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Dr. Puttman left the room soon after, saying that it might be a while before they find a place with an opening.

That left my mother, father, and I in a room by ourselves.

However, due to the nature of my hospitalization, a nurse was required to sit near the room and keep watch to ensure I didn't... well try anything.

My parents sat on opposite sides of the room, both brooding.

I thought Dominic was the ultimate brooder, but my immature parents even had him beat.

My mother made sighing noises quite frequently even though no one was saying anything to upset her.

Heck we were not saying anything at all.

I didn't want to talk to them. Talking to them would mean more fighting.

Though it was hard to admit it, I wished my mother weren't in the room.

If she weren't in the room, then I could actually talk to my father without her butting in.

She always contradicted what I said, or chided me for any behaviors she deems wrong.

Always nagging, always complaining, always drunk.

I could go on and on with the reasons I didn't want my mother to be around during this emotional time.

My dad wouldn't be like this if my mother were not here.

He wouldn't be sighing, dissociating. He would be right by my side. Making jokes and trying to cheer me up.

But instead, I was lonely. I was scared.

I was angry. I didn't want to be the strong one, but I had to be.

I had to suck in my tears so my parents didn't start fighting over who did this to me.

I didn't know how long I could suck in my tears.

I didn't know how long I could keep up this act.

I just wished that I would be able to go to the mental hospital soon. Maybe I could let out my tears then.

Suddenly, a group of four people walked into the room carrying a gurney.

My heart rate spiked as I took in the scene before me.

Dr. Puttman talked to the one female and two male paramedics that walked into the room.

My parents stood up and looked at each other in confusion.

Dr. Puttman walked over to us and gave us a comforting smile.

"Miss Hayes, we are about to transfer you to a facility." He said while the paramedics lowered the gurney.

"Um, I can walk." I said, eying the gurney.

"It's standard protocol to make sure you are safe on the trip there." Dr. Puttman explained.

My mother scoffed and looked at him with accusatory eyes. "Just another way to rack up the bill we're about to be sent."

That woman actually had the audacity to talk about money in a time like this. The paramedics ignored my mother's comment and moved efficiently, preparing to transfer me to the gurney. One of them, a tall man with kind eyes, stepped forward.

"We'll help you get settled, Elaine. It's just a precaution," he said gently.

I nodded, though my hands trembled as I pushed back the thin hospital blanket. The IV in my arm tugged slightly, a reminder of the fragile state I was in. My father rushed to my side, his face etched with worry.

"Let me help you, turkey-butt," he murmured, using the childhood nickname that usually brought me comfort. But now, it only made my throat tighten with unshed tears.

As the paramedics guided me onto the gurney, my mother crossed her arms and glared at Dr. Pittman. "How long will she be there?" she demanded.

"That depends on her progress," the doctor replied calmly. "The facility will evaluate her and determine the best course of treatment."

My mother huffed, but my father's grip on my hand tightened. "We'll be there as soon as visiting hours allow," he promised, his voice steady despite the fear in his eyes.

I wanted to tell him not to bother—that I'd be fine on my own—but the words stuck in my throat. The truth was, I was terrified. The thought of being locked away, surrounded by strangers, made my chest ache. But the alternative—facing the chaos of my life without any help—was even worse.

The paramedics secured the straps around me, not tight enough to restrain but enough to keep me safe during the ride.

As they wheeled me out of the room, I caught a glimpse of Dominic standing in the hallway, his face pale and his fists clenched.

His icy blue eyes locked onto mine, filled with a mix of anger and helplessness.

The security guards hovered nearby, ready to intervene if he tried anything.

"Dominic," I whispered, but the gurney was already moving, carrying me away from him. His growl of frustration echoed down the hall, followed by the sound of a fist hitting the wall.

The ride to the facility was a blur of fluorescent lights and hushed voices.

I stared at the ceiling of the ambulance, my mind numb.

The paramedics spoke in low tones, their words blending into white noise.

All I could think about was Dominic's face—the way his eyes had glowed gold, the way he'd kissed me as if the world were ending.

When we arrived, the facility was nothing like I'd imagined. It wasn't the cold, sterile place from movies; instead, it had warm lighting and soft colors, like a cross between a hospital and a dorm. A nurse greeted me with a gentle smile.

"Welcome, Elaine. We're here to help you," she said, guiding me inside.

The doors closed behind me, sealing me off from the outside world. For the first time in days, I let myself cry. The tears came silently at first, then in great, heaving sobs. The nurse didn't rush me—she just stood by, offering tissues and a quiet presence.

As I wiped my face, I realized something: I didn't want to die. Not really. I just wanted the pain to stop. And maybe, just maybe, this place could help me find a way to make that happen.