30. Chapter 30
Chapter thirty
‘Lias
Day three of Sadie’s psychiatric hold and I'm going just as stir crazy as she is. Fortunately, her attitude has made a full recovery, so have the ups and downs of ill-medicated psychosis.
I do my best to stay out of her way and let her talk to the hospital staff as they come and go—especially after her smart-ass comment yesterday. However, she clams up every time the psychologist comes in to see her.
I don't think patients normally get daily visits but she's a special case apparently. The doc usually appears around fifteen-hundred, wakes Sadie up if necessary, asks her a bunch of new questions and pisses her off again. She shuts down, leaving me to fill in the gaps.
Today was particularly hard while revisiting Sadie's support system, or lack thereof. For an hour, we pulled teeth. Sadie would give one- or two-word answers then stop responding when prompted to explain.
Now, I've only been to a few therapy appointments, but I'm almost positive that's not how it works. She has to give something to the doc for her to find ways to treat her.
I understand both of their frustrations. Sadie doesn't trust anyone who attempts to dig around in her head and the doc can't help if Sadie won't open her mouth.
Today, though, she got a heavy dose of reality.
"I'm going to be frank with you, Miss Wilson. While I understand it's difficult to speak on matters that have left you traumatized and vulnerable, no amount of silence is going to fix you. I will not let you out of this hospital if you do not cooperate, as you are a danger to yourself and those around you. It would be against my moral code, and my professional diagnosis, if I let you leave. If you hurt someone, or yourself, I will be liable and that’s not a risk I’m willing to take.
I advise you to, at minimum, answer the questions.
We can figure the rest out later once you're on a regular therapy schedule. "
Ever heard of the phrase 'that will go over like a lead balloon?’ Yeah, that's exactly how things happened. I wouldn't say Sadie showed her true colors, but she let the hidden ones out and gave the doc more than what she bargained for.
"You want me to talk? Fine, I'll fucking talk. You people think you have it all figured out. You swoop in, ask your repetitive questions, break people down, force them on pills that don’t help the problem, then collect a fat paycheck.
Not a single fucking question you've asked me was aimed at locating the root cause of my psychosis, only the things that make it worse.
When are you going to fix my brain instead of asking what part of history the symptoms belong to?
The past is irrelevant! Do something to make me better or get out! "
Sadie shattered after the doc left. Tears poured from her exhausted eyes until it soaked the front of her gown. I can't imagine how disconnected and helpless she feels, being in here where no one seems to care. Hard to believe a stranger gives a damn when they're not around through the better days.
At her bedside, away from my uncomfortable roost near the window, my elbows dig unforgivingly into the tops of my knees as my hands brace my head. I've been watching her for a few hours. Afraid she will disappear.
Her poor eyes are puffy, hair's a tangle, and the lips I've not kissed near enough are soft from crying. She's curled on her side facing me. At least that counts for something—I hope it means I'm a comfort, even if it's a small one.
"Sunshine?" I keep my voice low and gentle.
She doesn't bother responding, simply opens her eyes with a slow flutter of her tear clumped lashes.
"I'm sorry you have to be here and relive everything," I start, praying she's truly listening. "Please, let someone help you. You...you've taken the brunt of everything for so long. It's okay for someone else to shoulder the weight."
She stares through me like I’m made of glass and doesn’t make a peep.
"You're suffocating, I know. You're scared, don't trust anyone, and want to be left alone."
A slow alarm rings outside of the room and above us, calling a code blue. Movement beyond the door picks up—nurses rush down the hall with carts and fade into nothing. I never take my eyes off of Sadie. It's loud here; hard to heal in a place that never stops moving, but she doesn't have a choice.
"I get it. You don’t want to let people in but please, please Sunshine. I've lost enough people, don't make me lose you too."
Finally, her raspy voice fills the small space between us.
"D...don't care 'bout losing me."
A frown gathers across my stubbled face
"What do you mean? Of course I care."
"'L...Lias."
My name's no longer a plea on her lips, instead it's indignation. I'm no young buck, but the way she's wrapped around my heart and invalidates everything we've gone through has a crack splitting my chest in two.
"Don't," I warn.
"Don't what, Elias? You know the truth. It's time to stop living in delusion and recognize what this is."
"The truth? At what point do you figure the truth stopped—" My throat clamps as if I'm allergic to the words and anaphylactic shock threatens to set in.
Fuck...FUCK.
After a few long seconds, the pressure releases and I suck in a breath which fills my lungs so fully my diaphragm reaches my belly button.
When will she finally hear me, feel the conviction behind my words, or let her walls down enough to believe there's someone that cares for her? Any time anyone tries, she refutes them.
In small increments, the hope I have continues to fall away. Straws I grasp for slip between my fingers, just like she is.
Glancing to the side, I rake my hands through my disheveled hair for the hundredth time and finally say what I've been putting off for too long. If she still decides this life isn't meant for her, at least she will know she made a difference, even if it’s just for me.
"I love you, Sadie."
A metric ton of strain chains me to the chair. The silence is no better despite being drowned out by the mechanical whirr and beeps of machinery recording her every move.
My ears burn along with the side of my face as I refuse to look at her. That would make everything too real, too raw for what I'm capable of comprehending. And if not me, her.
I'm an idiot. I...I could have said this shit once we got home and she wasn't tied to a bed, unable to run from word vomit she doesn't want to hear.
I don't love. At least not like other people do, with grand gestures, gifts, or words.
I'm a man of action. And the last person I truly loved left me behind.
Maybe Sadie and I aren't so different after all.
I'm only better at managing it, and as of late, I'm losing my grip on everything like she is.
If she'll let me, I’ll show her. I'll prove every day that she's it for me.
She's mine, I'm hers, and I'll do whatever it takes to show her how helplessly in love I am with her.
"You don't love me. You love the idea of me. Not the girl who never stops wanting to die."
Weight finally slams into me, dragging my head forward where it hangs between my shoulders as unsure hands fidget with each other. I knew she'd deny it—reject what I've laid out on the table for her to hear. What I didn't realize is how bitter her jilt would make me feel.
"Goddammit. I do. Fuck, I do, Sadie. I love you so much it scares the hell out of me. I don't know what else to do to show you how lost I'd be without you." The words tumble out desperately.
"'L...lias." Her breath comes quicker but still pained. Those perfectly manicured brows of hers pinch as she closes her weary eyes. Unable to listen to me, to believe what I’ve said.
I can't take this shit anymore.
Grabbing her hand, I force my fingers between hers as the soft restraint pulls snug. Damn things have been in the way for a week. Seven days of thick blue cotton-wrapped foam cuffs velcroed around her wrist, blocked me from reaching the weak flutter of her artery.
The chair scrapes across the floor when I shoot up from the cushion.
Aggravation rolls off of me in waves as I tower over her prone form.
Before I can stop myself, I grab her chin and wrench her face in my direction.
If I have to hurt, pour my soul out for her to understand, then she will look at me when I do it.
"You've burrowed so deep into me, I no longer know where you end and I begin.
You've done nothing but fester there and ruin me.
Clawed your way into a heart that hasn't beat for anyone in years.
So, if you think I'm ever going to let you go, you're sorely mistaken.
If I have to follow you into hell, I will.
Because, you, Sadie Aurora Wilson. Are. Mine. And I will always love you."
"Liar!" she screams, spittle launching from her too dry lips. The energy in her reaction almost makes me smile. Almost.
Her back bows as she twists her arm, trying to wrench away from me. Sucks for her. I won't let go. Not now, not again, not ever. Yank all she wants, giving in would put the both of us in a hole and I’ve not had near enough time with her.
For the first time in days, her skin warms against mine; rage boiling just below the fragile layer of flesh.
When she can't get away, her piercing, heart-shattering cries bellow into the room.
Try as she might, her exhausted body is no match for the stout hospital bed she's confined to. Every jerk and scream drives my stomach off the nearest emotional cliff, nosediving into oblivion, but I don’t let go.
Not even when she runs out of breath and collapses with fatigue.
On her other side, the IV lines fall slack when she stops writhing around. In the middle of her tirade, her monitors began screaming—sending the numerical data of her anger through electrical wires to the nurses’ station where it now rings in a high-pitched alert.
Still, I hold. Letting go means she would be right and I'd be damned if I let her prove to anyone that she's alone, or no one’s strong enough to stay when her whole life’s falling apart.
She can hate herself all she wants. Hell, she can hate me if that makes her feel better.
The fact of the matter is, I'll bleed for her. Breathe for her. Die for her.
"I love you."
Sadie gasps through choked sobs, no longer wailing.
Her painful cries sucker-punch me in the gut and make me wish I could snap my fingers to fix everything for her. Instead, her face turns pink and splotchy from the struggle. All of that and Sadie got nowhere, other than digging her nails into knuckles I stopped feeling decades ago.
There's nothing I can say or do to calm her down; she needs to feel this. Allow herself to be angry, loved, and scared all at once. So, I wait, refuse to release her, and watch the woman I love wordlessly beg for salvation.
Tears gather at the corners of her eyes until they slip out and back to her temples, where stringy hair soaks them up like a sponge. The same pale strands I've spent hours combing my fingers through flare around her head like the vicious glow spilling out from an eclipse.
"I'm no one worth loving." She struggles to speak past her tear-softened lips.
Mine open and close as if I'm a fish out of water, wanting to argue but I know better.
You can't rebuild years of self-loathing and isolation in the matter of a few days.
This will take time and I have no plans on going anywhere soon—if I have to suffer every day until she learns the difference, I'll pledge my devotion to her and give her a better life.
Dipping, my forehead crashes against her ashy knuckles where I finally feel my chest cave.
We fall apart together. Her with hatred for who she is, then me when I give into the shake of my shoulders and silent tears cut through my stubble.
Today’s the first time, and the last, she will ever have to see me cry for her.
I love this maddening woman, even when her actions are killing both of us.