Extremity

10 | Damien

The car jerks to a stop, sending me flying forward.

Mr. Theodore Martz laughs at me as I slowly regain consciousness.

"We're here, Mr. Damien!" he proclaims in excitement. "Your new home!"

I hate that he's so happy to be getting rid at me. At the same time I love that he's getting rid of me. If all goes well, I don't have to go to prison. So for now, this is my home. For however long this damn program will take.

Keep calm, man.

I'm trying, but it's hard.

She's going to be here.

Okay, I think I can do this.

We exit the car and walk through the parking lot, which isn't very big. The building isn't very big. It has bricks and windows and stairs. There's not a huge WAYNE RECOVERY CENTER written on some sign, so I'm surprised that Mr. Theodore Martz knew how to get here in the first place.

Mr. Theodore Martz matches my pace as we begin to walk up the stairs. By the closed doors, I see two men standing, with guns in their belts. They must be guards. For who? Does this place need to be watched so closely?

Or is someone already here? Another juvenile delinquent who needs the care of these two guards?

I'm not sure which will comfort me more.

"So, Damien," Mr. Theodore Martz says, huffing as he takes step after step. "You need to behave yourself, you know. I know you're used to cussing and violence and doing all that stuff boy's do, but at this program, they only want to help you, so it would be in your best interest if you -"

I roll my eyes, hoping he'll catch my drift and shut up, but he continues. Before I can stop myself, I yell, "If you give me that goddamn speech again I'll rip your head off!"

He looks genuinely shocked. Even the guards, who hold open the door. I just roll my eyes again and we step into the building.

The first thing I see is the carpet. It's so freaking fluffy. I want to take off my shoes and bury my toes in it, pretending it's sand. My eyes scan the rest of the room - colorful walls with lots of picture frames of famous paintings, like Van Gogh and the Mona Lisa chic. There's inspiring quotes etched onto the walls as well, like Always do your best and dance like no one is watching. I want to vomit all over the carpet.

I see doors and windows. How many doors? How many windows? If I would happen to escape, what route would I take? What possible weapons could I use? Definitely that ugly vase. It's so ugly. It would be less ugly if I shattered it on the ground and used its pieces to stab someone.

Stop it, Damien.

A shiver runs through my spine as I realize someone is staring at me. Instantly, I avert my eyes in realization that someone has been looking at me this whole time.

Robin Wayne.

The girl who used to be half blind, the girl who used to use a cane. The girl who knew nothing but now she knows everything. The girl who I've always wanted to save.

Instantly, terror runs through my veins. She's actually here. I've never dreamt of seeing her again because I don't like to think of impossible things. But I knew she would be here, and that's why I came. And she's here. Now.

We stare at each other. I see her eyes wandering around my face. Checking me out already, are you, Survivor? I can't help but think, but then my eyes start to wander, too.

She looks good. I mean, she's always looked good, but she looks exceptionally good today. She's wearing this simply white t-shirt with an open button up shirt over it, which has many colorful flowers on it. Her t-shirt is tucked into some normal blue jeans, which stop just a few inches above her white flats. Her face is already red from blushing, her brown eyes (not wearing glasses) are wide and her full lips are slightly parted as she stares at me. Her light brown hair falls past her shoulders, but it doesn't seem to be as curly as I remember it. It's wavy. It's nice.