Trine
After we’re done talking, I notice just how bad Misha looks. He’s sweating, his brown hair sticking to his forehead, his perfectly white button-up shirt creased. Even his jeans seemed to have gotten some of the brunt of the events, though I have no idea how. The man looks like he’s just ran a marathon, and I don’t blame him.
I probably look just as bad as him. Maybe worse.
Mostly because I keep touching my neck, subtly at first, trying to figure out if the whole thing is just because I’m having some sort of breakdown. Misha seems to notice. He reaches out, touches my shoulder gently. "Listen," he says. "I can’t, and I won’t, stop you from coming back. But I think you need to drive away. Take a break from all of this. Honestly, I would love a break too."
I look at him. He seems sincere, but I know that if I go back to my apartment, I’m just going to sulk and think about this all night long, slowly driving myself insane. Dev asked me if I’d gone to therapy, and I told him the truth. But it seems like I was wrong, and I need to speak to someone urgently.
At least so they can help me process.
And shit, I need all the help I can get.
"You’re right," I say. "I should…"
I mean, I’m pretty sure there’s no way to Baker Act yourself. I don’t think so, anyway.
"What?" he asks. "Talk to me. Don’t shut down right now."
"I need to go talk to someone about this. Someone unbiased," I say. "The more we stand here, the more I realize that I can’t talk about this with you. You were there. You didn’t tell me anything."
"What could I have told you?" he says, crossing his arms over his chest. He cuts an imposing figure in the morning fog; the only thing I can see is his silhouette against the curb, a sliver of two pink flamingos flanking his legs. "This would’ve just…"
"What?"
"It would’ve just made you feel bad," he says. "You might not remember for a reason."
"That’s what Rei said. And I don’t believe it," I reply. "I thought that seeing Tom would get me the answers I needed, and the only reason I didn’t ask you was because I didn’t want to hear it. Not after I slept with Rei. He must’ve seen me exactly like he did when I was in that bed, my legs and arms bound, my—"
"No," Misha says. "I’m sure he doesn’t see you like that."
"How can you know?" I ask him, running my fingers through my hair. I remember growing it again. I’ve always had long hair, ever since I was a kid, and I recall feeling exposed and wrong when I realized that it had been cut short. Did they do that? When did they do that?
Anger pulses through my veins as I think over how much the exorcists have kept from me. I look at the way he’s staring at me, at the concern in his eyes, and fist my hands at my sides. There’s so much that they could’ve said, and they’ve simply chosen not to.
They left me to find all this out by myself.
I was willing to give them the benefit of the doubt, but I’ve been foolish. Blinded by the way they looked, the way they acted, the way they pretended that everything was fine.
If I hadn’t been in that room with Tom, if Tom hadn’t just tried to hurt me, I would’ve still believed them. I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to stave off my headache. I can’t believe I’ve been such an idiot, but this is exactly like me, going into something just because it seems fun and exciting instead of thinking it through.
Tom—or the demon inside of him—is right. My father would be disappointed.
"Trine," Misha says, as if he can read my mind. He takes a step toward me, extending his hand so he can touch me, but I move out of his way. I don’t know if I want anything to do with him. "We don’t see you like that."
"Explain," I say under my breath.
"You were possessed and now you’re not," he says. "When we were working on you, we didn’t know you. When we came back to confirm that you were okay, we started to get to know you."
"How can you tell?" I ask, shaking my head. "How can you tell which part of me was possessed, and not me, and which part of me is me?"
He seems to falter a little at that. "I don’t know. We just know."
"Great. That’s extremely helpful," I say. I know the sarcasm is obvious, but he winces anyway, as if I’ve just done something to hurt him. "You’ve been super fucking helpful so far."
"I told you I would answer all your questions. You just haven’t had any."
I scoff. "You took advantage of me," I say. "All of you did. You appealed to my desire for answers and my friendship with the kid to get me here, and you…"