Page 25 of Ruthless Prince

I still couldn’t believe it was all the equivalent of a terrifying fever dream, caused by my own messed-up brainwiring.

“I know,” Monroe replied. “As I said earlier, it can be very hard to understand at first. The important thing is that you address the issue and seek help. That’s what we want to do foryou.”

I sniffed and wiped the tears from the corners of my eyes. “So what happens now? Am I going to be put in some sort of mentalhospital?”

If that happened, I could all but guarantee my mother would tell everyone I was at a spa in Arizona recovering from ‘exhaustion’.

“I don’t think that will be necessary at this time. To start with, I’m going to prescribe an anti-depressant which I’ve found works very well in patients with anxiety. I’d also like to start having regular sessions with you. Would that be all right withyou?”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded. “Yes.”

It wasn’t like I had achoice.

“We’ll work together to come up with a treatment plan which accounts for all your concerns and issues. When we get to the root cause of your distress, we can address it in a way best suited for you, and hopefully, we should see markedimprovements.”

“Okay.” I sniffed again. “Thankyou.”

“You’re welcome.” He stood. “I know this is a lot to take in, so I’m going to leave you alone to think things through for a while. If you need anything, just press that button there.” He pointed to a white call button on the wall behind mybed.

“Okay.” I nodded and turned my attention to Gen, who was also on her feet now. “I’m sorry I caused all this trouble for you. I’m sure you and the other agents have better things to do than investigate imaginarystalkers.”

She smiled. “There’s no need for an apology. I just hope you feel bettersoon.”

I sat alone with my thoughts for the next half an hour, wondering if anything I knew was real. This whole day seemed completely surreal to me. I kept pinching myself to make sure I could still feel things, and I even concentrated deeply on my hands at one stage to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. I’d once read in a thriller novel that looking at your fingers and trying to count them was the best way to see if you were dreaming or not. Apparently, it was impossible to count them properly in adream.

I got to eight fingers and two thumbs right away. This was definitelyreal.

I lay back and tried to rest, but the second my eyes closed, every chilling memory from last night’s attack poured back in, flashing vividly in my mind. Only they weren’t real memories. It was all fiction. A terrible story created by my own dark, twistedimagination.

Right?

“Willow.”

I opened my eyes and glanced up to see my father in the doorway. “Come in,” Imurmured.

“Are you done with thedoctors?”

“Fornow.”

“Good. Can I sit for aminute?”

“Sure.”

He scooted one of the chairs over to my bedside and grabbed my hand. “I wanted to apologize again. I feel terrible for not realizing what was going on. Whenever the staff mentioned anything about you getting texts and letters, they made it seem like it wasn’t a big deal. They made it seem like you just wanted attention.” He sighed and rubbed his chin. “I wish I’d given you that attention. Maybe then I would’ve noticed you wereso—”

“So nuts?” I saidglumly.

“Don’t say it likethat.”

I shrugged. “Why? It’s true. Just ask the doctors or the Secret Service. They’ll tellyou.”

He sighed again and looked over at the other side of the room. “I was going to say you were so obviously in need of a parent’s support. We used to spend so much time together, but now…” He stopped and cleared his throat. “Ever since your mother became president, we barely see each other, unless it’s at some sort of ball ordinner.”

“I know.” I glumly picked at my nails again. “It’s not your fault. We all knew how it would be. Busy, busy, busy. All the time. It’s not like you could’ve predicted I’d start hallucinating as aresult.”

His shoulders drooped. “Maybe I could have,” he said. “I admit, I’ve had my share of emotional issues in the past. Nothing as severe as what you’re going through, but still… there could be some sort of genetic predisposition for mentalissues.”

I chewed my bottom lip as I considered that. “Maybe, yeah. But it’s still not yourfault.”