Final Room

17 | dani ardor

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN | DANI ARDOR

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          My life in Alaska has turned into a vignette of embarrassing moments.

          After spending most of my appointment with Doctor Albott going back and forth about separating Jake from Him, arguing with her that no, I don't get to do it, but yes, I should do it for the sake of my mental health, I was convinced my day couldn't possibly get any worse. Then, as soon as I exit the elevator and start heading towards the front door, knowing Betty is waiting for me in the parking lot, the steel sky explodes into pouring rain.

          I stop in front of the door, frowning.

          I'm not carrying an umbrella and I'm not wearing a coat with a hood, either, after neglecting to check the weather forecast for the day simply because I had bigger, better, and more important concerns when I first left the house.

          Walking in the rain is far from being the worst thing that can happen to me—have I not gone through much, much worse?—but, with my propensity to falling ill and with college's demands increasing by the day, I know I can't afford to miss out on precious time. It's not a healthy mindset by any means and I'm glad I still have the presence of mind to be aware of that, but the thought of falling behind all my classmates scorches my brain.

          With a sigh, I send Betty a quick text to let her know I'll be stuck inside the building unless she has an umbrella in the car. She replies as fast as I texted her originally, complete with an emoji with its tongue sticking out, and gently lets me know that she's as locked in her car as I am in here. One of us has to leave the safety, dryness, and warmth of their hiding place to meet up with the other, and I'm suspecting it has to be me. There's no valid reason for her to get out of her car to come pick me up from across the parking lot just to return there, and it's much easier for me to go to her, but still.

          Next to me, Sidney sits down, patient as ever, while she waits for me to make a decision. I don't want her to get wet—humidity isn't good for my perfect angel of a puppy—and I'd hate to ruin Betty's car seats, not to mention the lingering effects of wet dog smell, but it's a sacrifice we'll all have to make.

          "Remind me to get you a raincoat," I tell her. She looks up at me, eyes open wide, and wags her tail in agreement. "This is Alaska, after all. Extreme weather. You know the drill, right?"

          She probably doesn't, but I can't blame her for being sheltered. I allow myself to bask in the cuteness of Miss Sidney Collier-Prescott wearing a raincoat for a few moments, then I brace myself to face the storm outside. It won't be the last one I'll have to handle and it's not that long of a walk from the front door to Betty's car, which is easily distinguishable from the other parked vehicles by itself thanks to its light-blue coloring.

          I've never been shot—thankfully—but the raindrops pelt my back as hard as bullets. I lower my head so I won't be hit square in the face, walking as fast as I can without risking slipping and falling, and Sidney doesn't run into any issues as she keeps up with my pace. She likes water and playing in puddles, but a rainstorm is far from her comfort zone, and I know her instinct is telling her to run past me and towards safety.

          Betty's car is unlocked when we get to it and I open the back door so Sidney can hop inside, mentally cursing myself for all my failures from earlier. If I had checked the forecast, I'd know about the rain, and I would have brought towels to protect the car seats, especially when Sidney shakes away the water from her fur and soaks Betty's sleeve.