“I’m not distressed,” I say. But even as I speak the words, I know there’s a hint of desperation in them. I meet Greer’s measured gaze. “Fine. I’m distressed. But it’s not because of the club. Getting outside, on the horse, it was the first time I’d felt…normal…in a really long time.”
“Then I’ll work on that for you. Leave it with me.”
9
CATFISH
Iplace my hands on the wall outside my room and take a deep breath.
Then another.
When I was young and my thoughts raced like this all the time, I’d often act out in anger.
Willa was the one who—as I got a little older, and she was in the first year of her teaching degree—taught me how to control the feelings I had.
She helped me understand it came from all kinds of triggers. Feeling trapped.
Being bullied.
Not being able to defend myself safely.
Things would just bubble over.
She taught me how to breathe.
How to rein in the thoughts that got bigger and amplified until I said or did something I’d later regret.
But carrying Wren to my bed just now has triggered something inside me I’d long thought I’d put behind me.
Seeing Wren live with that kind of pent-up turmoil ignited memories of feeling the same. Hell, it’s almost laughable thatI’m out here, dealing with my own raging emotions, while recognizing that’s why Wren is in there, one step away from a nervous breakdown.
All because I took them for a ride on a fucking horse.
“You’re gonna have to watch yourself, Catfish,” Wraith says, finding me in the corridor.
Yeah, just what I don’t need right now. “Why’s that?”
“Didn’t you hear everything Grudge said?”
I turn to face Wraith. “Oh. Is this what you’re going to do now with your VP patch? Just come talk to me to parrot what the president said?”
Wraith leans back against the wall, crossing his arms across his chest. “Let’s try this again. Catfish. What the fuck is going on with you?”
I stub the toe of my boot into a small gap between the floorboards. “Yeah, ‘cos that’s so much better.”
“Whether you like it or not, Wren is simply a job for us.”
I don’t tell Wraith how much that sentence rankles me. I don’t even respond.
“You listening, Catfish? Because this is important. She’s a job.”
I look at him out of the corner of my eyes. “They. Not she. They.”
He raises his hands in apology. “Fair. Taking a bit of getting used to. Buttheyare just a job for us.”
“Where’s your fucking humanity. They’re not just a job, they’re a human being.”
He shakes his head. “They’re fifty grand a month, to make up for lost income.”
