Mwallace: A lot.
Bechloe-bible-49: Interesting you should ask that.
96itadakimasu96: Speaking of news...
FromTumblr: I was wondering where you were that chapter. I have become accustomed to the same cult of reviewers.
Andiclauds: That's a lot to feel - or to try not to feel.
Wanderer: While you are entitled to feel how you feel, you kind of made me feel awful, so I don't really have a lot to say.
SunDanceQT: One cannot not eat Conrad's food. He will not stand for it.
Guest: Thank you.
Pixie1913: Messy, or fun. Or both. The fingerpaint of repressed feelings.
Dysrhythmia
I'm doing the best that I could,
Trying my best to be understood.
Maybe I'm changing slowly.
I'd get out, turn around,
If only I knew I was dead wrong all along.
You said it for my sake,
That I would not lose my way.
- The Fray
Aubrey finds herself counting the beats of her own heart – an old trick she used to use when she didn't want to think of anything for awhile. It turns out, it's hard for her mind to wander when she's so focused on not skipping a single beat. It also turns out that once she starts, she can't stop. She gets up into the thousands before there is a knock on the door that disrupts the rhythm of everything. She turns, physical discomfort pulsing through her entire body, and watches Chloe's mom open the door.
"The doctors and nurses want you to go back to your room now," Julia says gently, leaning on the doorframe.
No one should be able to dictate where Aubrey goes…
"You've been here for almost an hour," Julia tells her, "You should get some more rest."
Aubrey is resting in here. Apparently, she hasn't moved for an hour. She's suddenly aware that she doesn't know what time it is, and little shocks of panic try to break through her barrier. She looks down, rubbing her thumb back and forth across Chloe's knuckles.
"You can come back." Julia steps inside and closes the door behind her. She walks over to the bed, then slides her fingers across Chloe's forehead, like she's brushing invisible hair out of her face. "We can go get some more sleep, try to eat something, and then come back. How does that sound?"
Aubrey isn't sure she can let go of Chloe's hand, but she nods. Don't be too defiant, but keep control. She rests Chloe's hand next to her side, covering it with her own. Move, Aubrey. She stands, sliding the tips of her fingers across the sheet until her hand is hanging by her side.
Julia leans down to kiss Chloe's forehead.
It occurs to Aubrey that she and Chloe have never kissed in front of Chloe's parents – not even a little peck on the lips. Of course, they haven't. How awkward would that have felt for Aubrey? So many mole hills Aubrey unnecessarily made into mountains. She takes Julia's place when she steps away, and leans down, gingerly pressing her lips against Chloe's. True Love's Kiss is bullshit. She stands up straight again. Chloe is still unconscious. And Aubrey still wishes it was herself who was unconscious. She's about to twirl Chloe's ring around her finger, when she realizes it's been replaced by her cast. Fear almost wins out until she sees it's been switched to her right ring finger. She twists it around using her thumb, then curls her fingers into a tight fist to relieve the fear it may fall off.
Before Chloe's mom can urge her to leave the room, Aubrey does it on her own. It takes everything in her not to look back the moment she walks out the door; she knows if she looks back, she'll crumble. The way her lips turn downward and she has to press them together to keep them from trembling betrays the otherwise blank expression on her face, so she stays half a step ahead of Chloe's mom until they reach the elevator. She presses the button once – imagining herself smacking it repeatedly with the palm of her hand inside her head. There are still things in life that she can control – and one of those things is herself.
She steps onto the elevator, faces forward, and realizes she doesn't even know what floor her own room is located on.
Julia presses the button for the fourth floor.
She's only one floor above Chloe. Aubrey would feel better if they happened to be on the same floor… How is she supposed to keep her safe from a floor up? What if Jesse shows up and goes after Chloe first?
"What are you thinking?" Julia asks as the doors close.
Aubrey is thinking that she wants that handgun back… "I'm...not used to her being so quiet." Chloe snores. Not loudly. But enough that Aubrey can usually hear her sleep. And she talks in her sleep. Apparently, so does Aubrey, but she chooses to believe Chloe is just making that up to tease her. But Chloe is generally making some sort of noise somewhere in their apartment. Not (always) in an irritating way, but in a way similar to New York traffic at night - hard to sleep through, but it reminds Aubrey she's not alone.
Julia either laughs or cries; Aubrey isn't sure.
The elevator doors open up again, and Aubrey steps out. She knows how to get back to her room from here. Or, at least, she thinks she does. There is an unfamiliar woman leaning against the room of the doorframe that Aubrey remembers being hers. Maybe her mind is even fuzzier than she thought…
Julia glances back to make sure Aubrey is going to keep following when she realizes Aubrey has stopped.
That is her room. Aubrey just can't determine who this lady works for. She isn't in scrubs, a uniform, a suit… Just a casual sweater and black dress pants. Maybe she has the wrong room. Or maybe she knows Beca. This woman looks too put together to associate with Beca. From a first glance, she reminds Aubrey of Chloe's mom with her warm expression and calm demeanor. And she must know exactly where she is, because she makes eye contact with Aubrey and gives her a light half smile as she approaches.
"You must be Aubrey."
And you are…? Aubrey stops a socially acceptable distance away from her, and wait to see if she's going to continue.
"I'm Dr. Morgan," she says, unperturbed by Aubrey's silence and wary look, "I was hoping we could talk before you turn in for the evening."
Somehow, an entire day has passed, and Aubrey is still feeling like she just woke up…
"Is that okay?" Dr. Morgan asks.
Aubrey catches a glimpse of the name tag attached to her shirt. Mallory Morgan. Clinical Psychiatrist.
Dr. Morgan looks down at her badge, then back up at Aubrey, her expression not changing. "I just want to talk."
Aubrey can taste the tea in the back of her throat again.
"I'll be real quick," Dr. Morgan assures her, "If I make you uncomfortable, you can ask me to leave."
This woman is shit at her job if she can't see that Aubrey is already uncomfortable and would like her to leave. She forces part of a smile back at her. "No, thank you," she declines politely, and walks past her into the room.
"This might provide some palliation," Julia says, following Aubrey inside, while Dr. Morgan remains in the doorway.
Palliate. From the Latin word meaning, 'to cloak'. Isn't that what Aubrey is already doing on her own? Masking how much this hurts? She sits down on the edge of the bed, staring at Beca's empty cot. She must still be off with Aubrey's friends. Her hand settles on her stomach out of habit, and she quickly moves it to her leg once she realizes what she's doing.
"I know you're done feeling sick to your stomach on top of everything else. This could help; this could make that end," Julia says, "I know you want that. Anybody would want that."
The offer is still enticing – like a carrot being dangled in front of Aubrey's face. No more running off to the bathroom to throw up when she's already upset. No more public humiliation. No more powering through feeling nauseated straight into exhaustion. But at what cost? Finally admitting she's incapable of kicking this habit on her own? But she had been doing so well before all of this… Maybe she hadn't exactly been happy, but she hadn't been in a state that vomits all over the third row at a singing competition either.
"You don't have to make any decisions right now," Julia says, "You don't have to say yes to therapy or medication."
Therapy. Aubrey feels a twinge of betrayal
"This doesn't mean weakness," Julia keeps going, "I've gone to therapy for most of my adult life, and owe half my sanity to Zoloft."
No, she doesn't.
"Chloe has been through therapy."
No, she hasn't.
"Thirteen years of it – from when she came to live with us up until she left for Barden."
Why is there so much Aubrey doesn't know?
"No one says that if you do agree to something that will take the edge off for awhile that you have to stick with it permanently. This is a lot right now, for anyone. We're just trying to offer you some respite. Please, take it."
Take it and run with it, Aubrey, Chloe's voice echoes in her mind.
"Are you hearing me?" Julia asks.
Aubrey has been staring at the same spot, still as a statue since she sat down. She nods. After a few seconds of Chloe's mom just looking at her, Aubrey realizes she's expected to say something. If she's agreeable now and has a clear headspace, it might play in her favor in the long run somehow. She traces the words 'MOM' on her cast, calculating her words carefully. "I would prefer to speak to her privately."
"That's a very reasonably request. I'll go get some more coffee, and make sure your friends are keeping out of trouble," Julia says.
"I think you've probably had more than enough coffee," the words just slip out. But Aubrey isn't the only one who needs to sleep here.
Julia pauses, and frowns. "You're probably right." She sighs. "But the keyword in both of those sentences is 'probably'." She smooths down Aubrey's hair, then turns and leans.
Thoughts of Jesse coming into the hospital and killing everyone Aubrey has left, without her even so much as knowing until they're already dead, creep into Aubrey's mind once Julia is gone.
"Can I come in now?" Dr. Morgan asks.
Well, Aubrey isn't going to shout all of her problems into the hallway, is she? She nods.
Dr. Morgan steps in and shuts the door behind her, increasing Aubrey's worry – because what if she's working for him? What if Aubrey just signed off on her own death by agreeing to let this lady in her room. She grabs a chair and drags it slightly closer to where Aubrey is sitting, then also sits down. "I know I already introduced myself, but I'm Dr. Morgan, and I'm here because some people have been expressing some concern, Aubrey."
Aubrey remains sitting, despite the urge to flop melodramatically onto her back. Too bad this isn't one of those couches like people use in TV shows and the movies. She feigns confused. Why would anyone possibly be concerned?
"How are you feeling?" Dr. Morgan asks.
God help her. The look on Aubrey's face must say everything, because Dr. Morgan immediately continues talking.
"I mean in more detail than just good or bad."
Aubrey spent almost a week trekking across some island with no escape, watching everyone she has ever cared about die in front of her very eyes. She can still smell their blood every time she breathes; she can still see their bodies every time she closes her eyes. And now, Chloe, Aubrey's best friend of nine years, Aubrey's fiancée, the person Aubrey does everything with and tells everything to, someone Aubrey would have given her very life for, is unconscious and might not wake up. "I was shot," she chooses, what is somehow, the least traumatic thing to have happened to her, "So, it's rational that I am a bit upset over that."
"How did you get shot, if you don't me asking?" Dr. Morgan inquires.
Aubrey does mind. "With a gun."
"Okay, here's the thing, Aubrey." Dr. Morgan leans forward with her hands on her knees. "I have a feeling that you're the type of person who is going to give me one chance to get this right, which is difficult, because therapy and medication are a trial and error process. You have to give me something to go on here. I need to know how to best help you."
Aubrey continues tracing the signatures on her cast – all two of them. "Whenever there are a lot of stressful events in my life," she says carefully, "I puke, and I would like that to stop, because my life chock-full of stressful events right now. You can help with that." There. Done. Humiliation over.
"Can you tell me more about that?" Dr. Morgan asks.
What else is there to say? Aubrey panics and then she pukes. End of story.
"Does anything else happen?" Dr. Morgan keeps pressing, "Do you get shaky? Out of breath? I can see you're becoming sweaty right now. Is that something that also happens?"
Aubrey realizes she's right, and cold beads of sweat are clinging to her arms and neck again. "This is new." She grabs the blanket that Chloe's mom used to wipe the sweat off of her with earlier, and quickly wipes the exposed parts of her body with it.
"How recently did that start?"
Right after Aubrey shot the deer. "I don't know."
"What about the vomiting?"
"When I was a kid."
"Have you taken anything for anxiety before?" Dr. Morgan asks.
"Xanax," Aubrey answers simply.
"Now, I know you've had to have talked to someone to be prescribed Xanax and get it refilled," Dr. Morgan points out, "Do you see someone back home?"
Obviously. If popping into her office once every three months and giving her some spiel about how fine life is counts as seeing someone, sure.
"Is the Xanax not working for you anymore?"
"It works in the moment," Aubrey answers, still keeping her words short. There is a waver in her voice that betrays her faux confidence and poise every time she speaks. "I'd just rather not get to the moment." 'The moment' is starting to feel never-ending; maybe she should say that too. No. She's uncomfortable enough already.
"What about depression?" Dr. Morgan asks.
What about it? "I told you what I need. I'm done." Aubrey has told her everything there is to tell. She just wants to stop puking. That's it.
"Anxiety and depression usually go hand in hand," Dr. Morgan comments.
"I said I'm done. Thank you for your time." Aubrey plasters on a fake smile that fades just as quickly as she conjures it up. Next thing she knows, this woman will be digging around, concocting up some childhood trauma too. She smooths out her shirt, and wishes she had something more presentable to wear than pajamas.
"Are you having any thoughts of hurting yourself?" Dr. Morgan asks, instead of leaving, "Any thoughts of suicide?"
Aubrey stares at her, taken aback by the blunt nature of her question.
"I'm required to ask," Dr. Morgan says.
Aubrey has a lot of thoughts about suicide. About how Tyler's turned out to be a murder. About how Luke jumped off that bridge – for what? So he didn't have to live with what he was a part of? So he didn't have to face the consequences of his actions, like Aubrey has to face them? She is going to have to live every day, for the rest of her life, with what he did. If there is a God, she prays that he sent Luke straight to Hell where his eternity is worse than Aubrey's present. She wonders if Beca mentioned his name to the police, or Nikki's. Did she tell the police about Sophia? "No," she answers, and angles her body toward the door, "I'm done being interrogated. I need to see my mom."
"Alright." Dr. Morgan sighs, and stands up, "I'm sorry about what it is that happened. I hope you feel better, and I'll see what I can prescribe you to help."
Aubrey stares her down. If looks could force a person out the door…
Dr. Morgan turns and leaves.
Aubrey expects Chloe's mom to immediately walk inside, and then Aubrey can ask her to tell Beca to get in here. Only, she must still be getting coffee, because Aubrey didn't exactly entertain the conversation for long. The moment Dr. Morgan leaves, Aubrey is left completely alone. Ordinarily, it would be a breath of fresh air, a chance to think, but now everyone is Schrödinger's Cat, and Aubrey's thoughts are consumed by worry – and curiosity.
What do the police know – aside from what Beca told them?
Aubrey can think of one way to find out.
She picks up the remote, and turns on the news.
It doesn't take long to find what she's looking for. CNN has a photo of Jesse's face on the screen, and they're asking for anyone with information on his whereabouts to come forward. It seems they're still searching the island, for him and for the bodies of everyone killed - and they're wondering how one man could do this. So they don't know about Luke or Nikki.
The image switches from Jesse to the remnants of the dock. It's nothing more than charred wreckage. And they're talking about being unable to identify any of the people they've found so far, due to all of them being burned. And Aubrey learns those at the docks aren't the only people to have been lit on fire – she learns also that that little room down in the tunnels, where all of their friends had been relocated to after they were killed, became an inferno at some point after she, Chloe, and Beca found it. And they're suspecting that Jesse may have burned himself too.
Aubrey doubts that.
"One person has come forward so far, claiming to have been in communication with Jesse Swanson for months prior to this tragedy," the news anchor says, "Whether or not-"
A hand covers Aubrey and hits the power button on the remote as it's removed from her grip.
"No, no, no, no, no." Aubrey reaches to take it back, but it's already too far away. She watches Chloe's mom take it to the other side of the room and place it on a table.
"Whatever I learn about what happened," Julia says, "I don't want it coming from someone on the television. And there is no need for you to relive whatever you saw that way."
"No, they said-"
"I don't want to know what they said," Beca says, walking inside after her, "Dude, we were there. We already know what happened, Aubrey."
"But-"
"But what?" Beca asks, "You think somehow a handful of journalists know more than we do? I don't want to know what they have to say. Either they're going to make us relive what happened, or we're going to sit here pissed that they don't know what they're talking about."
"Did you tell them about Sophia?" Aubrey asks, ready to stuff something in Beca's mouth if she talks over her one more time, "They might not even know they should be looking for her."
"Aubrey." Beca's irritation turns to sadness, and she falls back onto her cot. "Everybody who was on that island is dead. I'm sorry."
"So you didn't even give them a list so they can tell their families?"
"I think they're going to figure it out when they don't come home, Aubrey. I have been waiting for you to wake up to say anything."
"The news said that someone was talking to him prior to this," Aubrey says, "What if…What if more people were involved, and he gave Sophia to somebody. She's just a baby. He has no reason to kill her." He had no reason to kill anyone, but murdering a baby is different. Sure, there are people out there who are that heartless, but this wasn't that kind of act. It was heartless, but enough to kill a baby?
Beca and Julia share a look.
They know something.
They know something Aubrey doesn't.
And they plan to leave her in the dark.
"You don't need to be watching the news, Aubrey," Julia says firmly, and sinks into a chair, "That's all there is to say about this."
"You agreed to no more secrets," Aubrey reminds Beca.
Beca closes her eyes and rubs her forehead. "What secrets?"
"Beca."
"Aubrey," Julia softly tries to grab her attention.
Aubrey looks at her and raises her brows as an invitation to talk, but doesn't give her the chance to do so. "Maybe you two should go. Together."
"If I leave, the remote goes with me," Julia says, making no attempt to get up.
There are other ways to get the news…
"Okay." This time, Julia does stand up.
Aubrey draws in a slow, deep breath to calm the beating of her heart. Her father always said that fear has one driving force – and that force is having something to lose. Maybe that's why Aubrey's anxiety spiked after she became a Bella, after meeting Chloe, after Chloe's family declared her one of their own. Now, Aubrey only has one thing left to lose. If Chloe's mom walks out, maybe she'll take all of Aubrey's fear with her…
"Step into the bathroom with me," Julia says instead of stepping out the door, "I want to tell you something."
In the bathroom? Aubrey just looks at her.
"I want to talk to you alone, and I'm not going to ask Beca to leave this room," Julia continues, "Aubrey, come."
Aubrey hates that tone. That tone that if used by anyone else would leave them too afraid to ever speak to Aubrey again – except Beca, who still fights her, except her father, who Aubrey would never fight back against, and except for Chloe's mom, who stands there staring at her expectantly, hands on her hips in a way that reminds Aubrey too much of Chloe. She slowly gets up, because her body won't let her move with any kind of speed, and pushes the stupid IV pole with her into the restroom.
She catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror when Julia turns on the light. She has the face of a ghost with two black eyes. She quickly looks away, not wanting to see anything else – one word in particular, that is now backed up by Aubrey's forced encounter with a psychiatrist. 'CRAZY'. She is not crazy. This, all of this, everything that has happened, is what's fucking crazy.
Julia shuts the door behind them, then she turns and looks at her. Just looks at her. Not saying a word.
Could she hurry up? "I have things to do," Aubrey announces impatiently. It would work with anyone else – make them feel less than whatever else Aubrey has actually made the time for.
"I would love to see that list," Julia comments.
Aubrey waits for her to continue, but Chloe's mom waits too – waits for Aubrey to list out all the imaginary tasks Aubrey could be completing right now. She tries to think of something. But her mind is too tired. So, she finds a chip in one of the tiles on the wall, and stares at it, her lips curling into a smile in her discomfort.
"Do you know what I've noticed, Aubrey?" Julia asks.
Aubrey isn't sure whether she's disappointed or relieved that this isn't turning into a battle to out-wait the other to talk.
"You are a well-spoken young woman, and I am sure if you wanted to hurt my feelings, you could dig up some weak spot and effectively tear me to shreds with it."
Spoken by someone else, Aubrey would let those words sink in with pride. Said to her by Chloe's mom, they cling to her in a thick layer of shame.
"And, yet, from the time I met you, whenever you're upset with me, you go for that same button that you know does not affect me, and you just hit it over and over and over," Julia effectively strips her bare, instead of the other way around, then guts her like a fish, "I am willing to bet anything that until Chloe came along, everyone made you feel so alone, and whenever you needed something, they all turned a blind eye and walked out the door, and you probably dealt with everything by yourself. And then Chloe dismantled your whole life."
That crack in the wall is suddenly the most interesting thing Aubrey has ever seen in her entire life.
"And that's why you hate Beca so much, not because she, as a person bothers you, but because you don't want her to take the only person who ever paid you any positive attention. And that's why you keep trying to press that same button on me. You don't want me to go anywhere – especially not with the same person who made you feel like you were worth less of Chloe's attention. You're just so scared it's going to happen, that you want to control the how and when of it so maybe the impact will be just a little bit less."
Aubrey shakes her head – hovering somewhere between the verge of vomiting and passing out. She thinks it's the pole keeping her steady, until she realizes one of Julia's hands is no longer on her hip, in favor of making sure that very pole doesn't roll away from her.
"But I didn't bring you in here to tell you about yourself."
And yet… "You don't know me," Aubrey does little more than mouth the words. She isn't even sure Julia hears them. If she does, she doesn't so much as bat an eyelash.
"I want to tell you that that button does not work the way you want it to. Honey, there are days where more people tell me to get away from them than say hello to me."
Aubrey finds that hard to believe.
"But it does work, because every situation you try to push it in, and every way you try to push it, tells me a little bit more about what bothers you. You can keep pushing it if you want, but we both know you're capable of being a better communicator than that. You're selling yourself short, and you're missing out on getting your needs met in a way that actually feels good."
The only thing Aubrey needs is to leave this bathroom by dissolving through the floor. She shakes her head.
"You do have them. Everyone has them. Chloe. Me. Beca. And I cannot imagine how the ways you're trying to get them met, even though you think you're blocking them out, feel good or comforting or even in the least bit satisfying."
Aubrey dissolves into herself instead – so far into herself that the only place in her body she exists is the part of her brain processing the broken tile, so far that she's barely within her own reach, let alone someone else's. The rest of her falls into auto-pilot. The kind of auto-pilot that's numb. The kind of auto-pilot that, in the exhaustion and indignity of it all, can no longer feel the threat but still sends her arm flying up to protect her face that moment her eyes register a hand coming too close for comfort.
"And that," Julia says, brushing her hair away from her face, not smacking her in the mouth, not yanking her by the collar of her shirt, but instead trying to provide her with an actual sense of comfort, "tells me a whole lot more. Does Chloe know?"
Know what? Aubrey surprises herself by nodding.
"Did you tell her?" Julia asks.
Told her what? Aubrey shakes her head.
"Have you ever told anybody?"
Aubrey nods.
"Who?"
Aubrey's peripheral vision is dark, distractingly so, and her consciousness seems to just float suspended inside her body – like her body's only purpose is to keep her from floating away.
"You don't have to tell me." Julia pulls back a little, giving Aubrey some space. The bathroom walls stop closing in and start to open wider than they were to begin with – an equally as disorienting sensation. She never digs too deep, Aubrey realizes, neither does Chloe, only deep enough to hit something hard. "Splash some water on your face, Baby."
"Beca," Aubrey answers her question, not moving to follow the instruction, only because she can't.
"Oh." Finally, something takes Chloe's mom completely by surprise.
"I didn't want to die with it," Aubrey explains in a whisper. Emotion starts to rush back in on her. She smacks it back like a ball in a pinball game – sending it bouncing around with nowhere to land. There are so many questions in Chloe's mom's expression, and Aubrey can't bring herself to answer a single one. She nervously rubs her throat. Or maybe she rubs it out of the memory of how close she came to dying in the middle of the woods. It starts to hurt – just like the rest of her body. And, in one brief side glance at the mirror, Aubrey can see the bruise.
"Why didn't you tell Chloe?" Just like Chloe, Julia is way too handsy, and she causes Aubrey to make a face when her hands get to close to Aubrey's neck. "I'm not touching. I'm just looking." One of her hands comes to rest on Aubrey's uninjured shoulder, and the other tilts Aubrey's head up by her chin just a few centimeters.
Aubrey tries to swallow the nausea and the dryness in her throat. "She wasn't there." She was almost dying somewhere else – feeling that same kind of raw terror that Aubrey was feeling. Only, Chloe was alone. That emotion is harder to hit back. Chloe was scared, and she was alone in that drain. Her own fears are so small in comparison to that. What she felt in those few minutes of being separated from Beca, Chloe felt that for hours…
"I mean in general." Julia releases her.
Aubrey gives another half shrug with the only shoulder she can manage to lift. Even that starts to hurt. "Because the one time I thought someone cared, they didn't. And I wanted to keep believing Chloe would care, okay?" Shut up, Aubrey. She tries to step away, but the bathroom is small, and she overestimates the distance from between herself and the sink. There is nowhere to go.
Julia's expression falls into something that Aubrey can't quite read – and, for the briefest second, Aubrey thinks Chloe's mom might start to cry. "I'm so sorry," she apologizes, like it's her fault that lady exposed all of her secrets, and then skipped out on her, "I'm sure they cared. I care. And you know what?"
Aubrey ignores her.
"Whatever you thought was going to kill you, it's done. It's over. And I do know you. You're either going to live forever like Betty White, or when your time does come in 60 or 70 years, you're going to put up a fight that, at the very least, takes the reaper down with you."
Kill the one trying to kill her…
Like with Jesse.
Only Jesse is still alive.
And no one is safe.
Not Beca. Not Chloe. Not Chloe's family. Not Aubrey's friends. And especially not Aubrey, who fucking shot him.
Aubrey tries to turn toward the sink, convinced she's going to throw up in it – not knowing how much more her body can take. It doesn't feel like it can take any more. She's about to grip it, but it's covered in so many germs that she feels disgusting just from bumping into it – like she needs to shower and change her shirt now. How is she supposed to shower with this cast? How?!
"Hey." Julia turns her back around. "Look at me."
Aubrey just barely meets her eyes so the instruction doesn't come in a harsher tone. She is ready to leave the bathroom now.
"Let's make a code for if you need something. Chloe and I have about one hundred codes," Julia says.
Chloe and Aubrey have a code too… But they didn't have to discuss it. It just fell into place. It was less awkward that way.
"If you need anything, anything, big or small, or if something is wrong, if you need space, or whatever it is, how about you just…" Julia looks around. "How about you tap your chin? And I'll just know. That's so much easier than saying something, isn't it?"
Aubrey is so tired. Not the sleep kind. She feels like she's slept too much. But every other kind. All she can give is one more one armed half shrug, and hope the conversation is over now.
"You can do that," Julia says, placing her hand on the door handle, "Or you can insult Beca. Either way. I'll know you need something."
What? Aubrey shakes her head.
"Yeah, that's the code now. Tap your chin or insult Beca, and we can go talk."
She wouldn't. Only, she would. She definitely would. She's going to make Aubrey play nice.
"You're going to be okay," Julia says, before she opens the door, "Everything is going to be okay. It may not feel like it, but it will be. You're about to live in a house full of insufferable people who are going to make sure of it as long as you stop pushing that 'I don't need you' button on everyone around you. Because people will get tired, and they will leave, and I will be the only one here. And it would be a shame to lose all these great people who have come to bat for you, because you treat the love and vulnerability in you as weaknesses."
