His lips twist in utter repulsion. He rakes his hands through his hair, and his head falls between his knees in defeat.

“I love you,” I say simply. “More than you can know, I love you. I’m not disgusted, I promise you that. It hurts me to see you this way. That’s all.”

I wait for some type of acknowledgment from him—a sign that my words penetrated his thoughts. I hope for his promise in return. What I wouldn’t give to hear him say he loves me, too. In these past few months, I’ve come to doubt his feelings. I’m unsure if he’s capable of love for me at this point. I think the fog may be too thick to navigate, and that hurts more than anything else.

“Let me help you. Please, Lucas, let me help you. If you would just—” His head is shaking before I finish the sentence. I grab his shoulders, fully prepared to beg. “Yes, Lucas! There is help out there—doctors, medications, therapy. You can’t give up. You haven’t even really tried.”

My head falls to his chest, and his hand grips my neck. “Remember your promise, Celia.”

“I’ll only keep it if you can swear to me that you will never try to hurt yourself again.” My voice is a soft whisper, but when the grip on my neck tightens, I know he’s heard me. “Promise me you will never try anything like this again, Lucas, or you leave me no choice.”

He releases a resigned sigh. I lift my head so I can see his admission. “Okay, Celia. I promise I won’t hurt myself again.”

“Okay.”

As I walk Lucas back to the safety of his room, I’m overwhelmed by an impending sense of dread. His volatile mood swings as of late make me question his ability to keep good on his promise. I may have smashed his weapon of choice tonight, but there are no shortages of methods to choose from. I’m drowning, and the surface is nowhere in sight.

I see the light from Audrey’s bedroom seeping through the bottom of the door. I tap lightly and open it a crack.

“I think I’ll take you up on the sleepover after all. I’d like to stay with you for a while, if you don’t mind.”

Audrey screeches excitedly and jumps up off the floor to wrap me in a hug. “I’m so glad, Celia. I knew you didn’t want to be in that house all by yourself.”

“You’re right,” I agree, hoping I sound convincing. “I’m gonna hang out with Lucas for a few minutes, then I’ll be back.” Hopefully she’ll lose track of time, and I’ll be able to stay with Lucas until he falls asleep.

“Below My Feet” by Mumford & Sons

Present Day

I EYE THE trash build up on the side of the road and the shady characters with less-than-honorable intentions milling around as Celia drives us to her patient’s house. With every mile she drives, we are moving farther into the wrong side of town. At least her old Buick doesn’t garner us any unwanted attention.

“Um, Celia?”

“Hmmmm?” she answers, seemingly oblivious to the change in our surroundings.

“I don’t give a shit who you’re visiting, you shouldn’t be on this side of town by yourself. Ever.”

She gives me a lighthearted laugh and rolls her eyes. “My patient’s mental illness keeps him from holding down a job for any length of time. He has to make do with government disability. That doesn’t exactly buy a downtown penthouse apartment. He does the best he can … they all do.”

“Hey, I’m not knocking the dude. I’m saying, when you need to come here, you call me first, yeah?”

I keep my eyes trained on her until I see a little nod, telling me she gets where I’m coming from. She turns into Sanders Trailer Park and slows down to maneuver around the monstrous potholes. Old Man Sanders, the guy who runs this place, gives the term slumlord its name. The conditions of his trailers are deplorable, and I’ve heard he treats his tenants like dirt.

Celia comes to a stop in front of a dilapidated camper and turns off the ignition. I’d bet my ass it’s a FEMA cast-off with toxic formaldehyde levels. That’s how Old Man Sanders rolls … sorry sack of shit.

She shifts her body to face me and places a hand on my arm. “Now, I haven’t spoken with Mr. Craig directly. He doesn’t have a phone for me to reach him. I’ve only spoken with his mother, who called me because she’s worried about him. I think it’s best if you stay outside while I speak with him. I don’t want him to be frightened.”

“Not gonna happen,” I say, ready and willing to argue.

She huffs and throws her hands in the air. “Of course it won’t. God forbid we do things my way. I’m only the counselor.”

I reach out to her and run my thumb along her jaw. “Sweetheart, I’ll play this any way you like, as long as it starts off with me being within arms’ reach of you. There’s no way in hell I’m sitting outside with no idea what’s happening. I’m here to keep you safe.”

If the melty smile I get from Celia is any indication, I’ll guess she hasn’t felt protected in a very long time. That knowledge pisses me right the fuck off, but I beat that back to deal with the matter at hand.

“All right, Cain,” she whispers. She opens the door and steps out of the car, and I follow suit.

She gingerly steps over empty cans and wads of trash to reach the front door. After knocking, she peers into the tiny diamond window.

“Mr. Craig, it’s Celia from New Horizons. I’d like to come inside and visit with you, if that’s okay.”

I hear a faint shuffling coming from inside the camper. “Now’s not a good time Miss Celia. Go away!” says the frightened, muffled voice from behind the door.

“Your mother called me. She’s very worried about you, and so am I,” Celia pleads.

The door cracks only an inch, and a bewildered eye peeks through the opening.

“Who’s that?” Mr. Craig asks, and I’m sure he’s referring to me.

“I’m Cain, Mr. Craig, and I work at New Horizons with Celia,” I say, racking my brain for the words that will get us through the door. Fuck it, I’ll just be honest. “I don’t like Celia driving in this part of town alone, so I’m keeping her company today.”

Before I can finish my sentence, he opens the door and steps out onto the tiny porch. “I tell Miss Celia the same thing, but she never listens. It’s not safe here for a young woman all alone.”

I grin at Celia, victory written plainly across my face. “Ha!”

Celia shakes her head and walks up the steps and into the trailer. Mr. Craig waves me forward also, and I smile in return. I have to duck my head to fit through the door, and once I’m inside, it’s not much better. These campers weren’t made to accommodate tall people. As far as I’m concerned, they weren’t made to accommodate anyone.

Before I cross the threshold, the putrid smell of rotting food and stagnant body odor knocks the wind out of me. Now, I’m a fisherman. I’m a hunter. I’ve smelled some pretty awful shit in my day, but this is a whole new level of atrocious. It takes every ounce of effort in my body to keep a straight face, but I will myself to pretend there’s nothing wrong.

Celia smiles at Mr. Craig, and the girl deserves an Oscar, because I’m fighting back tears, and she looks like she’s smelling a bouquet of roses.

“Is it all right with you if we talk about my concerns in front of Cain, Mr. Craig? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or break your trust in any way,” Celia asks politely, hands clasped in front of her.

His eyes dart to mine, then shoot to the floor. He nods his agreement, but it’s obvious he’s ashamed. His salt and pepper hair is greasy in a way that indicates he hasn’t showered in days, maybe weeks. The underarms of his soiled shirt have sweat stains that have since dried at least a few times over.