Page 65 of Eternal

Time Changes Us

Teal

Sometimes, I can’t tellwhether my doctors are trying to help me or if they’re working against me. But then again, paranoia is a side effect of my current medication, so these thoughts could just be my pills.

Side effects are counterproductive.

Medication is supposed to help, but there’s a risk it might also make me worse. If that’s the case, are they really helping at all?

That’s probably why I responded to Declan’s text, even if I was upset with him after what happened at Sigma House. He asked how I was doing, and as much as I wanted to tell him to fuck off, I had this greater need to get it out.

I thought if I sent my feelings out into the universe, I could get them off my chest. And it worked for a splitsecond. It felt good to open up to someone when I spend so much time fighting it.

Why that person is Declan Pierce evades all good sense, but it is what it is.

After all, Declan is my boyfriend.

Kind of.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and focus on the hum of the elevator. The one constant in my life has always been Declan, whether I like it or not. While everyone else wavers, depending on how presentable I am or what I can do for them, Declan has always treated me the exact same. With the full brunt of his attention—even if he uses that to torture me.

And now that we’ve blurred these lines, I’m left feeling even more connected to him. Through pleasure and hate.

He was right. I’m lying to myself if I try to pretend our night together meant absolutely nothing, and I hate it.

I lean against the back of the elevator and wonder if he knows he’s the first choice I’ve ever really made for myself in my life. My parents chose my schools, my treatments, and my medications. They’ve had a say over my friends. They even selected my dorm room and my studio.

But Declan,I chose.

He might have initially forced the arrangement, but when he brought Cora in and asked me to either be with him or not, I fully submitted myself to him. I could have walked away. I could have let Cora have him.

I didn’t.

He’s mine to hate. Mine to bother. Mine to subject to my torment.

I pull out my phone and type out another text.

Teal: Selfish. Possessive.

Teal: It’s overwhelming.

None of those feelings are a reaction to my medication, but I send it anyway, unsure if my one-word sentences will make sense to him. I have to get it out. It’s crawling like rot through my veins, taking over every inch of me. The thought of Declan focusing on anyone else, good or bad, has my skin itching.

My phone buzzes in my hand.

Declan: Ditto.

We never say enough for me to know what we’re talking about, and yet, he’s the only person in my life who makes sense to me.

The elevator jolts, and my stomach plummets when it comes to a stop at the fourth floor. The doors slide open, and I step out, wishing I could have just met with Dr. Parish at his outpatient office today.

It’s been three years since I called Montgomery Psychiatric Ward my home for four months after my suicide attempt, and being here still makes my skin crawl. No matter how much time passes, I feel sick when the bleached, sterile scent of these walls floods my nose.

If my life could be cut in half, it would split at that point. The me before I was here and the me after. The girl who stopped in the middle of the road, and the girl who doesn’t remember why she did it.

Holes.

You’d think forgetting why I no longer wanted to be here would leave me at peace, but it doesn’t. If anything, it makes the emptiness worse.