I can’t handle being touched right now and I push his hand away, falling back against the wall. The memories flood my mind in snippets, and it’s like camera flashes blind me as I move from frame to frame. Until I’m back in that room.
I don’t know where I am. I don’t understand how I got there. And for a moment, I almost forget who I am.
“I don’t want to be here,” I mumble over and over as I rock. “I want to go back. I don’t want this.”
“Is she okay?” the blond man asks, popping his head into the bathroom.
“Get some water, Rooster,” Tucker says, and his voice pulls me back to the present.
I’m in a bathroom. I’m in the bakery. Safe. I’m safe, but I’m not.
Tucker looks terrified as he crouches before me. “Phoebe?”
My lip trembles as Rooster walks back in with a bottle of water. I want to know why he’s called that. Tucker being Pacino makes sense. It’s cruel, but it’s a play on his situation. And Capone is from the mob. But Rooster?
I’d ask, but I’m pretty sure I’ve forgotten how to speak right now. The words are right there on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t get them out.
Opening the bottle, Tucker hands it to me. “Drink something, baby. You have no color in your cheeks.”
“We’ll take care of everything here,” Rooster assures me when I glance up at him. “We’ll fix everything.”
I think about the bodies, but then I remember the damage. The blood. Cracks. Dents. Holes. Broken.
“Go,” Tucker orders. “Phoebe, please drink some water.”
I do even though I’m not thirsty. My chest hurts, and my face feels tight. Tears continue to stream down my cheeks, but I don’t even feel like I’m crying. It’s just a faucet that’s turned on.
“Can you talk?” Tucker probes.
“He… He shot him.”
My voice comes out shaky and quiet. And it doesn’t sound like me.
Is this what an out-of-body experience feels like? It’s like I’m standing beside us watching the scene unfold, and I look ridiculous. Crying, pale, and crouched in the fetal position, rocking back and forth while Tucker tries to get me to drink something.
“You shouldn’t have witnessed that,” he says. “I’m so sorry, baby.”
“I don’t want to be here anymore.”
Nodding, he holds a hand out to me. He looks pained, and I know brushing him off must’ve hurt his feelings. I just… can’t. Being touched right now will shatter me into a million pieces.
Rather than take his hand, I grab the assistance bar on the wall and pull myself up. His face falls, but I just can’t have any physical contact. Not yet.
I flush the toilet and hand the water bottle back to him. Washing my hands is surreal. I don’t feel the water. Or the soap. I just stare at them, seeing the suds, and wonder if this is real.
Am I living in real life right now? Or am I in the horrible place of my mind, trapped for the rest of my existence? It’s only a matter of time before the men in white coats come to take me away to the nice room with the padded walls if I am.
Drying off my hands, I walk to the door and grab the door handle. It’s the first thing I feel, and I just pause, breathing for a moment.
I’m here. I’m alive. Not necessarily sane, but at least I’m in what I think is reality.
“I’m going to take her home,” Tucker says, his body blocking my view of whoever he’s talking to.
And the blood where the dead body was.
“He has a key.”
Turning, Tucker studies me. “What?”
