Providence (The Velvet Series Book 2) Page 9

  “What are you going to do with her?” Catherine asks as I sigh and run my fingers through my hair.

  “I can’t very well leave her alone. I’ll probably take her back to mine. I have things I need to take care of.”

  “Be careful.” Catherine doesn’t say anything else. She and Alex clasp hands as they walk away, leaving me to deal with Katrina on my own. I climb into my car and start it, letting it idle as I try to figure out what I’m supposed to do. Resigned to my fate, I back out of my spot and head home.

  “Hey, this isn’t my house,” Katrina slurs as I wait for the garage door to open. How very observant I think to myself as I put the car in park. I scold myself for becoming irritated, she has every reason to drown her sorrows, I just never had a high tolerance for drunk people.

  “No, it isn’t. I have things to get done and I don’t think you should be alone right now.” I open my door and climb out of the car. Katrina opens hers and practically falls out, saved by the seatbelt I insisted she fasten before we left the brewery.

  “No, I need to go get my car,” she protests, causing me to shake my head.

  “Not tonight you don’t. I’ll take you in the morning.” I pull one of her arms over my shoulder and wrap mine around her waist, basically hauling her into the house. Once inside I deposit her at the dining room table and head back to the kitchen to get her a glass of water. “Drink this,” I order setting it in front of her. I quickly grab my laptop from the den and join Katrina at the table. I remotely log in, hopping I can get some charting done while I work to sober Katrina up. We sit at the table for an hour as I work on my charting, only pausing to refill her glass. She remains quiet the entire time. I’m not sure if she is simply brooding or if I should be concerned. I finish up my final chart and check the clock. I’m late for class, which I knew back at the brewery I was going to miss. I send a quick message to Jason apologizing and asking for a favor. He lets me know not to worry and asks what I need. I briefly explain the situation and give him Katrina’s name, asking if he has room to work her in. He assures me he does, to pass along his number to her. Those things taken care of, I refocus my attention on Katrina who appears to be half asleep while sitting at the table. I stand up and look at her.

  “Come on,” I order, extending my hand. She stands up, a little steadier on her feet, but takes my hand anyway. I’m glad that I brought her back here, where the bedrooms are all on the main level. I lead her down the hall to the guest room where she promptly flops down onto the bed. I pull her shoes off, my irritation growing. I cannot stand it when guests wear shoes in someone’s home. I take advantage of Katrina already being half asleep to retreat to the kitchen to refill her water. I return to the guest room and deposit it on the night stand. “Get up.” She stirs a little, so I grab both of her hands and start pulling her to her feet. I hold her up long enough to fling the comforter and sheet back, then redeposit her in the bed. She curls up in the fetal position, so I flip the bedding back over her, knowing her suit is going to be rumpled beyond belief in the morning. I switch the bedside lamp on and Katrina’s hand darts out and grabs mine, startling me.

  “I’m sorry I’m such a mess.” A tear rolls down the side of her nose as I look at her.

  “Don’t worry about it. Get some sleep.” I exit the room, leaving the door slightly ajar as I do. It’s too early for bed, so I change into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt and curl up on the sofa in the den with a new book. I’m in the middle of the third chapter when I hear Katrina shuffling down the hall. I feel her eyes on me as she stops short of the sofa, as if she is debating whether she should join me or just go back to bed. I turn and look at her as she deposits herself on the end of the couch.

  “I can’t sleep.”

  “That suit probably isn’t helping. I’ll grab you something a little more comfortable.” I head back to my bedroom and grab a pair of shorts and a shirt for Katrina to sleep in. I turn around to return to the living room and nearly scream aloud. Katrina is standing in my doorway, I hadn’t heard her following me. “Good grief, I’m starting to think you’re determined to give me a heart attack tonight.” Katrina looks ashamed as I hand her the clothes. “Change into this, see if it helps.” I head back to the den as Katrina closes the door to the guest room. I pick up where I left off and by the time I reach the end of the chapter Katrina has not returned. I assume she’s finally fallen asleep.

  Ten minutes later I am alerted to the fact that I’m wrong as Katrina plops down onto the couch next to me. “What can I do?” She doesn’t say anything, she simply scoots away from me, then lays her head on my thigh, focusing her gaze on the blank TV screen. I have no idea what to do. I know that I need to get to bed soon, so I can’t allow her to fall asleep like this. As I try to figure out my strategy, I feel the cool moisture start to soak through my shorts as Katrina lays there silently crying. Without thinking, I start to slowly stroke her chestnut hair. She sniffles and swipes at her eyes, so I give her the silence she needs and go back to my book. After another chapter, I look down to discover she’s fast asleep. I set my book down and slowly extract myself from under her head, replacing my thigh with one of the decorative throw pillows, that up until now I’ve questioned its purpose. I head to the hall closet and grab a pair of blankets and return to the den to drape them over Katrina. I shut off the lights and head down the hallway to prepare for bed. I’ve just drifted off to sleep when a soft knock on my door pulls me back to an alert state. I switch on the bedside lamp, wincing at the sudden brightness. “Come in.”

  Katrina opens the door and stands in the doorway. “I don’t think I can be alone right now.” Without a word, I flip the bedding back on the far side of the king size bed. Katrina shuffles her way around and climbs in. What am I doing?, I think to myself as I switch the lamp back off. I shake my head in the dark, knowing I likely won’t be sleeping much tonight, I seldom sleep well when sharing a bed with anyone.

  Chapter 8

  I don’t hear from Katrina at all over the weekend. I’m not sure if I expected to, but by Monday I’m concerned enough that I plan to stop by her place on my way home. My second patient arrives to pre-op and is found to have a fever and elevated cell counts, causing me to have to reschedule her surgery. I can’t risk placing implants in someone with an existing infection coursing through their body. I hate that she will have to wait a few more weeks to have the next step in her reconstruction done, but being safe is the best course of action we can take. Wrapping things up in the OR just after noon, I find myself excited at the prospect of having a little extra free time before I leave for Ghana on Saturday. I run a few errands and then pull into Katrina’s driveway. I ring the bell, but she doesn’t answer. Given that her car is parked in front of mine, I assume that she’s home and that she doesn’t want to see me, or maybe anyone. I send her a text letting her know that I stopped by to check on her and ask her to let me know if she needs anything. I head home and park in my customary space in the garage. The sound of blaring music greets me as I enter my house and panic momentarily sets in. It takes me a few seconds to realize that the music is coming from the basement and to recall that I gave Katrina a set of keys Friday morning. I kick off my shoes and make my way down the basement steps, making no effort to be quiet, Katrina won’t be able to hear me over the blaring din of her music anyway. I stop at the base of the stairs and watch Katrina attack the bag, mixing uppercuts and hooks in with her jabs, or at least the semblance of those punches, her form on each needing refinement. She’s breathing heavily and sweat seems to be oozing out of her every pore. Oblivious to the fact that I’m here, I move over to the iPod connected to my system and pause the song, bringing a welcome respite from whatever angry music Katrina had playing.

  “What the fu—,” Katrina pants as she turns around. She shrieks when she sees me. “What are you doing here?” I raise a single eyebrow at her, is she seriously questioning what I am doing in my own home?

  “It’s my house.” Katrina bends at the waist,
putting her hands on her knees as she tries to catch her breath. “You really should stand up straight and put your hands on top of or behind your head if you’re trying to catch your breath.” She heeds my advice and adjusts her posture. I make my way over to her, stopping an arm’s length away. I’m still in my dress slacks and blouse, not the appropriate attire for this, but it should allow me the freedom of movement to show her the adjustments she should make. “Who taught you the uppercut and the hook?”

  “I watched a few videos on the internet. Why?”

  “No reason, other than you should consider making a few adjustments to your form if you wish to properly utilize those punches. Do you?” Katrina nods that she does, so I spend the next few minutes going over them with her. She demonstrates to me that she understands the changes and can maintain them while switching her punches up. “How long have you been at it?”

  “I don’t know. I met with Jason this morning and had my first class. I still felt full of energy, so I biked over here. What time is it?”

  “Going on one.”

  “Really? I hadn’t realized. I’ve been down here at least an hour already.”

  “You had a class with Jason this morning, and now you’ve been down here for over an hour?” My tone communicates my concern as Katrina eyes me warily and nods. “Be careful, don’t over do it.”

  “Well, it’s either this or drink.”

  “Why? Do you usually spend your time drinking?” I see the anger flash in her eyes.

  “Don’t. Don’t psychoanalyze me!” She grits her teeth as she barks her command.

  “I’m just concerned. Maybe talking to someone would help. I could make some calls about grief—.”

  “I DON’T WANT TO FUCKING TALK TO ANYONE!” Rage surges through her silver eyes as she screams at me. I refuse to participate in this conversation, if that’s what this is, anymore. I throw up my hands before turning around and pressing play on her iPod, her music of choice now appealing to the surging anger I feel. “Sara. Sara wait!” I ignore her and head back upstairs. The sun is shining, and the weather is warm for this time of year, so I change into a pair of sweats, make myself a glass of lemonade, and take a seat on the patio on the back side of the house. My Kindle sits in my lap ignored. I’m unsure why I bothered to bring it with me. In my vexed state, I won’t be able to focus on, much less enjoy, reading anything. Instead, I stare off into the woods, hoping the sounds of the birds chirping and the feel of the warm sunshine will calm me down. I have no idea how long I sit there, listening to the sounds of nature when the sound of the slider door opening sends a new wave of irritation coursing through me. I don’t bother to look at her or acknowledge her presence.

  “Sara—.” I quickly hold up my hand, silencing her.

  “You will never speak to me like that again, most certainly not in my own home. Understood?” I still refuse to look at her, opting to let my icy tone convey my sentiments.

  “Yes,” she murmurs. “I’m sorry.”

  “Aren’t you sick of having to apologize for your behavior? I’m sick of hearing it.” I’m being unduly harsh at this point, I know, but it’s my turn to lash out it seems. “I was only expressing concern for your well-being and offering a possible means of assistance.”

  “I know.” I hear her release a deep breath. “May I sit?” I flip my hand at the chairs I know exist to my right, still refusing to take my eyes off of the woods. Not content with this, Katrina seats herself across the table from me, trying to force me to look at her. “I just feel angry all the time, and when it isn’t anger, it’s a fire fueled rage. I hate everyone, even the people I know I actually care about. I hate seeing everyone going happily about their lives. I hate people I’ve never even met. To answer your question, the drinking is new. I was a social drinker at worst before, maybe three drinks a week. Now all I want to do is hit things and drink.”

  “You’re spiraling out of control. You need help. Help that I’m not able to offer you. You need to talk to someone.”

  “I know, but I’m not ready.” I close my eyes against the anger I feel flare up inside of me, like being near Katrina has infected me with the poison coursing through her veins. I want to toss the chair I’m sitting on against the house, I see myself doing it in my mind’s eye. Instead, I take a deep breath, and as I let it slowly slip past my barely parted lips I open my eyes, refocusing on the woods stretched out a few hundred yards away. I hear the sound of Katrina’s chair scraping across the paving stones and the opening and closing of the patio door as she heads inside, presumably to leave. I don’t try to stop her, despite the fact that I know she will likely head home and drown herself in a bottle of her choosing. I don’t try to stop her because I know no matter how badly I’d like to keep her from self-destructing, nothing I can say or do will dissuade her from this path she does not wish to abandon. I don’t try to stop her because I know that I can’t keep putting myself on the front lines of a battle that cannot be won.

  *****

  I arrive at class Thursday night, happy that my early day on Monday allowed me to prepare for my trip and keep my usual appointment. I walk in and toss my bag on the floor in the corner, pulling off my shoes and sweats. I make my way over to the rack and grab a bar to use during my normal stretching routine.

  “Hey Sara,” I hear Jason call and find his reflection in the mirror. I feel a fresh wave of irritation spread through me as I see Katrina’s reflection as well.

  “I thought I’d combine your classes on Thursdays, since you’re friends. She’s still green, but she’s been coming in every day and working hard. You ok with that?” Tonight I’m not, but what choice do I have? I nod that I am and continue my routine. I study my reflection in the mirror as I stretch and wonder if I’m the only one able to see the anger in my features, my tense shoulders and clenched jaw. I join them and Jason fills me in on Katrina’s progress. He has me work on the bag while he goes over some grappling and counter moves with Katrina. I set to work on the bag, hammering it mercilessly time and again, alternating between jabs, hooks, and crosses. My pace is frenetic, and I quickly feel the sweat soaking through my shirt.

  “Ok Golden Gloves, now you’re just showing off.” That wasn’t my intent, but it probably looked that way. “I’m going to have you spar with Katrina for a little bit. Just take it easy on her, she hasn’t been doing this as long as you have.” I nod that I will and follow him to where Katrina waits for us on the mats. Jason signals for us to begin and I immediately take the defensive, always preferring to attack an opponent when they’re vulnerable. Katrina moves in, and I easily evade her attempt, sweeping her legs and taking her down. I allow her to get up as Jason gives me a cautioning look. Katrina comes at me again and I effortlessly counter, this time slamming her into the mat a little more forcefully than I should.

  “Shit!” Guilt surges through me as Katrina takes a moment to get up. I look up at Jason and can tell he is equal parts confused and pissed. “I can’t do this tonight, I’ve gotta go.” Jason furrows his brow at me but nods a silent dismissal. I return to my bag in the corner and take off my gloves, stuffing them back into the bag, before pulling on my sweats and shoes. I pull the hood of my sweatshirt over my head and make my way outside. Knowing that I’m too angry to drive right now, I toss my bag in the car, before locking it up and starting on what I hope will be a mind clearing walk.

  “Sara!” Katrina’s voice calls to me as she exits the gym. “Wait!” I ignore her and keep walking, despite the patter of her footfalls on the sidewalk as she runs to close the distance between us. Hood up, head down, hands in the pockets of my zip-up sweatshirt, I keep walking, knowing that I likely won’t be clearing my head after all. She catches up and wraps her hand around my bicep, pulling me against my intended direction. My anger surges and I stop myself before I swing. The aborted motion and the tensing of my bicep have a look of terror mixed with shock registered on Katrina’s face.

  “That,” I say lowering my eyes to her hand, “is a singu
larly bad idea right now.” She releases my arm and backs up a step.

  “Just talk to me. You’re pissed off at me, I get it.” I shake my head at her and start walking again. Persistent in her pursuit, she follows.

  “Angry at you, yes. You seem hell-bent on bottoming out. You refuse any effort I’ve made to talk to you or to assist you in finding someone you can talk to. You scream at me in my home and drown yourself in a bottle every chance you get. I could have easily hurt you three different times in the last half hour because of that anger, now I feel guilty about that. Worst of all though, now I pity you. I pity you because of all the ways you could cope, could choose to combat everything you’re going through, you’re taking the easy way out and finding solace in a bottle.” Her fists clench and rage flashes in her eyes. She wants to hit me, I can see it clear as day, and if she did, I know I wouldn’t hit her back.

  “You have no idea what I’m going through,” she says through clenched teeth. Her fists unfurl, and her muscles relax. “Do you think this is easy or something? That I’m enjoying this? Do you?”