37. I’m Not Sick

37

I’m Not Sick

Teal

Sitting across the dinner table from my father, I let Declan’s text settle my nerves. My heart has been on a tightrope for as long as we’ve been playing this game, and for the first time, I’m ready to let go and fall for him. To trust the net beneath me because he’s proven he’ll catch me in the darkness.

I hold onto that comfort as I stare at my father sitting at the head of the table.

He thinks I’m still the na?ve girl whose strings he’s been pulling all these years. He doesn’t know my mind is finally clear and that I remember everything.

The intensive treatments.

The hypnotherapy.

The drugs .

Looking back, I realize a part of me did die when I tried to take my life. The part of me that understood who I was.

To hide his own friend’s secrets, he let me spiral. He used doctors and medication to brainwash me and force me to conform. He took away that girl who knew what she was fighting for.

I always thought I was impossible to treat because I was just too fucked-up. It turns out the reason nothing helped was because none of my doctors were actually treating me. They were simply doing my father’s bidding and following orders.

He let me believe my mind was so far beyond repair that I’d be forced to live that way forever. In reality, he was withholding real treatment and medicating me into compliance, and my mom allowed it.

Knowing my father, it probably wasn’t really her choice, but still, she did nothing. She supported my art and used that to placate her guilt. It’s not enough.

“Are you ready for Paris?” Mom smiles, taking a sip of her wine.

At least she pretends to care, unlike my father, who hasn’t said a word to me since I got here. She might be conditioned to obey him and go along with his plans, but she plays the role well.

I nod. “Yes, Declan and I signed the lease for the apartment last weekend.”

My father drops his fork to his plate at my comment. “Your what?”

“We’re going to live together when we’re in Paris.” I shrug, pretending not to notice the boiling kettle of rage set to high heat in front of me. “Declan was accepted into the same art internship. I’m surprised your friend Ian didn’t tell you.”

I stress the word friend just to get under his skin.

“I didn’t know Declan was an artist.” Mom’s eyes pinch with genuine curiosity.

“He is.” I nod. “He’s really talented, actually. But he doesn’t make a show of it, so most people don’t know that about him.”

Now that I know him better, I understand why he’s private about his art. It’s deeply personal to him, and he doesn’t let anyone see a hint of his vulnerability. His art is created from pieces of the world around him. It’s why he’s always incorporating us into it. To him, his work is greater than a sculpture or masterpiece. It’s a moment in time.

A memory.

Like the one we made the other night in my studio. We were a mess of paint and sex while the corpse of my nightmares was dead in the corner. He broke me free from that pain, and he needed to capture that.

Love isn’t something I thought I was capable of, but maybe I was just too foggy to understand it. Or maybe I just hadn’t admitted my heart had reserved itself years ago for the only person who had ever come close to touching it.

Because when I look into Declan’s eyes, something close to love pours out. No matter what he’s done to me .

“I thought you and Declan were no longer talking after the hunting trip.” Dad’s snide comment drags me back to reality.

“We worked it out.”

His eyes narrow. “Tealene Donovan, I’ve played into this long enough. If you think you can benefit from what our family has to offer while disrespecting us by dating a Pierce, you’re sorely mistaken.”

“I don’t need your permission.” I set my fork down. “I don’t need anything from you.”

“Not even your studio? Your school? Your internship? Who do you think funds all of that? And how do you think I do it?” Dad’s tone is deathly cold. “You ungrateful bitch.”

“Paul.” Mom’s eyes widen.

“She is.” He doesn’t break my stare, even if Mom is reeling like she doesn’t understand how this side of him exists.

She married him, so she should know.

“I’m leaving.” I stand up, pushing my chair out.

“Sit your ass down.” My father stands so fast his chair falls backward. “This conversation isn’t over.”

“I’m done with you controlling me.” I face off with him, gathering the same confidence Declan gave me when he handed me that knife. “And I’m done with you lying to me. I know what you did. How you’ve used me. I remember everything.”

His jaw clenches. “If you think I’ll let you go to Paris with him, you’re as delusional as your medical records say you are. ”

The backhanded insult has me taking a step back. Dad has always used my mental health struggles against me to prove he’s stronger.

He’s saner.

So long as he’s labeling me as crazy, he has all the power.

But this time, I resist. I no longer immediately accept it as truth the moment he says it.

I’ve never been properly treated, so who is he to decide what I am? I’ve never been to a doctor who was truly invested in my health, someone who wasn’t accepting money from my father just to give him whatever he needed to hear. I refuse to let him label me crazy when he’s been feeding me delusions for years.

I embrace the strength I know exists somewhere, and I harness it.

“You don’t know anything about me,” I snap back at him, hating that a tear rolls down my cheek. “You made me like this.”

Hate walks a thin line with love. In relationships and within families. And just like I’ve teetered on that line with Declan, I feel myself tipping in a different direction now with the man who was supposed to love and protect me. My own flesh and blood.

The doorbell rings, and I blink another tear free, so I wipe it away.

“Right on time.” My father smirks.

“Who?” The question dies on my lips when Margarite turns the corner with Dr. Parish at her side .

“What is he doing here?” My chest tightens. “He’s no longer my doctor.”

This morning, I called Montgomery and asked to be assigned to a different doctor. Declan offered to help make sure the request went through since my father’s position on the board makes that difficult.

“We’re worried about you, Teal.” Dad straightens up. “This outburst is further proof of why.”

His rage has cooled to a low boil while his cocky arrogance flares up.

“What are you talking about?”

“You’ve been acting irrationally lately.” Dad starts to circle the table, making his way over to Dr. Parish. “You’re being reckless at fraternity parties, associating with people who are trouble. Then there’s the fact that you got drunk and ran into the road at the cabin. You’ve been told not to mix your prescriptions with alcohol.”

“I wasn’t—” I shake my head, trying to process how he’s turning all this around on me. “I don’t drink.”

“Are you sure about that?” Dad’s cruelness fades, and he’s talking softly now. “Jase tried to hand you a water to sober you up, but you started arguing with him for no reason.”

“That’s not what happened.”

“That’s what Jase said.” Dad glances at Dr. Parish like my differing recollection is proof. “He said you got upset and tried to kill yourself again.”

“I didn’t.” I take a step back. “I stumbled into the road on accident. ”

He’s trying to turn this inside out like he did three years ago. He’s trying to use my own mind against me. I remember what happened at the cabin.

Talking to Declan.

The music.

The games.

I remember.

“Don’t do this.” I shake my head.

“Don’t do what, honey?” His false sweetness has my insides curdling. “We care about you, and we want you to get better. I’ve been putting this off because I hoped you were healing on your own. But I see it now.”

“Putting what off?”

Dad looks at Dr. Parish, not answering my question. “Did you get the paperwork?”

“I did.”

“So you see now?” Dad waves a hand in my direction. “She’s losing touch with reality.”

Dr. Parish glances my way, and I almost think I spot sympathy for a split second. I stare into the eyes of the first doctor who made me feel heard when I was speaking, realizing it’s been a lie. I watch him as his gaze hardens, and I lose all hope.

“We’re here to help you, Teal.” Dr. Parish steps forward.

My head is shaking before he finishes that sentence. My entire body trembles as I look to Mom for help. She’s still sitting at the table, watching this all play out, silent, like she has no voice to change what’s happening.

“Mom? ”

She avoids my gaze, dropping it to her plate instead. “You’ve been reckless, honey. You need help.”

“No.” I step back, my body shaking. “This isn’t real. You’re manipulating me again.”

Dr. Parish reaches into his backpack and pulls out a syringe. My hands shake as I back myself against the wall. The two of them block the doorway so there’s nowhere to run.

But the most terrifying thing is how they all watch me like I’m the one losing my mind. Their stares make me question if they’re right.

Digging my hands into my hair, I brush it back off my face and try to use the scratch of my nails on my scalp to tether me to reality.

“This is to calm you down,” Dr. Parish says as he takes a step forward.

“Please don’t,” I beg. “Please. I’m not sick. I’m not. I’m getting better.”

No amount of begging stops my father and Dr. Parish from reaching for me. I try to dart around them, but my father catches me, holding my arms behind my back so Dr. Parish can stick me with the needle.

Whatever is in the syringe burns as it enters my body. It has my mind melting like ice cream.

It’s familiar.

I’ve felt this before.

When the world turned to paint, and all the pictures were moved around. When I was locked in that room with the white blankets and dark-gray walls. I remember closing my eyes and thinking that if there was more color at Montgomery, more people would have a chance at getting out.

But every time I opened them, I was faced with gray paint and a cold room.

“Please don’t take me back.” I can’t tell if the words come out or if they’re in my head.

My tongue swells as my body gets heavy. I’m calm. So calm I could be floating as hands guide me to a chair at the end of the table.

Mom watches me with her big eyes. I don’t know how she can have eyes that big and still manage to be blind to everything.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

The drugs must really be kicking in because I think I hear Declan’s voice. I think I see him surrounded by a sea of faces. It has to be my imagination because he wouldn’t be here with Jase at his side.

Kole would make sense, but not Jase.

He knows Jase wants to take me away.

Like the drugs… they take me away.

Right now, anything could take me away, and I wouldn’t be able to fight them.

Declan’s face gets bigger. Angrier.

His voice gets louder.

Is he here?

“Get out of my house.” My father’s tone echoes through every corner of my mind.

“Not without Teal.” Declan’s voice is so clear.

“She’s my daughter, and I have medical conservatorship. You have no right to be here. And you sure as hell have no say in this.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Declan smiles.

Why is he here, and why is he smiling?

“Yes, I’m sure. Dr. Parish has the paperwork himself. We’re filing it tomorrow.”

“You’ll need me to do that.” Declan steps to my father, so close that through my fog, they almost melt together.

“Why would I need you?” Dad smirks.

“Because…” Declan breaks stares with my father to look at me now, and I know for sure he’s here because every atom in my body responds. “The only one who can sign any sort of medical conservatorship is her immediate family, and Tealene Donovan is my wife.”