming from someone who demands people not call her Elizabeth, you'd expect her to have some tact." She tucks a loose lock of hair behind her ear, one that has escaped her messy bun. "You can go on ahead to the meeting room with the food. Store it somewhere so it doesn't bother people with the smell. I'll meet you guys once I'm done back there."
She spins around on her heel and disappears back into the room she came from. I blink, dumbfounded with the whole interaction and how quick it was, while Betty reaches out for the bag again and drags me behind her by an arm. The other people in the building have since stopped paying attention to us and I'm grateful to fade back into my little bubble, where there's no spotlight above my head. My skin tingles where she touches me, a feeling I've only ever fallen prey to around Zach, and I'm not quite sure what to make of it.
In the meeting room, we have the entire place for ourselves, as Betty signed her name at the front desk to reserve it, and I quietly occupy one of the multiple vacant seats. Though the chairs are pillowed, they're not soft or comfortable and I have to shift my position around a few times instead of sitting like a shrimp. Betty remains standing up, pacing around the room, doodling on the white board with markers as she waits, and I can't help but get a nervous vibe coming from her.
I'd ask what's going on, but I don't. Instead, I just sit there like a shy idiot, hands folded over my lap. Raindrops pelt the windows like bullets and my brain can't fully tune it out by itself, even when I lean forward to rest my forehead against my fist, below firmly set on the round table. Betty doesn't notice my overwhelm, still busy with her doodles and with glancing out of the door to check on Odette, but Sidney does.
As usual, she presses her nose against my knee in an attempt to remind me of her presence, then fully rests her head—so big and so small at the same time—on my thigh, letting out a deep sigh. There's no way that she knows the range of weapons used that night—there weren't many, just His sharp machete and my measly baseball bat—but she's trained for these situations and I assume she recognizes potential triggers. Even if she still has work to do regarding environmental triggers, she can read my facial expressions and general body language accurately, so accurately it's a bit disorienting sometimes.
For that, I'm grateful. I'm grateful she doesn't need me to translate all these emotions and feelings into words, especially when I can barely describe them myself without running the risk of people thinking it's weird or an overreaction. I shouldn't need to have my feelings validated by other people and I'm the only one who knows how I feel, but having some external support would help with the rationalization of it all, the thing people claim will help me in return.
When Odette graces us with her presence, my heartbeat has returned to normal and is no longer thudding impossibly fast in terror. The feeling of imminent danger has subsided and I almost feel okay now, in a setting that should bring me nothing but comfort; after all, I've always liked books and learning. Like it always happens, I blame it on my circumstances instead of acknowledging any personal responsibility.
"I am starving," Odette complains, pulling the chair directly in front of mine, and Betty falls to the one next to hers like an obedient puppy. I don't make any comments about their dynamics or the nature of their relationship—Betty said they were best friends, nothing more than that—since it's not my place to do so or make any assumptions, but I see the way Betty looks at her, much like I notice the way Odette doesn't. "Jesus Christ. I almost thought I'd never get to enjoy my lunch break. I've been stuck in that room for hours and I'll have to go back."
"Good thing we busted you out, then," Betty remarks.
Odette's eyes briefly dart towards her in a good-spirited glare. "You didn't bust me out. You busted into the building, screaming at the top of your lungs like you don't know the rules." She starts unwrapping the packaged lunch and the cutlery and the combination of the two most prominent smells in the room—fried fish and disinfectant from the bleach someone used to clean the floor—makes me gag. "I know this place is an absolute delight, but yelling in the lobby and bringing fried fish into a public library? It's not a good look. It's a miracle I didn't get scolded by my supervisor."
"She probably had her nose glued to a book and hardly noticed it at all."
"It makes me look irresponsible. You know I need this job."
Betty frowns. "Your parents are rich."
"Exactly. My parents. God forbid I do something for myself." She shakes her head, while Betty tries her best not to look hurt by the frigid tone in her voice, but I notice the way she stops leaning forward and sinks lower into her seat. "So. Wendy. What's your deal? What's your story?"
I straighten my back as much as my chair allows. "Oh, I . . ." I momentarily glance at Betty for support, since she has been the one explaining to people who I am, but she's too busy examining a strand of red hair to notice my silent pleas for help. "I just moved here. From Chicago."
"That's unexpected. Not a lot of people do." She looks at me—really looks at me, like Betty did the other day when I was standing right outside the kitchen—and a flicker of recognition flies before her eyes. "Ah. You're with Xavier, right? He also moved here from Chicago. Xavier Collier. Owns a bar. Betty's crush."
Betty gasps in incredulity, cheeks flushed pink. "He is not my—"
"He's my brother," I say. "I'm staying with him."
Odette nods. I know she knows who I am from that brief exchange, especially after all the comments on true crime from yesterday. "Cool. I take it you're attending UAS, yeah?"
"Just got accepted for the fall semester. It's my sophomore year."
"Really? So's ours. What do you study? Maybe we're taking the same classes."
"English. There was this time I considered minoring in History, but I was barely holding it together halfway through freshman year, so I knew I wouldn't be able to do both." She nods again. I can't shake off the feeling that I'm being examined and analyzed, and find myself wondering what she expected me to be like when she first heard about me. It was probably through Betty and true crime, probably through the news, with Xavier living here and all. Maybe she thought I'm a miniature version of Xavier—and maybe the fact that I'm not brings her either joy or disappointment. "Betty does pre-law, right?"
Odette's lips hint at a bitter smile, but she regains her composure so quickly I assume I imagined it. "Technically no. She's with me, since there's no law school in Alaska, but she has an advisor. She's my mom's greatest joy, which can't be said about me. I'm getting a degree in Social Science, which neither of my parents classify as actual sciences, but . . . you know. We'll probably see each other quite often on campus."
One of the windows is ajar and the harsh gusts of wind smack it wide open, startling the three of us. Sidney's ears perk up and she straightens with a jolt, alert to any possible threats, and we all sit there, waiting for something to happen. Blood pools in my mouth after I bit my tongue when I jumped on my seat, neck cramping from turning my head too quickly to face the source of the sound.
Odette shoots me a curious look from the corner of her eye, so quickly I nearly miss it as I turn back around, but I suspect that was the whole point. I get it a lot, even back home; people will look at me loosely, watching me for any signs that point towards an incoming breakdown, like they expect me to crack.
I really, really wish people would stop doing that.
I know I don't have the best track record of proving I'm handling things the best I can, considering I can't deal with loud, sudden noises or walking around by myself, but all I can say in response is that I'm freaking trying, even if it's not enough. It should be enough for me, not for anyone else, but it makes my heart ache to know I'm not making any progress on my own. As always, I'm crushed by the weight of my expectations for myself, after spending so much time trying to convince myself I didn't need a faulty therapist or the support of other Final Girls, but there I am—miserable.
Every day, I try to fit into what they want me to be—the concept they made up in their heads about how I should feel, think, and behave, but I can't fit into this one-sized space no matter how hard I work. At the end of the day, it's for the sake of validation that I'm not even sure why I'm chasing, but it's horribly addicting and I've fallen prey to the desperate need to be seen and liked by my so-called peers.
It's horrible and exploitative, when the only thing connecting us all together is a major trauma that left everyone but us dead, and these are the only other people who understand, even if not completely. Everyone's situation is inherently different, even those with the same basic premise—summer camp massacre, sorority house massacre—but no one will ever know exactly how someone else is dealing with things. They weren't there.
We leave shortly after Odette finishes eating, now that Betty's mood has been ruined, and I selfishly sigh with relief that it wasn't my fault this time. I quickly regain control of my thoughts and feelings, not wanting to pat myself on the back for doing absolutely nothing to help the one person who has been nice and not condescending to me in this town, but I'm still unable to provide any words of comfort.
She looks wrecked by the time we get out of the car and I open my mouth to ask her if I'll see her tomorrow, but she turns her back to me and leaves towards her house like she doesn't even notice a thing. Dejected, I free Sidney from her leash, and release her so she can run across the front yard towards Xavier, who's standing by the door, waiting for me.
It's a routine I can get used to, I think, knowing there will always be someone making sure I get home safe. I don't know whether the same can be said about him—if this is sustainable for him. I force myself to think about something else.
I've ruined enough things already.
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The following week, I've bored myself to tears in the solitude of my bedroom, with Xavier having gone out for groceries first thing in the morning so there will be something to cook for lunch.
Back home, I wasn't eating much. I prepared easy meals whenever I could muster getting out of bed, but those were my good days. Most of the time, I snacked, and nearly not enough, so the pounds began to drop. In here, with Xavier insisting that I help him out in the kitchen, my meals have greater and better nutritional value, using ingredients I haven't touched in years, and it makes me feel more energized, even.
Then, my phone rings.
Whenever it does, it's usually one of my parents, as my communication with UAS and the University of Chicago has been exclusively made through emails, and there's no one else out there to call me. It's depressing, but it's true, so I force myself not to think about it too much before it makes me feel worse.
I don't recognize the number.
My first instinct is to ignore it, as it could very well be a troll or the press, as if calling my house phone back home after we changed numbers isn't enough, but, after the ringing dies, a text message notification brightens up my screen again. The trolls and the press don't usually bother sending texts.
UNKNOWN, 10:22 AM: Wendy? This is Doctor Heidi Albott. Could you give me a call whenever you're available so we can schedule our first session? Looking forward to hearing from you.
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hi. me again. not to be a bother but please please don't forget to vote and comment. it helps me out a ton and is great for my motivation. pls don't be a silent reader