Julian: A Dark Angel Series Companion Novella (Dark Angel #3) by Kat T. Masen Page A

irritated, scratching like a madman. Something about his scratching is contagious. Soon I find myself scratching my arms like I have chicken pox.
    “ I need to the get out of here,” he huffs.
    Hazel walks over and places her hand around Jerry’s shoulder. At first he flinches, then his body visibly relaxes, and he remains quiet for the remainder of the session.
    What the fuck was that about?
    A slight creak of the door interrupts whatever the hell just happened with Jerry. A girl sneaks in and sits at a chair near the exit. We all turn to her direction, though with her head bowed down and face covered by a hood, we cannot see her face. Hazel looks pleased, although the girl does not look up.
    I can’t help but watch her; it’s boiling hot outside and in the room so why is she wearing a jacket? A part of me is hoping she will look my way, but nothing. I give up and focus my attention on Hazel and the rest of the group.
    An older man, perhaps late sixties, pipes up. “My name is Fred.”
    “Hi, Fred,” everyone greets in unison.
    “It was 1992, the Barcelona Olympics. We were celebrating the US winning gold and a bunch of us holiday folk were crossing a busy street to get to the local bar. As we cross the road, this taxi comes out of nowhere and I watch it, frozen in the middle of the road. My friend pushes me out of the way, saving me from my death.” Fred falls into a digestive silence, his story appearing to be more tragic than his near brush with death. “I have agyrophobia, the fear of crossing roads,” he admits. “At first it wasn’t a huge deal, but as time went on I struggled to go to work, out for groceries, or even just visit my neighbor across the street. My wife ended up leaving me and took my daughter with her. She had enough of my paranoia.” The sad tone in his voice only mildly projects the turmoil he is facing, and the bitter disappointment in himself for losing his family. The poor man.
    “Fred, last week you told us about your journey to the local store by foot,” Hazel says encouragingly.
    Fred stares at the ground, nervously clicking his scuffed brown boots together. “Yeah, I walked. But I stood watching the store from across the street for an hour.”
    So many questions run through my mind. How on Earth does he get anywhere? Is it even possible to not cross a road? My fear of coyotes seems so insignificant right now.
    “I know what you new folk must be thinking…how do I get anywhere? Well, I drive. If I have to go to the post office across the road, I get in my car and drive.”
    Jerry mumbles under his breath which starts a heated debate with Fred. Not paying attention to either of them, I find myself drawn to the mystery girl who continues to sit in silence near the door. From what I can see of her face, she is quite pale. Her cheekbones are prominent, and not in a healthy way. Although she is wearing loose articles of clothing, her frame appears to be emaciated. I don’t want to stare, but there’s something about her that intrigues me.
    “Honestly, you two fight like cats and dogs. Grow some balls and shut up already!” The tranny has had enough of their bickering. He, she, hell I don’t know, is wearing a low-cut dress with a visible bust. My instincts would say ‘he’ due to his Adam’s apple that was practically jumping out at me.
    Stop fucking staring.
    “Like you’re one to talk, Penny ,” Jerry mocks. “If I need balls, I’m sure you’ve still got a pair tucked into your panties,” Jerry notes with dark amusement.
    “Jerry, Penny,” Hazel softly calls their names and, like magic, they shut up, although still angry from their argument. I suspect Hazel is the mother hen to everyone in this room; they seem to respect her and the calming influence she has over them is likely the exact reason they come back every week. “I always like to give individuals a task to take home with them, a step to healing. I want you to focus on one thing that made you smile this