Page 24

Jessica

I’m asleep when the doctor returns. When I wake up, he’s sitting on the edge of my bed, watching me. I blink and rub the dried crust away from the corners of my eyes.

He’s got kind of a Bradley Cooper vibe. I guarantee you, Mom’s gonna flip when she meets him, then try to set us up, despite the fact that he’s got to be a decade older than me.

She’s always said I should date a doctor, though I’m not sure she meant a shrink.

Are they even real doctors? Maybe this guy just likes dressing up in a lab coat.

“Hi.” He smiles, and I realize we’ve just been sitting here staring at each other for a few minutes now. Normally, that would bother me, but everything feels very chill, and I realize I must be high. Maybe not high—drugged. Definitely floating on something.

“Hi.” I lift my hand, and the IV has been reattached.

I follow the line to a pouch of liquids, hanging from a stand by the bed.

Oh, that’s right. A nurse came to my room at some point and gave me water and some pills.

She stayed with me for a bit and helped me into bed.

I asked her lots of questions. What were they?

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Okay. Foggy.”

“Do you remember your name?”

My name. I shake my head, and my hair falls in front of my eyes. I start to move it and remember two things in rapid succession:

First, I still haven’t had a shower.

Second, I tried to slit my wrists.

“I need a shower.” I tuck my hair behind my ear and turn my hand over, looking at the bandage. It looks new, and I wonder if I did it or the nurse did.

“You’ll need assistance to do that. You’re too much of a risk right now to shower unattended. Do you want me to take you to the shower now?”

I frown, trying to process the idea of what him taking me to the shower means. “You would walk me there?”

“I would have to go in with you. It’s fine if you aren’t comfortable with that. We can wait until the nurse is back, but it might be a little bit.”

“I’ll wait.” My head itches, and I scratch my scalp. I didn’t think it was possible to get more greasy, but it is. As badly as I need a shower, the idea of him going in with me seems weird. Super weird.

“What’s with the bandages on my wrists?” I hold them out to show him.

“You came in with some injuries. Have you tried to hurt yourself in the past?”

Hurt myself? I shake my head. “No.”

“Are you sure?” He smiles as if he knows something I don’t. “Maybe you wouldn’t remember.”

Well, he has me there. Given that I can’t remember my name or any major pieces of my backstory, it’s entirely possible I was trying to off myself on a weekly basis—but why? What about my life is so horrible?

I don’t remember it being horrible. Other than Mom being sick, it’s pretty good.

“Do you remember why you admitted yourself?” His voice is kinder now; there’s an apology in his tone.

“No.” I hate this game. “Why?”

“I’d really like for you to remember it, if you can.”

“I don’t. I’ve tried. You locked me in here for like two days with literally nothing to do but think. I can’t remember anything.”

“It wasn’t two days, but I understand how time can get lost in a place like this. We can do our next session in my office, if you’d prefer a change of location.”

“How about I go home and then come back on another day, and then we can do it in your office then?”

He pauses. “You want to leave here?”

I let out a laugh. “Uh, yeah. Do most people like being here?”

“We’re the highest-rated facility in the county, if not the state. Trust me when I say that there are a lot worse places you can be.”

“It’s just that I’m going crazy in here.” I wince. “Sorry. That’s probably offensive to the other patients.”

“Because you don’t belong here—is that how you feel? That the other patients are ‘crazy’ and you aren’t?” He puts the word in quotes. He’s still smiling, but I feel like he’s getting offended by this. “I’ll bring in some books and puzzles. Things to keep you entertained.”

“I’m not crazy, if that’s what you’re implying.” I may not know my name, but I know that whatever happened the other night ... it was a fluke. A bad trip on whatever drug I took. Nothing else.

“Would it surprise you to find out that you are the highest-risk patient in this facility?”

“Yeah,” I scoff. “Yeah, that would surprise me.”

He stands up, and I wonder if it’s too late to change my mind about taking a shower.

“You aren’t able to leave our facility because you’re on a 5150 hold.

It’s a three-day hold, but one that we can extend for up to fourteen days if there’s continued concern.

Given what you told us when you were admitted, we’ve already extended the time frame.

You’re going to be with us for at least two more weeks, if not longer.

You are not special or above any other patient in this facility. ”

“Fourteen days?” I stare at him. “I can’t be here that long. I have ...” I don’t know what I have, but I feel like there is a job. Something with a guy named Rick. No, Rob. Finally, someone’s name. “I have a job.”

“Good. Tell me about it.” He pulls a pen from the pocket of his lab coat and clicks it. “Where do you work?”

This feels like a challenge, and unfortunately, I’m going to fail it.

He waits, his brow raised, and I grind my teeth together and remember that I have a night guard that I’m supposed to wear when I sleep. Another useless item that won’t get me out of here.

“Well?” he prods. “Where do you work?”

“I don’t know.” I push off the bed and onto my feet.

“I had hoped that you would regain some of your memory naturally, but maybe it would help if I told you what you shared with us on the night you were admitted.”

“You think?” I throw up my hands, and the IV pulls in a painful fashion. I move closer to its stand.

He pauses, and I don’t know why he can’t just spit it out. “Well, you were upset and bleeding.” He nods at my wrists. “You said you wanted to kill yourself.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” I argue.

He holds up a hand. “Please, let me continue, because we get a lot of suicidal visitors here. It was why you were suicidal that caused the extended 5150 hold.”

If there was a way to pull words out of someone’s throat, I would. I knot my hands together and force myself to keep my mouth shut so he will finish.

He meets my eyes, and the cocky look from earlier is gone. Now he looks somber and a little sad, and the combination is alarming.

“You also told us that you had just killed your mother.”

It’s no longer a struggle to keep my mouth closed.

That bit of information renders me speechless.