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“And you think this is going to work?”
Camden’s gaze zeros in on Sonny, his topaz eyes mutable like the Mediterranean Sea. Peaceful and enticing one minute, dangerous and tumultuous the next. “It has to. Pink isn’t going to die, that much I do know. Can we count on you, Sonny?”
He takes in a deep, shuddering breath, then looks at me. “Yeah, you can count on me. I’ve got your back,” he replies.
No one doubts he has, we’re a family now.
* * *
Somehow we allmake it to our separate classes without tearing someone apart. Better still, I made it to Sally’s physiotherapy class without detouring to Mr Carmichael’s office and ripping him a new one… or murdering him. Believe me, the thought crossed my mind a thousand times already today and it’s not even noon.
Motherfucking bastard.
Fifteen minutes into my lesson with Sally, I realise that she’s staring at me with concern and I can feel the deep groove between my eyebrows grow cavernous with the fixed scowl on my face.
“Asia,” Sally begins, placing the textbook she’d been holding onto the table in front of her. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on in your head, because you’ve sat for the last five minutes staring out of the window looking like you’re about to combust or implode. Neither of which are likely to be pretty, or healthy for that matter.”
Or commit murder, I think. Which is definitely not pretty or healthy, particularly for the one getting murdered. “I’ve got a lot on my mind,” I say instead.
She frowns, her pretty eyes concerned. “Is this to do with the news about Mr Carmichael leaving? I have to say, I was shocked when he told us in our staff briefing this morning…” She gets up from behind her desk then perches on the corner of mine. “He’s a good man, has done an awful lot for all the kids who’ve passed through here, but it seems like some personal issues have gotten in the way. I’m gutted, honestly.”
“Good man?” I ask, snorting with derision. “Yeah, and I’m Mother Teresa.”
Sally crosses her arms over her chest, defensive all of a sudden over the precious Mr Carmichael. Bet she doesn’t know he’s the fucking Black Sheep and his cowardice means my friend will die. I bet he didn’t sharethatpiece of information in their morning meeting. I expect her to sing his praises, or at least try to persuade me why she thinks he’s so bloody wonderful. She doesn’t.
“Nobody’s perfect, Asia. We all have our crosses to bear. Mr Carmichael has quite a few.”
My head snaps up and my foot stops jiggling with anxiety when I look at her. “What the fuck do you know?” I demand.
Sally sighs. “I know that he’s never lied about his past mistakes to any of us. I know that he went to prison for almost killing a man, and I also know that he’s helped countless kids to change their path so they can have a future outside of crime. Heisa good man, Asia, no matter what assumptions you’ve made about him for leaving like he is.”
I laugh. I can’t help it. I lean back in my chair and let out a belly laugh that somehow doesn’t stop even when the tears start to come. And they come. They fall heavy and fast down my cheeks in an unexpected torrent. Falling apart in front of my boys, my friends, is one thing. Falling apart in front of a stranger is quite another.
“Asia, it’s okay,” she starts, resting her hand on my shoulder in a vain attempt to soothe me. I shrug her off and stand abruptly.
“Don’t. Don’t you dare assume I’m crying for that bastard. I’m not. He’s a coward. A fucking coward!” I shout.
Sally stands too, her shock at my outburst obvious. She retreats behind her desk and opens her top drawer pulling out a pack of tissues. I watch her, silently reeling. This is bullshit. I shouldn’t be crying. What the fuck is wrong with me? Digging deep, I snatch the proffered tissues and blow my nose loudly, then swipe at my eyes until they’re dry.
“Want to talk about it?” she asks gently.
“You taking over Mr Burnside’s role now? Perhaps you think you can fix us like he fucking does?” I say unkindly.
“No. I’m just offering you a non-judgemental ear. Whatever it is you’re feeling, it needs to come out. I’m no therapist, but I do know that holding on to the things that are causing you pain isn’t healthy. You don’t need a degree to know that, just life experience and a little bit of empathy.”
I look at her for a long time, then nod my head. “You’re right, I do need to share what I’m feeling and right now the only person who needs to hear my shit is the man who’s causing it.”
With that, I turn on my heels and stride from her classroom with the intent to go fuck something up. Specifically, Mr Carmichael’s face.
