FicWad

Chapter 15

Later that day…

“Hi, my name is Angie, and welcome to Reva! Is this your first time here?”

Bert says yes at the same time that I say no. Angie hands us menus and rattles off a list of tonight’s specials. When she leaves, something catches my eye. The drink menu. No, Gerard. I scold myself. No alcohol. But I find myself reading the list of cocktails and wines anyways. It was hard to resist the wine Brendon was drinking last night… I’d nearly forgotten about my history with substance abuse, so seeing all the alcohol around me is like a slap in the face. And there’s a lot of booze in Chicago.

I end up ordering a Coke, bring a small feeling of accomplishment. Bert; however, orders a beer. Every time he takes a sip, I long to grab the bottle out of his hand and chug it down myself. But I force myself to look at the bowl of mussels in front of me instead of the Blue Moon. All the seafood around me smells amazing. And it tastes even better.

It suddenly hits me… I’m free. I mean, I’ve known this since the glorious moment the institute was out of sight, but it hasn’t really hit me until now. Seeing all the families and couples dining around us has made me see that life is moving. The world didn’t stop revolving while I was locked up. I’m finally part of that world.

Bert lifts up his beer. “To freedom.” he says.

I lift my glass and clink it against his. “You read my mind, damn you.” I laugh. The laughter coming from a large family behind us dies down a bit, and I catch a bit of another table’s conversation.

“It pays well, but I hate working there.”

“I know what you mean. It’s so emotionless.”

“Berkman’s is like another dimension. A dimension without windows.”

My blood runs cold. All the chatter and typical dining sounds around me all blend into one noise that roars in my ears like the ocean. My heart pounds with adrenaline, similar to how I felt when Bert and I were escaping. My shaking legs itch to run, not able to sit still. All I can register are the words Berkman’s and run.

I stand up suddenly, bumping into the table and nearly tripping over it. Before I’m even aware of it, I begin to run. I run out of the dining room, across Reva’s lobby, down the stairs, and onto Navy Pier. My body is numb. I stand in the center of the sidewalk, disregarding the crowds of people trying to walk around me. I stare at the enormous ferris wheel ahead, bright against the dark sky, thinking “How did they find us?”

“Gerard!” a voice behind me calls. I burst into tears for the second time today. One day of freedom, and it’s all over. Goodbye, Bert.

A pair of familiar arms wrap around me. “What was all that about?” Bert asks, his voice high with worry. This is becoming a pattern. I lose it, and he gets worried. I hate causing him so much stress…

Wait. It’s Bert. Not some doctor bent on locking me up again. I turn to him, my shoulders heaving with sobs. I’m not crying just because of the incident in the restaurant, but the fact that my anxiety is returning at full force. What’s next? Hallucinations?

“I-In the res…the restaurant…” my throat is too tight to speak.

“Shhh. Just breathe.” Bert says. He kisses the top of my head.

When I catch my breath, I replay the conversation I overhead to Bert. He nods, but doesn’t say anything. We just stand there holding each other, surrounded by life as it moves on by.

--

“I’m going to go get us something to eat, since we didn’t finish dinner. I’ll be back soon. Brendon’s here if you need anything.”

Bert says this while looking me straight in the eye, hands on my shoulders, like a child going to his first day of school. But I’m not a child. I’m 24 years old. And I’m not even leaving the apartment. I think Bert has just as much anxiety as I do, but about different things.

“Bert, I’ll be fine.” I laugh. I kiss him on the cheek before he leaves the apartment. On the way back to our bedroom, I see Brendon staring at me out of the corner of my eye. What happened to him? He was totally chill and happy on my first night here. Now he’s cold and distant.

I sit on Bert’s side of the bed and start to flip through a magazine. I know celebrity gossip is stupid, but magazines are the only form of reading material Brendon has lying around. He lives, breathes, and sleeps media gossip.

I notice a stack of CDs on the bookshelf across from the bed. Is that… holy shit. Smashing Pumpkins. I put on Mellon Collie And The Infinite Sadness, and Bullet With Butterfly Wings begins to play. It reminds me of my brother… he used to love Smashing Pumpkins…

“Hey.”

Brendon’s voice catches me by surprise. I jump, startled, and turn around. He’s standing uncomfortably close to me. His breath smells like alcohol. He grabs me roughly by the arm and pins it against the wall. The sleeve of my oversized hoodie slips down, revealing the healed but visible scars. Brendon sees them and sneers.

“You little freak.” he hisses. “You think your precious Bertie loves you? Well, news flash. He doesn’t love you.” I turn my head to the side and struggle, trying to get away from Brendon. But he’s stronger. He runs his fingernail down my scars.

“No wonder your family didn’t want you. You’re pathetic.” Brendon’s pressing my arm to the wall so hard that it hurts.

“Leave me alone,” I beg. Where’s Bert when I need him the most?

Brendon moves closer, his lips just an inch away from mine. “Not until I get what I want, you little whore.” he says. His voice is slurred.

“Don’t touch me!” I shout, tears slipping down my face. “Bert! Help!”

Brendon covers my mouth with his hand. “Shut the fuck up, whore.” he growls. I hear the sound of pants being unzipped.

“MMMFFF!!!” I cry, voice muffled by his hand.

Brendon lets go of my arm and pushes me to the floor. He delivers a sharp kick to my side, making me gasp in pain. He grabs me by the hair, but quickly lets me go when he hears the sound of the elevator coming up the shaft.

“Tell him, and see what happens.” Brendon threatens me, giving me one last kick. Then he zips up his pants and dashes out of my bedroom.