Page 10 of The Fall Before Flight

He grins, gorgeous in the bright morning light, his skin glistening with sweat. “Fair enough.” His gaze drops to the dusty trail beneath us. “Why did you say what you did in group yesterday?”

I stare at his bowed head. “I already apologized. Do you want me to do it again?”

Callum looks up, his eyes searching mine. “You know what I mean.”

Eye contact is suddenly too much, so I drop my head back to gaze at the endless, empty sky. “What do you want me to say?”

“The truth.”

“Truth, truth, truth,” I whisper, then find my backbone and meet his earnest eyes. “When I was seven years old, I took my mother’s lipsticks and smeared them all over the walls in my parents’ bedroom. I was angry because she wouldn’t let me come to my little brother’s swim lesson. She told me how disappointed she was. Then she left with my brother Phillip. I never saw her again.”

Callum goes still. “She died?”

I nod. “Both of them. Car accident on the way home. Even when I heard my father screaming downstairs and Jameson crying, I kept scrubbing the walls. When I was finished, I climbed out the attic window and jumped off the roof.”

As expected, Callum is speechless.

I drain the water bottle and hand it back to him. “I didn’t want to die. Still don’t. I just wanted to be free.” I meet his searching gaze. “There’s something wrong with me. A flaw in my makeup. I might be a sociopath. I’m also a compulsive liar.”

He shakes his head slowly. “You shouldn’t be telling me this.”

I shrug. “Manmade rules are just words. False boundaries put into place by people trying to make sense of things. To establish order where there isn’t any.” I gauge his expression but can’t tell if it’s one of intrigue or revulsion. “Told you I’m fucked up.”

“Was that story true? About your mom?” he asks softly.

It’s partly true. There hadn’t been a lipstick incident. But I had jumped off the roof that night.

“Maybe,” I tell him.

After a moment of stunned silence, Callum laughs. “You’re the most intense person I’ve ever met.”

I wink. “Thanks, sweetcheeks.”

Shaking his head, he asks, “Breakfast?”

I glance at my watch. “Nah. I need to shower before my session with Doc.”

“Want company?”

I know what he means, but ask mildly, “Couples therapy already?”

He smirks. “The offer’s open. I think we’d have a good time.”

“No doubt, but you’re not my type.”

His jaw drops. “Why the hell not?” he asks, stupefied.

I shove his chest lightly and tell him the truth. “Because I like you.”

If the main facility is the bottom half of an oval, the resident cabins comprise the top curve. There are ten in total—spacious studios with a queen bed, bathroom including full-sized tub, quaint sitting area, and a small kitchen. The furnishings are plain, the cream walls bare, but the bed is comfortable and water pressure decent.

I walk past the pool, turquoise and glistening in the sunlight, and follow a gravel path that winds through a succulent garden, rock garden, and a huge labyrinth for meditation I have yet to see used. When the path widens, branching into separate trails for each of the cabins, I take the rightmost one.

I’d left the door unlocked, figuring the only person who might snoop is Tiffany. She has that shifty, kleptomaniac vibe to her. There isn’t anything of personal or monetary value inside, anyway, so I don’t care if she pokes around.

Kicking off my sneakers, I leave them on the doormat and step inside. The cabin is stuffy, but at least ten degrees cooler than outside thanks to the pulled curtains. I shut the door with my hip and yank off my sports bra, then flip on the recessed lights.

“Nice rack.”

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