© Copyright 2012
All work is property of Leah Crichton, any duplication or reproduction of all or part of the work without explicit permission by the author is illegal.

Seven in the morning was ungodly. These were the hours of the working class, which he was not. Sawyer should be out partying until the wee hours of the morning and sleeping until noon. That was pretty standard for musicians, was it not?

At least Lane set the coffee pot timer so fresh brew was pouring into the carafe that very minute. He trudged from the bedroom, to see Devin who was sound asleep on the living room couch. She'd refused to show him her art project but with one quick glace he saw what it was.

On the coffee table beside her was her helmet for when they rode together. One side was a shiny mess of faux jewels in the pattern of a skull and crossbones complete with a hair bow. Sawyer couldn't help but laugh as picked it up and shook her shoulder.

Devin's eyes fluttered open and she stretched her arms high above her head. “Morning,” she said brightly.

“What the hell is this?”

She grinned wide. “It's my helmet. You like?”

“No,” he said. “I don't like. You bedazzled a perfectly good helmet.”

“Lane and I gave it a feminine touch,” Devin countered. “It's beautiful.”

“It's gaudy,” Sawyer said. “You cannot seriously believe Ima let you on the back of my Ducati wearing a bedazzled helmet.”

“I seriously do think that, yeah,” Devin said. “You can't say no to me. Even if you tried.”

“I could,” he said. He wondered who he was trying to kid. He wouldn't tell her no even if her helmet was the tackiest thing he'd ever seen. He did however, plan to have words with Lane at some point.

“Nice try.” Devin pulled her covers to her chin and rolled away from him to face the back of the couch. “I'm still sleepy. I'll see you after work.”

“Community service,” he said. “I hate your helmet.”

Devin's response was muffled but it was something to the effect of, “have a nice day, sunshine.”

He headed to the kitchen to pour some coffee but Devin's voice followed. “Oh, and Sawyer?”

“Yeah, sugar?”

“You love my helmet.”

No. He did not.

“Devin?”

“Hmmm?”

“I love you, not your bloody helmet. Go back to sleep.”

The steam from the coffee rose as he poured it swirling up and into his nostrils. Why no one had bothered to invent java scented things to infuse the air with was beyond him because it was quite possibly the most wonderful smell in the universe. He poured himself a bowl of cheerios and stared blankly into the sea of milk as he ate it.

How did he get himself into this mess? Oh right... she was snoring on the couch. He needed to find a way to get out of the mousetrap he currently found himself in. Maybe he could make a generous donation to Paper Planes in exchange for hours owed. He had five hundred and forty two left. Assuming the going rate could be twenty bucks an hour or so, that was what? Just under eleven grand. He could afford that, no problem.

He put his bowl away in the dishwasher thinking he'd have to make an appointment with Dr. M to plead his case just as Lane came out. He always looked the same in the morning, his blonde hair disheveled and his eyes half their normal size, still lidded from the arms of sleep.

Sawyer stood to get his second coffee and retrieved a cup for Lane. He filled them both up and set them down at the table.

“Good morning,” Lane said.

“There ain't nothing good about it,” was Sawyer's reply. “And for the record, I'm pissed at you.”

Lane brought his cups to his lips as if he was almost too tired to care. “What for? Did I breathe the wrong way?”

“You helped Devin make my helmet girly.”

“First of all, you bought the helmet for her, so it isn't yours. Second of all, so what? She asked me to help her. I did. End of story.”

“I have to drive around town with a jewel decaled girl.”

“Ohhh!” Lane said. “A girl. What's a matter, Sawyer, are you afraid it might be obvious you care about someone?”

He didn't say anything so Lane continued. “Forget about Devin's helmet. She loves it. For that reason only you should love it too. I didn't really get a chance to talk to you. How was the first day?”

“It was crap,” he said. “I have to work with this broad named Alexa. She's bitchy and bossy. A regular Ice Queen.”

Lane cringed. “Ouch. Aside from that, you didn't--”

Sawyer cut him off. “No and I'm not going to.”

“Well if you do, and you want to talk about it.”

“I'm in a building full of shrinks. I know the right place to look, assuming I want to talk about it which I don't.”

“Okay.” Lane stood, wrapping his fingers around the ceramic handle of his mug. “I'm going to sit on the balcony.”

“Yeah, whatever. Namaste your crap.”

“Bye Sawyer. Later.”

Sawyer grabbed his smokes, helmet and cube from the counter. He went to where Devin slept and placed a hand softly on her head. “I love your helmet, sugar.”

Alexa stood in the middle of Sadie's room, mouth hanging open unable to process what she was seeing. Holy crap! Sawyer West wallpaper. Some were group shots with three other guys, others were individual images, not just of Sawyer but of all of them. He was in a band! He must have been famous or something.

“Can I help you?” Sadie asked.

“I-I-I- um, no,” Alexa shook her head. “I just, I-I”

“You-you-you-you stutter,” Sadie finished for her. “What do you want?”

Get a grip! She blinked once. Twice. There was reality. “I'm sorry,” she said. “I just came in here to introduce myself. I'm Alexa. I volunteer here every summer. Gabby Montgomery is my aunt.”

Sadie shrugged her shoulders and looked down, picking at her cuticle. “Gabby's nice,” she mumbled.

Alexa smiled. “Yes. Yes she is.”

Sadie tilted her head up, giving Alexa a full view of her unreal eye color. “Is that all?”

“Yes.” Alexa found herself still flustered. “That's it.”

She reached out and placed her hand on Sadie's shoulder. Her intention was to tell Sadie it was nice to meet her but Sadie flipped like a light switch. She cleared the length of the bed folding her body, knees to chest at the far corner. Her hands cupped her ears as if she could mask her own, progressively louder,wails. “Don't touch me!” she screamed. “Don't touch me! Don't touch me! Don't touch me!” Tears spilled as clouds of fog glossed over her eyes and her body began to shake.

Alexa retreated, stunned. She clumsily found the help button on the side of Sadie's bed and pushed it down several times. “I'm sorry!” She moved to the bed and held her hands up. “Sadie. Sadie. It's going to be okay.”

Sadie rocked back and forth. “Get out! Go away! Don't touch me. Don't touch me. Don't touch me.”

Alexa didn't know what to do. She stumbled backward to the door at the same time Gabby burst through it flanked on either side by two orderlies dressed in white scrubs. Gabby held a syringe in her hand.

“What are you going to do?” Alexa asked.

“Calm her down,” Gabby replied. “Don't worry. She'll be fine.”

As the orderlies approached her, Sadie went ballistic. Alexa was sure her screams might be heard outside. Her throat felt thick as guilt surged inside her. What had she done? She scrambled from the room like a scared child and broke into a jog until she reached the break room.

She put her back flat against the wall and cried.

A few minutes later, Gabby was rubbing her arm. “Are you alright?"

Alexa shook her head as a tear rolled down her cheek. “No. I'm sorry. I didn't mean for that to happen.”

“Alexa, it wasn't your fault. Sadie has a very volatile and unpredictable brain. Do you mind telling me what happened?”

She wiped at nose and Gabby handed her a tissue. “I just. I touched her shoulder. I was going to her it was nice to meet her, but she freaked.”

“I should have warned you. On top of paranoid schizophrenia, Sadie suffers from a few phobias. Chiraptophobia to name one.”

“What's that?”

“She's afraid of being touched.”

“What other phobias does she have?”

“You know, I'd have to look at her file sweetheart, but from what I can recall, Daemonophoia, which only makes sense and Ombrophobia but there's more.”

Gabby spoke as if Alexa should know what she was talking about it. Rather than ask her aunt, she decided she'd google it later. Right now, she had a more important question. “Is Sadie okay?”

Gabby nodded. “She's sedated but okay. I'll make sure I go see her when she's awake and we can talk about what happened. In the meantime, this wasn't your fault.”

“Auntie?”

“Yes?”

“Did you notice on Sadie's wall?”

“What about it?”

God. Gabby was oblivious. “Never mind,” Alexa said. “It isn't important.”

“Are you going to be okay, kiddo? I have some paperwork to do.”

“Yeah,” she said. “I'll be okay. I need a few minutes. Then I'll go to the office and start planning the week's social activities.”

“That sounds great,” Gabby said. “I'm glad you're here.”

Alexa wasn't so sure she felt the same way but mumbled, “me too.”

When she was alone, the first thing she did was fire up the computer and go to the google home page. Directing the cursor to the search bar, she typed, Sawyer West.

There were over a hundred thousand results. She gasped and hovered the cursor over the first one. It was a website for Bach's Revenge. Was that his band? She clicked on it and a flashy site came onto her screen. Music played in the background as she clicked on “enter.”

Was that Sawyer's voice, singing? As soon as she clicked on 'info' she stood corrected. The singer was apparently a guy named Sebastian Russo. Robbie Hawthrone was the drummer, Lane O'Malley on bass, and Sawyer West: lead guitar. She strained her eyes to listen to the music. Chords expertly produced by his fingers.

She glanced at the clock. She had about five minutes before Sawyer would arrive, assuming of course that he'd be on time. She let the song in the background play out in awe and wondered why she didn't bother listening to music more often.

Closing the website, she decided she'd do more research later and went back to the search engine. “Ombrophobia,” she tried to sound the word aloud.

Alexa's fire red hair draped over the chair back like a curtain. She hunched forward eyes glued to the computer screen. Sawyer was soundless as he slipped into the room. He wasn't going to scare the Ice Queen, but there was no need to come barreling through and announce his presence.

“Ombrophobia,” she said.

“Fear of rain or being rained on,” Sawyer said.

Alexa jumped in her chair the spun it around to face him. “God. Don't sneak up on people,” she scolded.

“I didn't sneak up on you, sweetheart. I opened the door and stepped inside. Not my fault you're so captivated by google.”

“How do you know what ombrophobia is, do you have it?”

“No,” Sawyer said. “I don't.” He pulled on the edge of the sleeve of his coat, gliding his arm effortlessly out of it. He did the same thing with the other. “Bet you'd love it if I did.”

“Well how do you know what it is?”

Hanging his coat on the hook, he looked at her. Her eyebrows were pinched in concentration like he answer was really important to her. “I just do. I remember things is all.”

“Like everything? Do you have a photographic memory.”

“I have a brain. Why do you ask so many questions?” He took a chair from the table, swung it around backward and straddled it. “You afraid of rain, sugar?”

“No,” Alexa shook her head. “Not me. A patient.”

He nodded but didn't say a word. A patient.

She extended her finger, pointing to him. “You're in a band.”

Well she wasn't exactly warm and welcoming but her temperature rose a couple degrees from the day before. “Yep.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“Last I checked, it wasn't relevant to working here. Besides, what was I supposed to say? My name is Sawyer and I'm in a band. That's like you saying my name is Alexa and I'm pulled tight as an elastic, yeah? Not your standard introduction.”

She glared at him. Ice Queen returned. “I am not wound tight.”

“Sweetheart if you were wrapped like a mummy, that's still not snug enough. I bet that aunt of yours could find all sorts of things wrong with you. Anxiety, some kind of do-gooder, people pleaser complex. I bet you're all sorts of messed up.”

Her big green eyes gave a perfect and precise roll. “You're infuriating.”

He smiled. “You say this like you're not. Shall we had narcissism to your list of problems?”

“Nope. I think that's more fitting for yours, Mr. West.”

He scoffed. “That's right. But here's the thing. I don't care. You're gonna go home and put your pretty head on the pillow and your mind is gonna start runnin' thinking of how I might be right. I'll go home and sleep like a log.”

“Anyone ever told you, you're a jerk?”

“Often,” he said with pride.

“Prove me wrong,” Alexa said. “There's a girl here--”

Sawyer stopped her mid-sentence. “No.”

“But--”

“No.”

She clenched her teeth in frustration. “You don't even know what I was going to ask!”

“I know. The answer is no.”

“I just want you to meet her. She won't come out of her room which by the way, is covered in pictures of you. It could help her.”

“What's her deal?” he asked.

“She's a paranoid schizophrenic.”

“That's just great, sugar,” he said. “I know you and I don't see eye to eye, but to actually want to introduce me to a stalker. Never mind a paranoid schizophrenic stalker. That's pretty low. Don't ya think?"

She hadn't really thought of it that way. Look at how Sadie had reacted when Alexa simply touched her. Introducing Sawyer to her could be a huge mistake. “You're right. I'm sorry,” she mumbled. “I just thought—”

“Do us a favor and don't think. Trust me, it'll be the best therapy you'd ever have.”

“Trust you?”

Sawyer gaped in mock horror. “A novel idea.”

She gave a small smile. Chick could almost be pretty if she wasn't scowling all the time. Maybe the Ice Queen had some warmth after all. “Are you ready to work?”

“I told ya,” he said. “I'll do just about whatever you ask, but I'm not setting foot near your patients, or your would be stalker.”

“Fine,” Alexa said. “Will you at least help me plan out some stuff for them to do?”