Book IV of the UNC Series
Carter Blake has a bone-deep hatred for the world-and especially for the people in it. All he wants is to keep his head down, focus on school and basketball, and avoid the mess of human connection. After enduring years of...
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The white room feels suffocating. The otherwise spacious reception area appears to be closing on me, sucking all the air from the room. There are a few people sprinkled around the room, each with a different level of frustration and grief displayed on their faces. The pungent smell of bleach and disinfectant infiltrates my nose as I inhale. My ass is numb in the plastic chair, but I can't move around. Not that I'm able to, as my entire focus is on the pretty girl's head resting on my lap.
Addie's still staring at her pale hands, even after I've removed both her blood-stained gloves. I threw them out, not wanting her to bother washing them and wearing them again—I'll just buy her a new, better pair that isn't flimsy. Addie hasn't spoken since Olive disappeared through the double sliding doors.
Zoning out, her breathing has hollowed out, and her skin is pale.
I tried to ask her questions when the receptionist gave me a form to fill out and sign; needing her information for Olive's surgery. Minutes, maybe hours, pass, and the entire time, Addie has had that blank stare since I told her to have hope. Her otherwise lively hazel eyes that would typically explode with green in the bright, warm browns have dulled. Whenever I ask her a question, she quirks her head up to look at me, but it's as if she's looking through me, not at me. She's spacing out, disappearing into a void in her head that is all too familiar to me.
I found solace in that void a few years ago. There's no pain there, no hurt; everything is numb. But I can't have her disappearing into the void because when she eventually comes out of it—which she will—it'll be more painful and harmful than if she had just initially dealt with it.
I've moved around, gotten up to grab her something to eat. We were supposed to make lunch together when she returned from her walk, so she didn't eat before leaving.
But she doesn't take notice of anything.
Not her shivering limbs, her grumbling stomach, the tremble of her fingers, the clench of her jaw or the soft strokes of my fingers in her hair.
"Addie," I mutter softly as I hold on to the saran-wrapped sandwich and bag of chips. My other hand continues to thread through her dark locks that had tumbled out of her hat and the messy knot she had before she left the apartment. Sliding the cap off of her head and dropping it to the seat next to me, my fingers lightly graze her temple before disappearing into her hair, and I still at how cold she feels.
"Hey," I lean over, "Come back to me, pretty girl." I whisper into her ear, "Olive's going to need you when she recovers."
Finally, there's a sign of life, a sign that she's still there when Addie slowly glances up at me. Her throat rolls with a gulp, and her nose and eyes are still red from when she sobbed in my arms. But since then, she hasn't shed a tear, almost like she's resolved and scared to cry.
The corners of her eyes crease as she peers up at me, her gaze roaming over my features, down the length of my nose to my mouth, before flitting back up to meet my eyes. But despite her detailed examination of my face, there isn't a single expression that washes across hers; her eyes don't gleam or shine.
