I snort at the unlikely couple who met their match in each other.
Ten minutes later, Eleanor appears carrying her empty plate and mug. She’s dressed in a pair of dark ripped jeans and a floaty cream blouse that gives a sneaky glimpse of her lace-covered breasts. Her beauty is ruthless; it knocks you off your feet and leaves you reeling in its wake as you clamber for a moment in her light. She thinks she’s full of darkness, but she’s wrong. Just because you have experienced the worst this world has to offer, doesn’t mean you embody darkness simply because it forms a part of your history. The fact that she is, at her core, a good, pure soul, is a small miracle. Charlie darts from his place on my lap and greets her with a smile. She bends and strokes him, mumbling good morning and asking him how he slept.
I smother a smile at her falling into the trap we all have of talking to Charlie like he has a clue what we’re saying. He flops over onto his back and stretches his paws out in invitation. She obliges, true happiness shining on her face, and rubs his belly for a good two minutes before she finally stands.
“Ready?” I ask.
She nods. “You going to tell me where we are going?”
“You’ll have to trust me.”
She sweeps the bottom of her braid off her shoulder, and I take great pride in the fact she’s left it in.
“Are we walking?”
“No, it’s too far.” I rise to my feet and stalk towards her, a sinful smile on my face. “It’s either your car or my bike, trouble. Pick your poison.”
“Car. I’ll drive.”
I place one hand on her hip and tug on her braid with the other, tipping her head back. “I’ll drive. You don’t know where you are going.”
“I have something extremely modern called a satnav.”
My lips twitch. “I’m aware, but I don’t want this location trackable at any point.”
I kiss her to stop any further protests before swiping the keys and leading her out of the apartment. Time for her to look my demons in the eye and cast judgment. If she wants to walk away after this is over, I won’t stop her. It’s a lot to handle for anyone. I hope she knows she will rip out my already tattered heart and take it with her if she goes.
The security guardtakes our names and gives me a flat smile before buzzing us in. I lead the way through the third layer of security, ensuring no one can get in or out without permission. Eleanor glances around, cataloging every camera, door, and exit as we dive deeper into the building.
Green Hay Hospital is a red brick building, housing a maximum of twenty patients at a time. The staff are world class leaders in their fields and are at the forefront of new, innovative methods of treatment. The ratio is a minimum of four to one staff to patients, and along with excellent levels of care, patientsare provided with gourmet meals designed and adapted to meet their individual needs and preferences. I don’t know if I’d describe it as heaven, but it is a safe haven designed to protect and heal, which is all I could ask for. A faint relaxing scent of vanilla and honeysuckle is being pumped through the vents today, part of the universal sensory method. They change the aroma often to keep the senses tantalized, while also soothing them. There is no undercurrent of antiseptic, and certainly no trace of madness that soaks the air in other institutions.
Chief Nurse Hannah greets me at the desk and eyes Eleanor with curiosity. In five years, I have never once brought anyone to see Stephanie, so she was always going to gain some scrutiny from the staff, though they’re quick to see the goodness within her.
“She’s having a much better day,” Hannah says with a soft smile. “She’s out in the gardens by the peach trees.”
“Thanks.”
My hand tangles with Eleanor’s, and I lead her through the opulent day room, which plays classical music low in the background, and out into the substantial gardens which includes a fruit orchard, vegetable patch, and petting zoo. I wish all mental health care was like this; sensitive to the needs of people at their most vulnerable. It’s not to say they have it perfected; when treating the mind, you can only control so much of the environment, and often the smallest of things can become a trigger. A change in routine. A new nurse making a careless comment. Things that seem insignificant to us, ultimately get twisted inside the person’s mind, wreaking more havoc than we could possibly realize. I wave at Amy, a slim woman in her forties who has been here as long as Stephanie. The pair of them are as thick as thieves in here, allowing my guilt to ease some.
“They are all women,” Eleanor whispers as we step out into the sunshine, and I lead us down the boardwalk to the patch of peach trees Stephanie seems to favor.
“It’s female only by design.”
She looks around, still trying to put the pieces together when I spot Stephanie curled up on a curved wooden bench with a worn paperback in her hands. Another Brontë, if I had to guess. She is obsessed with the classics.
Her gaze bounces up, and a brilliant smile takes over her face as she leaps off the bench and flings her arms around me. She’s my Steph today, not the shadow of a woman I dealt with yesterday. It’s almost like it never happened, which sometimes makes it worse. Her chin rests on my shoulder as she says, “Hunter, you brought a friend.”
She releases me quicker than normal. Our hugs generally last for a few minutes, but she decides Eleanor is worth dividing her love for. Smart woman. She wraps Eleanor in her thin arms and squeezes tight, her body shaking with the effort. Eleanor freezes and darts a panicked look at me. This must be hard for her; she hasn’t learned enough from the environment to know the norms, and even if she had, she would discover the people here don’t follow any of the normal rules. There is no fitting in here.
Steph finally releases her but grabs her hand and drags her over to the bench, tugging her down next to her. “Are you sleeping with my brother?”
Eleanor is rarely speechless, but absorbing the truth of the connection between me and Steph seems to have wiped her of coherent thought. I chuckle as I slide onto the only free space beside Stephanie.
“Well?” She leans into Eleanor’s space, nearly nose to nose as she studies the woman in front of her. “I hope so, because I worry about him. He’s getting on now, and looks don’t last forever, right? He’s in his prime, but the problem is it’s alldownhill from here. Crow’s feet and saggy balls await, so he better hurry his ass up.”
I cover my mouth and laugh, the vice around my heart releasing a little at Steph’s version of an interrogation.
“I cannot attest to the saggy balls, as I haven’t examined them, but the hint of wrinkles add to Hunter’s overall physical appeal,” Eleanor answers. In her brain, this is the only logical response she can deliver.
