Page 24 of Carry On (Love Doesn’t Cure All #4)

NASH

All the medication left me numb. The pain was gone, but I sure as hell didn’t feel anything else either.

I just wanted to get out of there and find somewhere to hide until I could handle the world again.

The minute Lincoln left me alone to do God only knew what, I took out my IVs because doctors be damned.

They’d told me they’d do it, but I was impatient.

My legs were lead, stiff and uncomfortable, as I forced myself to get dressed.

I had my socks and boots left to put on when a knock on the door made me look up.

It was a courtesy knock, the kind where they were coming in anyway, but they were being polite. The woman who walked through the door was the last person I wanted to see. I scowled deeply as she joined me. I sat on the bed, knowing full well that I wasn’t going anywhere any time soon.

“Oh, I didn’t know you were up,” she said as a greeting. “How are you, Nash?”

I didn’t reply as I just stared at her, hating the fact that I had to talk to her. Dr. Kelly Lowe was one of the hospital psychiatrists and a royal pain in my ass. The woman put more stock in trying to save me than anyone should’ve. It was like she fucking cared or something.

It’s more like she makes money off of you, the voice chimed in. No one cares.

Lincoln cared.

Did he, though? the voice challenged.

Yeah, I was struggling with that one too.

“Nash?” she repeated, her head tilting slightly as she considered me. Fuck. I’d zoned out a little too hard while she was talking to me. “How is your inner monologue doing? Is it still there?”

“It’s always there,” I muttered. The damn thing hadn’t left me alone ever since…

Yeah, I didn’t want to go there. That place was full of the darkness that I didn’t want to touch ever again—the same things that haunted me mercilessly day in and day out. Some ghosts never left.

“I’m not fucking crazy,” I reminded her.

“I know.” She gave me a small smile. “We talked about this, remember? You’re not delusional or hearing things. That voice is your inner monologue, and it’s a critical reflection of your anxiety and depression.”

“I know,” I said. How many times had she told me this? Every time she saw me, she felt some obnoxious need to point that out to me, like I thought otherwise.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you around here,” Dr. Lowe continued. “I was beginning to wonder—”

“I know what the hell you were thinking,” I cut in.

See? the voice interjected. Even she thinks you should be dead.

“It’s just nice to be able to talk to you again, Nash.” She was completely undeterred by my attitude. She always was. Why she tolerated me was beyond me. Most people didn’t. “And it’s nice to see that you have someone here with you. Someone taking care of you. A friend.”

“He’s not my friend.”

“Partner.”

“Not my partner either.” I didn’t know how to explain Lincoln to her, and I didn’t particularly want to. “He’s just someone I knew once.”

She doesn’t believe you, the voice taunted.

Yeah, well, that wasn’t a surprise.

“Well, that relationship—whatever it is—is a positive step for you,” Dr. Lowe replied. “I know it’s been hard for you.”

“You don’t know a damn thing,” I retorted. That was a lie. She knew a lot more than I wanted her to.

“I know that you’ve been in the ER five times in eight years,” she said. “And this is the first time you’ve come in for help.”

“I didn’t. He called for an ambulance without asking me. I want to be real damn clear about that fact. I don’t want to be here. I just want to get the fuck out of here.”

“Then talk to me because I’m not letting you leave here until you do.”

“You can’t hold me.”

“You’re a psychiatric risk and a risk to yourself, Nash,” she reminded me. “You’re a frequent flyer for suicide attempts. You know that.”

I did. It wasn’t like I was oblivious to my history. I just hadn’t been successful.

Failure is what you’re good at, the voice commented.

A-fucking-men.

”I need to know that you’re okay before I tell them it’s okay to discharge you,” Dr. Lowe was saying.

“I’m fine,” I reiterated, pissed off because I knew she was right. I didn’t want to spend another minute in this stupid hospital. “I didn’t ask to be here, I took the goddamn medication, and he’s my… friend.”

Friend was stretching it when it came to Lincoln, but I’d say anything to get out of there. And fuck, she didn’t look remotely impressed with me.

Why would she be? the voice asked. Everyone knows you’re a liar… just one foot out the door all the time.

“I’m fine,” I repeated.

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” she said, and I sighed. I wasn’t okay. I hadn’t been okay in a long fucking time. That was the reality of my life. And so I remained silent because I didn’t have a good response. “Where are you going when you leave the hospital, Nash?”

“To Lincoln’s,” I told her without hesitation, not because I planned to, but because I knew it’d make her happy.

“Are you living with him?”

“No, but sometimes I crash there.” Another lie. I could see the way the wheels in her head turned as she weighed the validity of my words. “Sometimes.”

One time was sometime.

“At least you’re honest,” she said. “I’m not going to hold you, Nash, but I’m not buying your bullshit, either. You need stability, and you know that.”

“At least you’re honest.” I threw it right back at her and didn’t care if I sounded like an asshole. Stability was a pipe dream for someone like me. My life was one vicious cycle of disappointment and the inability to crawl out of the never-ending hole I’d found myself in.

Not that you try, the voice stated.

There was that too.