Page 25 of The Plus One
Help. Please. Help. Please.
The desperate chant was a whisper but it released an avalanche of fear in Jude’s chest. He needed to move. Do something. Anything.
But he couldn’t.
It was like cement solidified through his veins, rooting him to the spot, unable to do anything but stare in horror, knowing how this ended. Knowing it was his fault.
No. No. No. I can’t see this again. I can’t. I can’t. I ca—
Jude woke up in a cold sweat, heart slamming against his breastbone in a jagged pattern as he jolted up to sitting. He couldn’t catch his breath, couldn’t wash the phantom blood from his hands.
Slowly, reality settled around him, but not fully. Two fuzzy worlds were superimposed, the dark bedroom and the piercing light of the operating room. House and desert. Midnight silence and war-zone chaos.
He tore out of bed, needing to escape before he got stuck in the in-between permanently.
Jude wrestled his long limbs into running clothes. Running would save him. If he ran hard enough, long enough, fast enough, far enough, he could outpace the chaos in his brain. He picked up hissneakers, waiting to put them on until he got outside of the house so his steps wouldn’t wake anyone up.
But as he tiptoed down the stairs, front door in sight, the soft glow and muffled hum of the TV caught his attention.
Indira was on the couch, wrapped in a tight ball with a blanket draped over her. When she noticed Jude, she jumped a bit then sat up, the blanket falling to her waist, her wild mane of inky curls surrounding her face like a dark cloud.
“Hey,” she said softly, tilting her head as she looked at him. The TV offered just enough light for him to see the curiosity in her tired features.
“What are you doing?” Jude said with his characteristic roughness. He didn’t mean to be so abrasive, but his throat always felt rusty and raw, especially when trying to form words for Indira.
Her face hardened at his tone. “What areyoudoing?” she shot back. “It’s close to three a.m. and you’re dressed like a highlighter,” she added, nodding at his neon-yellow shirt and the stripes on his sneakers.
“I—” He gestured helplessly at the door before dropping his hand to his side. “I can’t sleep,” he admitted. He wasn’t sure why he told her the truth.
Maybe it was because he was exhausted and disjointed and felt a fog of derealization sinking into his bones. Or maybe it was because of the way Indira’s eyes pierced through him, even in the dark. Maybe it was the way energy softly radiated off her, a confusing mix of gentleness and hardness, that created the odd sense in his chest that she understood him.
But it was probably just the exhaustion.
“I can’t sleep either,” Indira said. There was a beat of silence. “Do you, uh… wanna watch TV with me?”
Jude’s brain generated the wordno, but his tongue wouldn’t form it, wouldn’t push the syllable out. He knew he shouldn’t burden her with the subtle sickness that leaked out of him like a toxic cloud. He should leave her be and walk out that door, run his muscles into painful oblivion and spare Indira the trouble.
But something about her drew him in, like she had a rope looped around his chest that she gently and steadily pulled on.
His legs started moving, dragging his shattered self to the soft-looking couch with the sweetly sleepy-looking Indira as if any of it mattered. As if he could find comfort in any of it. He knew he couldn’t.
“What are you watching?” he asked, sitting stiffly on the sofa with as much space between them as possible.
“Bob’s Burgers,” she said, hitting play on the paused cartoon. “But only the Thanksgiving specials.”
Jude’s mouth quirked. “Why just the Thanksgiving specials?”
Indira smiled, her eyes still fixed on the TV as a cartoon woman in a teal dress started singing about cranberry sauce. “I’m not sure. They make me happy, I guess. Slows my brain down and usually lets me fall asleep.”
“Why can’t you sleep?”
She shrugged, readjusting the blanket and draping part of it over Jude’s lap. His thigh muscles jerked as if she’d dragged her hand over them.
“It’s not always a problem, but sometimes work keeps me up. Or wakes me up, more accurately.”
“Are you having trouble with work?” Jude kind of hated himself for the tiny blip of hope that maybe she was having a hard time with her career too. That maybe he wasn’t completely alone.
But Indira shook her head. “No, not particularly. Today was actually a really good day. I’ve been working with this little boy for a few months now, but he wouldn’t speak—and after what he’s been through in such a short life, I can’t blame him.” Indira paused, chewing on her lower lip. “But I decided to try something new today and I took him outside to sit in the sunshine. He was hesitant at first, but slowly, he relaxed. He rubbed his sweet little hands over the grass, dug his fingers into the dirt. Raised his face to the sun and actually smiled. And then he talked—just a few sentences—but I almost cried I was so happy to hear his voice.”
