Page 76 of Unspoken Lies

“Two,” she counters. “I still say that I know more than I could ever want to. I also do not have to behave in any manner that you may think I should.”

As the food comes, I refuse to let her words bother me. All I hear is a promise.

She’ll come around. She has to.

CHAPTER 18

THEO

Sitting on the couch, I gaze down at the journal that has now become dog eared and highlighted. I have various sticky notes attached to different pages as well, my mind racing with anger and frustration.

There are so many things that are wrong with the words inside of this journal, and I need to make a call. First, I’m going to insist on proof of life from Rachelle. Jared wasn’t fucking around about that, and I will lead the charge if necessary after everything that I’ve read today.

Rachelle should be home at her apartment getting ready to go into work, while we aren’t going in tonight. We ironically have the night off to get schoolwork and shit done.

Except, instead of doing any of that, I’ve been obsessing. I need to stir up trouble.

Me:

How about a proof of life photo?

Rachelle waitsfour minutes and fifty-nine seconds before she sends me a photo of her middle finger. Barking out a laugh, I look closely at her nail and notice that she painted it black with a pretty white star. It actually looks cute.

I see someone with sass, willing to push my buttons within the rules, and who did a little self care today. I’ll fucking damn well take it.

Me:

Good girl, carry on.

I imaginethe strangled scream of irritation she could be indulging in right now, smirking in amusement. My smile quickly dies, though, because I have to have an uncomfortable conversation with a mafia boss now.

I need to do it while the rest of the household is busy. Jared is swimming laps in the pool and Elijah is running on the treadmill. Ready or not, this is my window.

Pressing Emil Reyes’ phone number, I make a face as I lean back on the couch and gaze at the journal balanced on my thigh as it rings.

“Why are you calling me?”Mr. Reyes asks.

Rolling my eyes, I ask myself why I’m doing this, but press ahead because there’s something very wrong happening with Rachelle.

“Hello to you too, sir,” I say. “I’m calling because I stole Rachelle’s journal and I’m concerned.”

“Personally, I’m concerned about your lack of care for Rachelle’s privacy, but please continue,”Mr. Reyes sighs.

“There are times when she’s really lucid in her writing but sad and others where she’ll rant about all kinds of things,” I explain. “She mentions during it that she’s taking an antipsychotic and how it makes the voices worse.”

“Rachelle hears voices when she’s extremely depressed, and always has. I don’t believe this is a symptom of psychosis, at least not for her,”he explains. “Her therapist prescribed the antipsychotic, but I told her to stop taking it. The issue is, she had to wean herself due to the dose. I told her therapist I didn’t want her taking it and that it was making her worse.”

“There are pages of her rants,” I say honestly. “She’s not taking it anymore, but she was taking it for months before you got her off it. Are you sure this is the best person for her?”

“Her last therapist betrayed her,”Mr. Reyes says tiredly. “I really want to believe this one is above reproach and that he was trying to help with the information presented to him. Right now, weaning her off all of her medication isn’t an option.”

“Maybe not all of it, but it feels excessive,” I mutter. “Sometimes she sounds possessed, others as if she can’t think through the fog. How much can a person shatter before they can’t be put back together?”

“Isn’t that the question of the century?”Mr. Reyes asks. “I truly believe that the only people who can put my stepdaughter back together are those who pulled her apart to begin with. I know that you used to pull the wings off of butterflies as a kid to see how long they’d live afterward. I don’t think Rachelle will be able to survive more of that type of treatment.”

“I’m trying not to break her anymore,” I promise. “I need to understand her more in order to help make her better.”

“I honestly don’t believe that’s what she needs. Her pieces simply need to fit together differently. Be careful, because at some point glass simply becomes dust when crushed enough,”Mr. Reyes grunts. “The balance has to be done just right.”