Disequilibrium

Part 5: Denouement - Scene 3

Session three

The first thing Williams does when the officer shuts the door is slide two cigarettes towards me. My hands are still cuffed, but I'm able to slip them off the table and roll them with my fingers, staring solemnly down at them even though I should be happy. And I'm sure she notices. I know she notices, because her pen starts going off on the page again.

"They don't pay you enough for an entire pack?" I ask.

Williams shrugs, still looking down at the page. "We're weaning you off."

"What?"

"It's dangerous for someone like you to cut cold turkey, so we're weaning you off. Savour those well; they don't come around easily."

I nod, but the only thing I can focus on is what she said. Someone like you. I've got a good idea of what that's supposed to mean, and maybe that's why she's there in the first place, but I can't say I like it very much. I don't like it at all.

I start picking at my nails. Williams notices, glancing up from her page. And in that moment, I'm sure she's figured she made a mistake. A slip. She leans back in her seat, still staring at my fingers, before she sighs.

"I didn't mean that in a bad way, Holden."

"Yes, you did."

"I didn't." She pauses for a moment before she adds, "Do you think you're a bad person?"

Of course not. Why the fuck would I? Everything I've ever done in my life was for a good reason. Shouldn't she see that? Shouldn't Casper see that?

Specks of blood seep out of the skin around my nails, but I don't stop. "Everything I did was for his sake."

"But you're not answering my question."

"I just did, didn't I?"

Williams starts scribbling away at her notebook again. For some reason, it's bothering the hell out of me today.

"Nichole doesn't think you're a bad person," Williams says after a while. She looks up. "She made it clear to me she didn't, despite knowing what you've done."

"You spoke to her?"

"Yeah, while you were still out there. She was devastated about what happened to your father, you know. But she still stuck by you."

Oh.

"If things happened differently, would you have been okay with her marrying your dad?"

"He didn't deserve her."

"Okay, but I'm asking what you feel."

She's staring at me the same way she's always done since the moment I met her. Some hard, expectant look is stuck on her face, like she knows exactly what I want to say but just won't say it. And yesterday it was cool—fascinating, even—but today, I can't stand her. I really can't.

When I don't answer after a while, Williams sets her pen down and folds her hands on top of each other. "Were you ever hostile towards her because of your mother?"

"What are you on about now?"

"Did you not accept Nichole because you were afraid of her replacing your mother?"

Okay, now she's really starting to piss me off. I go back to picking at my nails instead of answering her, trying to think of anything other than what's happening right now. But her eyes are still on me, staring until the point where I feel like I can't breathe.

Williams takes her pen again and starts doodling what looks to be a stick figure at the top of her page. We sit in silence for a while, her question still hanging in the air, until she says, "You'll make a mess if you keep picking at your nails."

I don't stop.

"We tried contacting your mother, Holden."

I finally look at her right when she says that. I've got a good guess at what my face looks like because Williams's expression changes into something I was sure she'd never be able to hold. But we still stare at each other, the silence growing along with my heartbeat. I know I should say something now—anything—but I can't. I won't.

"She didn't pick up, by the way," Williams continues, looking back at her page. "We called about five times."

"She's been busy," I quickly say, my words fumbling over themselves. "She's doing some real important things in Greece or something, the last I heard."

Williams frowns. "She's not in Greece, Holden."

"Did I say Greece? I meant Italy. Yeah, that's it. Somewhere in Europe, I'm sure. She's doing some expedition or—"

"Holden." Williams is looking at me now, her pen standstill on the page. "Your mother isn't in Europe. She's not doing an expedition or anything. She's in America, working as a waitress. Didn't your father tell you?"

I shake my head. "You're lying."

"Was he the one who told you all that stuff?"

"You're lying! She said she'd never leave if it wasn't for anything important. She told me—she did! I remember. She said so."

"She left when you were eighteen months—"

"Stop fucking with me!"

My voice echoes throughout the room and causes Williams to shut right up. Her knuckles have gone white around her pen the same way my fists are gripping the table, desperately trying to hang on while the room starts twirling around me. Round, and round, and round. Her words are still racing in my head, clashing against every crevice until I feel the need to puke. I think I almost do.

"Are you okay?" Williams keeps asking, but her voice sounds a bit far away now. Distant, like she's not even there. I'm still gripping the table, nails with flecks of blood now digging into the plastic as I try to take control of my breathing.

She's working as a waitress.

Liar.

She left when you were eighteen months.

"You're a fucking liar."

"Holden, I need you to calm down—"

"Nobody would leave if it weren't for a good reason, right? Right?"

When I finally look at her, she's got this panicked expression on her face, her body tilted in some angle like she's ready to bolt at any second. Her eyes are going everywhere from my eyes to my hands to the sweat sprouting on my forehead. And without moving, without blinking, she says, "Yeah, you're right. Nobody would do that."

"I thought you were supposed to help me."

She sighs. "Yeah, that's right. I'm sorry; it was my mistake."

There's something about the way she says it that makes me loosen my grip on the table and drop my shoulders. She does the same, but the tension is still in the room, sticking around like the friend nobody likes.

"Don't do that again," I say, but I hate the way my voice sounds. Quiet. Miniscule. Tired.

"I won't."

"Can I go back to my room now?"

She blinks for a moment, nods, and shuts her notebook. "I think that would be a good idea. We'll talk tomorrow."

And we leave it at that.