Everyone’s watching him. Like he’s a celebrity or something.
Well, almost everyone.
Me? I’m not watching except for occasional glances here and there.
A tech comes up to me with a plastic cup, taking my focus away from the new doctor. The cup holds the key to making my brain happy. The pills. Prozac, lithium, Zoloft, Effexor. I can’t keep track of them anymore.
I take it from him and gulp the sour-tasting, magic medicine down that’s going to steal my sleep all in the name of side-effects. When he doesn’t go away, I shoot him a look. He shoots me a look of his own.
Gah.
Narrowing my eyes at him, I open my mouth and stick my tongue out for him to examine. When he’s satisfied that I’ve swallowed my pills like a good girl, he walks away.
“Do you think he’s taken?” That’s Renn.
At her words, I switch my focus back to my enemy.
He’s standing in the hallway with Beth and a few of the staff members. And we’re in the TV room. I’m supposed to be reading my precious book, but all the murmured and hissed conversation is messing with my mojo.
“It doesn’t matter if he is,” Penny says and goes back to reading. I have no idea how she does it. I wish I had her focus.
“Exactly. I mean, he’s hot enough, older enough, and unavailable enough for me. I’m gonna go for him anyway.” Renn shrugs, balancing her chair on the back two legs.
Vi snorts, flicking the channels on TV.
“God, he’s handsome. Like, really handsome, you know. I’ll really have to stop myself from not calling him daddy at our appointments.”
“Ew. Stop,” Penny snaps.
I’m right there with Penny as I toss my book on the table. “Yes. Stop. He’s like every other jerk doctor I’ve ever met.”
“Don’t be a sore loser. Besides, I thought I was dead to you.” Renn throws me a flying kiss.
I roll my eyes at her. After what she did to me in front of Beth and Dr. Blackwood, I’m super mad at her. But of course, she doesn’t care. She’s Renn.
“You are. I just like talking to dead bodies.”
“You’ve got issues.”
I stick my tongue out at her and that only makes her laugh. When I go to glance really quickly at the group standing in the hallway, I find Dr. Blackwood staring straight at me. I feel a jolt run through my body.
He’s all gray eyes and cool face. Of course, from here I can’t really see their color, but I remember it from before. I remember it from every time I look up at the rainy sky.
Why did his eyes have to be the color of my most favorite thing? It’s really not fair. It’s like hating someone dressed like Hagrid, the friendly half-giant from Harry Potter. You can’t hate Hagrid; he’s too nice.
I look away from him, disgusted.
“I don’t think he’s like every other doctor you’ve met. I mean, his dad founded this place. Hello? Genius alert. So technically, it’s in his blood. Science and medicine,” Renn concludes.
She is right.
Medicine is in his blood. Like illness is in mine. My blood is tainted with poison and his is laced with the antidote.
The fucking contrast. Don’t know why it even occurred to me, let alone bothers me.
“Yup, Dr. Alistair Blackwood was one of the best psychiatrists. They teach one of his books in med school. I wonder where he is these days,” Penny says.
“What happened to him? Did he retire?” I ask, despite myself.
“Kinda. He just stopped practicing a few years ago,” Renn contributes. “My dad was pretty broken up about it. The hospital board wasn’t happy with the change. Meaning, my dad wasn’t happy about the change.”
Renn’s dad is one of the board members of this hospital. Sometimes I feel that Renn keeps coming back here because she wants to get his attention. And he keeps sending her here because he just doesn’t care.
But then, what do I know of fathers? I’ve never met mine. I don’t know anything about trying to get your dad’s attention, like Renn, or following in his footsteps, like Dr. Blackwood.
Cool and aloof, Dr. Blackwood.
He’s barely talking to the group of people. He’s simply listening, punctuated with polite nods. I bet he doesn’t even remember their names. I bet he doesn’t even remember our names, Renn’s and mine, and we met like a couple of hours ago.
Anyway, it’s none of my business. I don’t care.
I’ve got enough problems of my own. For example, being stuck on the Inside. Away from everyone and everything. Where you only get to talk to your family or see them once a week. I’ve asked my mom not to visit – I draw the line at her seeing me like this, locked up and crazy – so talking on the phone is my only option.
Today’s that day. I call it the phone call day. Another thing about being on the Inside is that days run together. I don’t know if it’s Monday or Tuesday or if they even follow the normal calendar like on the Outside. It’s all the same.
The only reason I know it’s phone call day is because people keep disappearing down the hall with either a huge smile or apprehension on their faces, and they come back ten minutes later with either that smile in place or with tears or anger in their eyes.
I dread phone call days. I want them too much and when it’s over, I’m left feeling bereft and homesick. And angry.
A few minutes later, I find myself in a small room with a couple of couches and desks and old-fashioned rotary dial phones. Black and monstrous things.
I take a seat at the small table, just under the rainy window. Swallowing, I pick up the receiver, lying on its side. “Hello.”
“Lolo. Hey, sweetheart,” my mom says.
A sting in my eyes and gravel in the back of my throat steal my breath away for a second. I miss her so much. So freaking much that I have to press the receiver tightly, hold on to the arm of my chair, so I don’t fall off.
“Hey, Mom,” I whisper, thickly.
“How are you, baby?”
Her voice is soft, softer than usual. It gets that way when she’s tired or sad. Right now, it’s the latter. She’s sad because of me. Because of how fucked up I am.
“I’m okay. How are you?”
“I’m good, too.”
“Yeah? How’s work?”
“You know, busy. We have a huge wedding coming up so we’re all scrambling.”
If it were two weeks ago, I would’ve asked who’s getting married. Or maybe she would’ve volunteered that information herself. But it’s not two weeks ago. It’s now. And we don’t talk more than what’s necessary.
“Good. I’m glad,” I offer, lamely.
Awkwardly.
My mom and I, we hardly ever have awkward moments. In fact, she’s been my best friend – my only friend – ever since I was born. She tells me everything and so do I. Well, almost everything. There are certain things I can’t ask her or tell her because she’ll freak out.
But The Roof Incident has changed everything.
It came as a major shock to her. Even more than my diagnosis that I got at the age of fourteen.
My mom was so shaken up that day at the hospital. She looked at me like I’d vanish any second. Like, I was planning to vanish any second. She didn’t leave my side even once. Not until they took me away for a forty-eight hour mandatory admission to the psych ward.
I don’t know if she’ll ever trust me again. I don’t know if I’ll ever trust her again.
“How’re things for you? Are they… are they treating you well?”
I wanna say that they are evil, all of them. I wanna tell my mom that they keep me chained to my bed, give me electric shocks. They’re making me crazier. Day by day, I’m losing my leftover sanity.
But I won’t.
I won’t lie. Not about this. I can’t burden her any more than I already have. No matter how mad I am at her for sending me here.
“They’re treating me well,” I say, finally.
“Okay. Okay, that’s good.”
There’s silence and I’m dreading that this will be the end of our conversation.
God, how did this happen?
I hate this. I hate myself for being so fucked up.
I hate my mom for not believing me.
“So, I…” my mom begins and I sit up straight, eager to hear her talk. “I’m, uh, painting your room light yellow. I read it in this magazine that it’s supposed to bring calmness. It’s good for your… thoughts.”
I grit my teeth as tears spring in my eyes.
Thoughts.
Yeah, everything is happening because of my fucking thoughts, isn’t it?
“Mom, you don’t need to do that. I’m… Honestly, I’m fine. I don’t… I’m not…”
Crazy.
It hurts me so much that I’ve hurt her. That she doesn’t trust me when I say I don’t need to be here.
“I’m just trying to do everything I can, honey. Everything that I can possibly do to make it easier,” she whispers.
“Mom, everything is easier. It’s fine. I keep telling you. I don’t… I don’t need to be here.”
Her sigh is frustrated. “Lolo, not this again, please.”
“But it’s true, Mom. I don’t belong here. I don’t need to be here. I’m fine. It was a one-time thing and…” I look up at the ceiling. “Please, Mom. Let me come home.”
I haven’t been home in two weeks. Two fucking weeks.
It might not sound like much but I’ve never lived apart from my mother. In fact, I was going to stay home while attending college. We had it all worked out. I was going to spend my summer working at the bookstore like I always do. Then, Mom was going to take some time off from the store and we were going to do something fun together before my college started.
But now, I’m trapped here.
All because of one foolish mistake.
“I want you home too, but you need to be there. You need to fix it, Lolo. I can’t… I can’t go through that again. I can’t get that day out of my head. I can’t forget how you looked. So pale. So… lifeless. Lying in that bed. I just… It gives me nightmares. And all because of a boy? I still can’t believe it. I can’t believe that my daughter would lose her mind over a boy. In fact…” She takes a deep breath. “I drove by your school. I know I promised that I wouldn’t. But, God, I couldn’t stop myself. I want to track him down and –"
I sit up straight, clutching the phone to my ear, dread prickling the nape of my neck. “Mom, no. You promised.”
“I know. But it’s because of him you’re… Everything happened because of him. You lost your mind because of him, Lolo.”
I wipe my nose with the back of my hand. I’m shaking. I’m cold and sweating. I don’t want to think about him.
I don’t want her to think about him, either.
Why the fuck did I even tell her? Why? All I can say is that I was so panicked that day at the hospital that I didn’t even realize what I was saying until the words came out. But then, it was too late to take them back.
“Mom. You gave me your word. You said if I went to Heartstone, you’d forget about it. I am at Heartstone and you have to keep your promise.”
She sighs.
God, please let her give up. Just please. I can’t have her thinking about him.
“Fine. But in the future, you can’t keep secrets from me. Do you understand, Lolo? We can’t have you jeopardizing your health over a guy. They are not worth it. Boys, men, relationships… nothing is worth your health, Lolo. Love is a very stupid thing to lose your life over.”
My family is all super independent types. My mom and grandma, my aunt, my cousin. They date but they don’t fall in love. They’ve got their priorities straight. Work and family. A man is only good as a stress reliever.
My father was one. I think she met him on a trip to Paris. She was there for business and when she wanted to wind down, she found him at a bar. All I know about him is that he was tall and handsome. I like to imagine him as a dashing Frenchman by the name of Jean-Claude, with blue eyes.
I can’t say that I miss him or want him in my life but I would’ve loved to know him. Maybe he could tell me about my illness and how I got it when no Taylor has ever suffered from it before.
I deflate, my body going loose. “Okay. Yeah. No secrets about boys.”
A rush of air escapes her. Long and full. She has probably been holding that breath ever since The Incident.
I can almost see her slouching down in relief. She must be sitting in her favorite armchair in the living room, by the fireplace. “Good. That’s good. I just want you to get better. You do everything they tell you to do, okay? We have to fix it. No more refusing treatment. And when you go to college in fall, we’re getting you a counselor there, as well. Promise me, okay? Promise me you’ll get better.”
I grit my teeth. Again.
Refusal of treatment is a very unfair assessment. I never refused treatment.
I hated the therapist at the state hospital, so I might have poured water on her charts because she was being condescending. And I may have called her a few choice names.
That’s it. That’s all I did. But I never refused treatment.
And yes, I might have created a little bit of a ruckus when at the end of the forty-eight hour period, my mom came to see me at the psych ward. I thought she was taking me home, but she said she wanted me to do a six-week in-patient program at Heartstone, based on the doctor’s recommendation.
But can anyone blame me? I thought I was finally going home, not to a psych facility in the middle of the woods.
“I promise, Mom. I’ll get better. You don’t have to worry,” I reassure her again, instead of arguing.
Ten minutes later when I have to hang up, I have such deep longing to go back home and hug my mother that I have to clench my eyes shut.
Four weeks.
Four fucking weeks before I can go Outside.
But I have a feeling that even when I get out, I’ll never leave. The Roof Incident will always haunt me. My mom will always be worried about me. She will always be watching me.
God, I’m such a fuck up.
On shaky legs, I stand up, ready to leave, when I spot a tall figure in the rain.
Like the trees, the figure’s blurred and I have to press my face to the cold, permanently-shut window to get a better look.
It’s a man.
He doesn’t have any protection against the deluge as he stands on the grass, looking up at the pouring sky. It’s almost as if he’s daring it to fall, to do his worst to him. My lips part and my breaths fog up the glass as I watch him.
When he looks down, appearing frozen in the moment, I wonder what he’s thinking about. I also wonder why they matter, his thoughts.
Nothing about this man should matter to me. In fact, I hate this man.
Simon Blackwood.
It’s him.
His clothes are soaked, the mud brown shirt and dress pants, and they cling to his body like skin made of fabric. Every bulge, every carved muscle is on display. His hands are shoved down into his pockets and there’s a messenger bag slung over one of his shoulders.
He’s leaving for the day, I think. Usually, people wait for the rain to pass or the wind to become less vicious, but not him, I guess.
I claw my fingers on the glass in jealousy. The nurse tells me to move away from the window and the phone. She tells me it’s someone else’s turn. I don’t listen to her. I smash my nose into the glass, standing my ground.
I hate that he gets to feel the rain whenever he wants, and I can’t even see it without someone telling me to back off.
I hate that he can leave through those tall gates whenever he wants to and go back home. While I’ll be stuck here, forcing myself not to miss my mom too much.
Most of all, I hate that when he reads my chart, he’ll come to know everything about me.
Every single thing.
He’ll know I’m crazy.
So crazy that the nurse finally gives up warning me and physically removes me from the window, muttering, “Do you want me to call the techs?”