Shrink

17

I had run from this.
It took me so long to recover the shattered pieces of myself that had been the building blocks of someone else. My tiny little pyramid had crumbled to dust.
I lay in my hotel room, having been safely tucked in my bed before being left alone, but I couldn't feel anything. I hadn't cried much. I couldn't seem to get past the ball in my throat, much less speak at all.
I had been quite lucid as they had dragged me from the crime scene and Booth had driven me to my room. I couldn't be sure, but I think Sweets had come as far as the car, because someone kept asking Booth something, to which he would irritably respond, "yes, I'll make sure she gets in okay."
I stared as beautifully rough landscapes smeared past my window, until it was obscured by the walls of bleak buildings awash with the most despairing colours of beige. Booth helped me up, and dragged me up the stairs of a small hotel into the room I was occupying.
Before he had left, he sat on the end of the bed, scrutinizing me.
"It's okay," he said softly. "I have a couple of kids too. I can't even imagine losing any of them. If you need someone who understands, I'm here."
That was the most, and especially most serious series of sentences that I had ever heard him utter, and I couldn't help but feel my heart break a little inside at how much I wanted someone to stay.
In response to my silence, I heard Booth sigh, before saying, "someone will bring you dinner."
I felt completely bled dry, my hand under my cheek as I stared sightlessly at the wall.
Hours passed before someone knocked at my door.
"Miss Antoine," said a woman quietly. "your dinner."
I choked down the ball of tears in my throat quite painfully, and called, "leave it outside."
I sat up slowly in bed, noticing the new array of scratches and pools of dried blood on my hands, knees and legs. I sighed as they all pulled due to their freshness and my movement. I crawled across the bed and crept to the door. Unlatching it and removing the chain, I peeked out at the tray that had been left at my feet. A covered bowl and a cup and saucer, next to a thermos of what I assumed was coffee sat temptingly. I picked them up, glancing up and down the empty hall before retreating back into my room.
Sitting up in bed, I removed the lid off the bowl to reveal a few scoops of hearty beef stew and a good chunk of bread. Unscrewing the lid on the thermos, I was pleasantly surprised to find tea. I found myself sniffling at the notion that it might have been Sweets' doing, but I shook my head as I mindlessly swallowed my food.
My tray empty and my belly full of warmth, I felt somewhat recovered. I thought very often about those dark days of my life, but I had never before been so violently thrown into a flashback. Never had I felt such raw loss like that night. It was stark before, but now the pain was dull and throbbing, and somehow that felt somewhat worse.
I flipped around on the tv for about an hour, and finally shut it off. How could I show my face?
I sighed, washing my face in the bathroom sink before putting on my sneakers and a fresh wool sweater to fight off the evening chill.
Alaskan summer days were hot, but the nights were cool as a Montreal fall.
Stepping out into the bare lobby, and out onto the front porch of the motel, I stared at the street, wondering where to start.
I hugged my arms to fend off the chill. The street was devoid of life, save for one person ambling towards the hotel. Watching him, I recognized the sweater he was wearing.
He lifted his head, and his eyes raked me over, concern clear in his features. Sweets was all the way up the porch steps and I was already finding myself a foot away from him before I could even think.
I was staring at him hard, trying to find any measure of pity or sadness, but all I could see was concern in the endless brown strands that made up his dark eyes.
My hard demeanour broke all of a sudden, and I caught my sob in my hand as I fought off the sudden pain. He wrapped his hand around my wrist, and pulled it away from my face, forcing me to look up at him with red-rimmed, teary eyes.
"It's okay to cry," he said quietly.
I felt the tears streaming heavily down my cheeks, and a whimper escaped my lips as I let myself fall apart.
Sweets drew me close, and one hand held the back of my head steadily against his chest, the other wrapped around my waist. I found myself sinking into the embrace, my arms tightening around him as I sobbed on.
"You knew," I cried suddenly. "you knew, why did you take me here?"
He had had my file. He knew everything about me.
"This will force you to grow, Papillon," said Sweets, and I had never heard something so heartless.
I pushed myself from him, like cutting vines, swiping my nose and eyes.
"I'm not some nut case you can study," I said bitterly, my voice betraying the hurt I felt.
"Papillon, I"—
"Stay away from me!" I screamed.
Sweets looked so torn, his brows furrowed and his eyes betraying pain and sorrow.
I wasn't about to be drawn back in.
"Don't look at me like that," I cried weakly.
"Don't shut me out again, Papillon," he begged, his voice cracking.
"When were you ever in?"
He scoffed.
"You're not as heartless as you make yourself seem, sometimes."
I took two steps to clear the distance between us, and slapped him, hard.
Sweets caught his cheek with his hand, and stared at me as I forced myself to turn and walk away from him.