Page 2 of The Oath We Give

“Is that when you stopped taking the medicine?”

I nod slowly. “Vitamin B pills.”

A smile spreads across her lips. I’m sure my therapist isn’t supposed to condone swapping meds, but Jen’s always been cool like that, and I think, given my less-than-common situation, a smile is warranted.

“The episode I had, when I—” I pause, hating myself for needing to ask. Hating that they had made me doubt my mind enough for me to need reassurance. “When I was committed here, that episode, what was it?”

There are flashes of last spring that I remember, fragments of a nightmare. Sage Donahue returning to Ponderosa Springs after her sister’s death. The voices that came to me for the first time in my life, watching the home of Frank Donahue go up in flames while demons danced among them.

I see these moments, pieces, and half the time, it’s like it wasn’t even me. I’m simply watching a movie, and the main character happens to look like me.

“The episode that led to your admission was a psychotic break. You experienced an unimaginable trauma, the death of someone you were emotionally tethered to. That damage, coupled with years of no one believing you, sent you into a spiral that couldn’t have stopped even you if wanted it to. It’s an unfortunate coincidence, but it’s not schizophrenia.”

Jennifer flips through the papers on her lap, furrowing her eyebrows as she continues talking.

“If I had to guess, neither was the episode they recorded when you were young. There is barely any information in Dr. Brewer’s records, not nearly enough to conclude such a serious diagnosis at that age.”

I scoff, unable to help myself.

My first episode.

I was a kid screaming for help. Not because of a hallucination or delusion. No one was listening to me; they wouldn’t hear me. I was panicked, scared, and no one would believe what I had seen.

“From what I’ve gathered from your parents and the scarce records, you were showing early signs of depression, which is probably why your parents brought you to a doctor to begin with. They were afraid of your sudden behavior change, and I think they always had the best intentions for you. They still do, but their trust was misplaced. I’m sorry you were the one to pay for that, Silas.”

I bring my gaze back to Jenn, knowing she means her apology. That a piece of her cares for me and what happened. A genuine concern for my health got her to this conclusion.

This explanation. An answer.

Reassurance that I hate to admit I needed.

When I was committed here, I believed everything they ever said about me. Every whisper, every lie, rumor, and stretched truth.

Because when Sage came back and Rosemary’s one-year anniversary was fast approaching, I started seeing things, hearing them in my ear. I saw them, and they ate at me until I thought they were real. Until I trusted what they told me and put weight in their false words.

I thought, holy fucking shit. They were right; I have schizophrenia, and I haven’t been on meds since freshman year of high school.

My mind became a terrifying place. I mean, it had been before that, but this was different. That year, it sprouted lethal thorns from nefarious roots. My mind leaked black slime that oozed into every pore and choked me with deception.

It twisted and crawled, slithered with creatures too scary for most to imagine. My monster, my demons, the shadows that skidded off the walls and took on humanoid shapes. They would paralyze people with fear.

Even though they’d left and have yet to return since my hospitalization, I’d accepted the memory of their existence, grown used to it. I realized I would always be a much scarier beast than my mind and the evil it can produce.

I’m frightfully worse.

Because I am and have always been real.

“Are you going to be the one to tell the townsfolk of Ponderosa Springs that the nickname ‘Schizo’ no longer applies?”

I lean forward, placing my elbows on my thighs, watching Jennifer’s face twist with sadness. The corners of her eyes wrinkle as she tries to give me a gentle, reassuring smile.

How awful, she’s thinking, that this poor boy lived through all this.

“I think your friends and family can help break the news once you are released from here.”

Without warning, my body tenses up, shoulders tightening and gut twisting.

“No.”