Epilogue

Harkins

W hat they don't tell you about a forty-eight-hour hold is that when you're admitted on a Friday night, that hold doesn't start until the weekend ends. I spent most of Saturday in my car, parked in front of this psych ward.

When that no longer felt sustainable, I went home, finally washing all the blood off me and tending to my physical needs. On Sunday, I was back again, waiting and hoping someone would let me see my girl.

No visitors until she has been evaluated.

No evaluation until the forty-eight-hour hold ends.

It's Wednesday now, past noon because I spent the better portion of the day arguing with administrators who say they can't release her without her consent. Funny how that works—they didn't need her consent to be brought in here.

With enough pressure, I'm able to get a visit with her, even though visitors are only allowed on Tuesdays.

The entire system is set up for failure.

Nothing with the patients in mind.

Camila sits there, behind a small table with a single chair in front of it. Her hands fold over one another, but there's no way to describe how she looks. Ghastly. A shade of pale I've never seen on her golden skin before, her eyes sunken, dark and hollow. Has she eaten?

My legs shake with every step I take toward her until I find myself seated in the chair directly across from her. I have a million things I need to say, but none of them come out. It's painful to see her this way, to not know what she's been through.

It hurts to not hear her voice.

My heart thrums violently. I'm nauseous, sick to my stomach, riddled with guilt and shame. I did this to her. I'm the reason she's in here. I pushed her, forced her to change into something needlessly. We could have let last year be a distant memory; why did I have to fuck it all up?

I'd love her in any shape or form. Why did I have to go and ruin it?

Camila says nothing, and the silence is excruciating, so I finally speak. "Are you okay?"

Of course she isn't.

She turns her head at an angle, giving me an empty look.

"They're ready to let you go, but they said you're refusing to sign the papers. T-that's why I'm here, baby. So I can get you out." I reach for her hand, it's cold under my touch.

"You're not here to get me out," she finally speaks, her words containing the power to freeze the very blood in my veins.

"Camila…" She just shakes her head at me. My voice cracks. "Are you still mine?"

"To the end, beloved." She repeats the words I proposed to her with.

"Then come home with me." She just gives another lazy shake of her head.

My heart breaks. I don't know how to fix this, don't know how to make this better, and I can't understand why she's refusing me.

She blinks slowly, a terrifying smile draping over her features. "I want you in here with me. "

to be continued…