Page 116 of Desecrated Saints
CASUAL SABOTAGE - YUNGBLUD
“When was the first patient admitted into the Zimbardo wing?”
Hunter’s crisp, all-business tone takes no prisoners. He’s been grilling Professor Lazlo for the last hour, relentlessly pinning down every last detail. The four government agents are all listening and taking meticulous notes, alternating in turns with the questioning.
It’s satisfying to see Lazlo’s full, utterly damning confession being recorded for later use, even if the contents turn my stomach. After Patient Two’s opening evidence, the agents’ attitudes abruptly changed. The wealth of information we’ve already given them is undeniable and the worst is yet to come.
“This guy is full of shit,” Phoenix complains, his hand running up and down my leg. “He’s dodging the hard questions and trying to avoid blame. Does he think we’re stupid?”
Snuggling closer to him, I let my lips brush over his exposed collarbone. He isn’t wearing a shirt, exposing his chiselled chest and many healing bruises. We’re sprawled out on the huge sectional sofa beneath the duvet we stole from the bedroom, a massive bowl of popcorn between us.
We haven’t been separated since he returned from the medical wing. It’s been a full week of late-night testimonies and short tempers from the whole group. We left Brooklyn and Hudson to argue about dinner and controversial pizza toppings an hour ago, retreating to the living room to watch the live feed.
She refuses to watch it, and I don’t blame her.
All we have to do is sit here and listen.
She lived through this shit.
None of us know what giving evidence is going to do to Brooklyn’s fragile mental health. If her worsening mood and rapid-fire temper leading up to next week are anything to go by, we’re in for a bumpy ride. She and Seven are next on the list. Clearly, Hunter is saving the most explosive for last.
“Stick your pineapple crap up your ass, Hudson! It does not belong on pizza!”
The angry slam of a door startles me. Phoenix murmurs for me to breathe, his arm trapping me against his naked chest. I wait for it to pass, accepting the intrusive flavours in my mind. Bitter smoke and harsh chemicals are replaced by sharp, fruity oranges and the sweet tang of freshly picked mint leaves.
Rather than fight against it, I’m trying something new, letting the anxiety and flavours wash over me without diving headfirst into them. We have such little control over our lives at the moment. This is the only thing I can change, and I’m learning to cope with things differently.
I think this is what recovery is supposed to feel like.
After years of fighting, it feels good to let go.
“You two wanna keep it down a bit?” Phoenix calls out. “It’s only pizza, firecracker.”
“No! I do not want to keep it down!”
Storming into the room, Brooklyn’s hands are curled into fists. She looks primed to explode, her platinum pixie cut standing in all directions. Not to mention the visible cuts on her inner arms, revealed by her tank top. Hell, I’m the last person to judge how she decides to cope.
“I am so done with that arrogant, know-it-all, suffocating asshole hanging all over me!” she rages, throwing a decorative cushion at the wall. “If he offers to run through my testimony one more time, I’m going to stick his eyeballs on cocktail sticks and serve them for dinner.”
“Can we get a side order of fries with that?” Phoenix deadpans without a smile. “Maybe some dips too, cheeky bit of mayo. Make it a real spread. Eli? Thoughts?”
I nod enthusiastically.
Hands on her hips, Brooklyn pins us both with an exasperated scowl. Phoenix cracks and laughs so hard, it vibrates through my body with the lack of space between us. Even I manage a low chuckle.
“It’s like living with five goddamn teenagers!”
“Come sit down before you explode,” Phoenix orders while still laughing.
He switches off the television before Brooklyn can spot the live feed. When she watched a mere thirty seconds of evidence earlier in the week, she had a complete meltdown.
We caught her talking to Augustus again. Or rather, the sick, invisible version of him that exists in her head. Enzo intervened when she cut herself with a kitchen knife while screaming at the thin air to leave her alone.
Hunter’s overpaid shrink, Doctor Richards, was forced to sedate Brooklyn. He’s having a field day medicating us all after weeks of surviving without. Phoenix is back on mood stabilisers too. He’s been a lot calmer since.
“Baby girl,” I coax in a deep, rasping voice.
That’s all it takes to penetrate her enraged fog. My girl can never refuse when I find the strength to gather my crappy voice. With a final annoyed huff, she stretches out on the sofa beside me.
