The Break-Up Retreat(65)

Could she have seen me, going to meet Sandra, and followed me out there?

“I’m sure you’re telling yourself some story about why you have to go,” Martina says. “Maybe you think this isn’t for you. Maybe you think you don’t want to be away from home. Maybe you think you can figure it out on your own.”

She shakes her head, slowly.

“Remember when you promised to trust me?” she asks. “Is that really a promise you want to break?”

“It’s not—” I start to say, but she interrupts me yet again.

“Believe in me,” she urges me. “Believe in yourself. I know you can do this.”

“If I say I still want to go,” I ask, voice sweetened, “what would you say?”

Martina sighs, smile never leaving her lips. It’s quite a trick.

“Well, Isobel, I’d say that you are signed into what is, technically, an inpatient treatment facility for a weeklong stay.” Her tone is deep and rich. “So as the psychologist responsible for your care, I would highly recommend you stay for the full duration.”

“And if I still want to go?” I push.

My mind has gone still, my thoughts sharp. Something pulsates between us, turning the air thick.

“I’d advise you against it,” Martina says.

Still smiling. Never not smiling.

She’s not going to let me leave.

She is not going to give me my car keys. Or my phone. This is not a discussion; it’s a hostage negotiation, with me as the hostage, and I’ve already lost.

What will happen, if I keep pushing?

I don’t want to find out.

“I guess I don’t have a choice, then.” It’s a question, not a statement. One we both already know the answer to.

“Isobel.” Martina laughs, as if I’ve made a funny little joke. “Of course you have a choice.”

She reaches over the table and grasps my hand, her skin hot and feverish against my cold fingers. When she squeezes it, my fingers crush against each other hard enough to hurt.

“But sometimes, someone has to encourage you to choose the right option,” she says. “So that you don’t hurt yourself. Or someone else.”

She’s still squeezing my fingers.

“We don’t want anyone to get hurt,” she sighs. “Least of all you, Isobel. You’re a very special person. And I’m so delighted that you’ve decided to stay.”

I smile at her, lips stretched, jaw rigid, eyes locked on hers.

Might as well play along. It could buy me some time.

Because I’m getting out of here, whether she is willing to let me go or not.





Chapter 35


“Isobel, hey!” Katarina calls out when I walk into the dining hall. I’m in enough of a daze that I barely hear her, but I take the open chair next to her and sit down.

“It’s nice with some rain, isn’t it?” she adds. “I really liked the sound of the wind last night, it was like having a white noise machine in the room.”

The sound is quieter in here, muffled by the sturdier build of the dining hall; but I can still hear it, like the muted sound of someone tapping on the door, begging to get in. It’s colder in here than before, too, enough to make my skin break out in goosepimples. A shiver runs through me.

Delighted you’ve decided to stay.

You’re a very special person, Isobel.

We don’t want anyone to get hurt.

What have I gotten myself into? I should have seen it earlier. Should have listened to Sandra and Armin, as they both told me, each in their own way, that I should leave.

It all added up slowly enough that I could talk myself into thinking I still had the situation under control. Up until the point when it became all too clear that I was never in control, that I have, the whole time, been the proverbial frog in the proverbial pot.

Worse, actually. The famous saying is a lie; a frog would have gotten out long before I tried to.

Now, the water is boiling all around me, and I’m scratching frantically at the walls, trying and failing to climb out.

But there is a way. There has to be a way.

“Isobel, are you okay?” Leyla is looking at me from across the table. Her hair has frizzed up in the humidity. It makes her look younger, less hardened by life.

For a moment, the words linger on my lips. Wild ideas flit through my head.

Maybe, if we all went to Martina, she’d let us go. Maybe if we staged some kind of revolt. Surely she couldn’t hold us all back, if we decided we wanted to leave, if we demanded it.

But as I look into Leyla’s eyes, I remember the scene from yesterday; I remember Martina embracing her, and Leyla crying in her arms.

She’s already gotten to them, broken down their defenses. Why would I think they would take my side?

Sandra is the only person I can rely on. Sick or not, I have to get to her.

She’s surely got the key, or combination to the gate. We can take her car. I don’t care about the rental anymore. All I care about is getting out.

“I’m fine.” I pull the corners of my mouth up manually, as though piloting a marionette. “Just tired. I had a hard time sleeping through the storm.”

The doors open, and I twitch, stiffen in my seat when I see Clara walking in. Her hair is in a high ponytail, her face dotted with rain, all fresh and lovely.