Medicine Man

In my outrageous nightmares, I saw them putting me in a straitjacket as soon as I arrived at the facility. But apparently mental hospitals don’t do that anymore. They told me to bring my most comfortable clothes and, well, what’s more comfortable than my Harry Potter t-shirts and sweatpants?

But oddly, I’m regretting my wardrobe choices now. Which obviously means that I’ve lost my mind. Well, more than usual. I lift my chin in defiance and something flashes across his impassive face. I can’t say what, however.

“Do what?” I ask.

“Make things up?”

I want to fidget under his gray eyes but I control myself and hug my book tighter.

What kind of a question is that?

See? Psychiatrists ask stupid, irrelevant questions.

I frown. “I don’t make things up. I elaborate.”

He stays silent for so long that I think he’ll never speak again. But he does, very casually. “And that’s clearly very different from each other.”

“Yes.” I smile. “As a matter of fact, they are very different from each other.”

“You do that often – elaborate, I mean?”

“Is that a trick question?”

“No, just a regular, run-of-the-mill question.”

I can’t figure out if he’s serious or not. I mean, he looks serious but there was something there on his face, in his voice, some kind of amusement, wryness, that makes me think he’s having fun with this.

Well, whatever.

“Then the answer is no. I don’t elaborate.” A voice in the back of my mind disagrees but I squash it. “Besides, I was only doing it to make people feel better. Isn’t that your whole job? I was basically doing it for you.”

Beth gasps and Renn snorts.

But Dr. Blackwood ignores both of them and asks, “You were, huh?”

“Yes.”

For a beat, all he does is scan my face without a word, jacking up my heart even more. Like his stare is a certain drug.

But then he ducks his head, his dark, wet hair glinting under the hallway lights. He looks back up with half a smile. One-fourth of a smile, actually. “Well, then I owe you one. Thank you for doing my job for me. I appreciate it very much.”

Before I can say anything, Renn jumps in, highly amused. “Just give her a lime jello, she’ll be happy.”

But Dr. Blackwood doesn’t pay her any attention. “Maybe I will,” he says to me.

He steps back, probably ready to put this whole conversation behind him. “It was nice meeting both of you. And… I’m thirty-three, by the way.”

Renn fist-pumps. “Yes.”

Before he leaves though, his eyes drop to the book in my arms and I clutch it tightly, as if he’ll take it away. “Let me know if you need any help fixing your book.”

This time, however, I’m having a hard time keeping my face blank at the word fix. So I might have pursed my lips; I’m not sure.

Stop saying fix, you moron.

I swear, I see a distinct twitch on his mouth as he glances at me one last time and leaves. I glare after him and his ridiculously tall and broad body, encased in clothes that seem to be made just for him.

It’s like he knows that word affects me. He knows how much I hate it.

Fix.

That’s what people have been saying to me for the past two weeks. Especially my mom.

We need to fix this, Lolo. What if it happens again?

Why won’t you let the doctor fix you, Lolo?

A few weeks at Heartstone is going to fix you right up, Lolo.

But that’s stupid because there’s no way he could’ve known. We’ve only just met.

Oh and he’s fifteen years older than Renn… and me. But that doesn’t matter.

Not at all.

I clutch my book even tighter. My precious book.

My precious perfect book.

My fucking precious perfect book.

God, I hate all doctors.

Everyone’s watching him. Like he’s a celebrity or something.

Well, almost everyone.

Me? I’m not watching except for occasional glances here and there.

A tech comes up to me with a plastic cup, taking my focus away from the new doctor. The cup holds the key to making my brain happy. The pills. Prozac, lithium, Zoloft, Effexor. I can’t keep track of them anymore.

I take it from him and gulp the sour-tasting, magic medicine down that’s going to steal my sleep all in the name of side-effects. When he doesn’t go away, I shoot him a look. He shoots me a look of his own.

Gah.

Narrowing my eyes at him, I open my mouth and stick my tongue out for him to examine. When he’s satisfied that I’ve swallowed my pills like a good girl, he walks away.

“Do you think he’s taken?” That’s Renn.

At her words, I switch my focus back to my enemy.

He’s standing in the hallway with Beth and a few of the staff members. And we’re in the TV room. I’m supposed to be reading my precious book, but all the murmured and hissed conversation is messing with my mojo.