Chapter 43. Micah
MICAH
I booked my ticket the second I left Brynn’s apartment, deserting the city of Chinese takeout boxes before her. Not entirely sure what I did after that. I must have also scheduled a car to the airport, because here I am now, on a plane.
Good thing. The last few hours and how I scored this aisle seat in the back of first class remain a mystery to me.
The plane keeps taxiing like we’ve decided to drive to California.
Delay.
Delay.
I shift in my seat, unable to settle. Someone’s cranked up the heat.
The plane heaves forward, heavy with people. Planes with too many passengers tend to crash, don’t they?
Sweat drips down my face.
The flight attendants glance my way, their lips pressed into frowns, perhaps conferring over the potential trouble I might cause.
I pity the poor guy snoring next to me, clueless that I’m about to pull the lever on the cabin door and deploy the evacuation slide to escape like a badass.
“More water?” The flight attendant with the violet-silver hair and brown sun-spotted skin waggles an Evian bottle in my face.
I take the bottle, throw one of my pills to the back of my mouth, and chug the water. Next time I wake, I’ll be in Cali. Except these green ones never affect me the same way twice, and I’ll have no security net if things go sideways up there. Whenever I feel like this . . .
Dr. Val says, You shouldn’t be flying.
My dad tells me, Sleep it off.
Aunt Max suggests, Meditate more, try yoga.
And Eunice gives me a wrapped spearmint candy off her desk.
Rewrite your story, I tell myself. Forget her scent on your skin right now, the scratches she left across your back. Get over her by hooking up with someone in California.
Because meaningless dalliances have worked so well for me in the past.
I left her apartment tonight before I did something regretful. Something I couldn’t take back. I arrived at her door with candles and sustenance, prepared to spin my sudden odd behavior into a charming narrative. Because spending forty-eight hours with someone doesn’t merit a schizophrenia reveal.
But I screwed it up. By the time I left, it was like our weekend had never happened. Like we’d never happened.
I’m done. Not coming back to this city. Screw Granddad’s plan. His lack of acknowledgment of this . . . thing . . . in me.
Christ, go to sleep already.
“Harmonica?”
“Music Man. Surprised to hear from you.” I switch my phone to the other ear and grab my bag off the conveyor belt. Time to find the poor schmuck holding the iPad with my name.
“I called you a thousand times last night.”
I have two missed calls from him. “I’m in Cali.”
“Dr. Val called. What the hell happened?”
I slide a smile into my voice. “I felt myself slipping. Came back for a tune-up.”
“You’re doing so well, why—”
My neck grows cold. “Chill!” I spit in a low voice. “No one knows Beck Kershaw’s son is going back into the looney bin.”
“Micah, it’s not like that.”
“Really, Dad? How is it? Staying in New York and working at Granddad’s agency means I’m fixed?”
“So damn dramatic.” He blows air into the phone like I’m an irksome toddler.
“This is not real to you. Never has been.”
“You need to chillax—”
I hang up on the a-hole.
“Nice to see you in the flesh. I’d say you are look-ing good, but if I did I’d be ly-ing.” Dr. Val screws up her lips; small folds of skin appear at the outer corners of her eyes under her carrot-colored bangs.
“Good to see you too.” I mirror her expression.
I spread myself across her blue pleather couch and rest my head and feet on the rectangular foam armrests. My paper hospital slippers sit on the floor next to me, ready for a quick getaway. The toes in front of me wiggle, unconnected to my legs. Damn. What did she prescribe me?
She bounces her brows. “Oh, come on. Us cra-zies need to stick to-ge-ther.”
“Stop. Be my doctor for once.” I cross my hands behind my head, cringing at my snowflake hospital pajamas.
“Don’t wor-ry. I won’t try to jump your bones to-day. Been get-ting an-y ac-tion in New York?”
“Nope. Saving myself for your withering—”
“Stop. Stop right there.” She holds up her ruddy palm. “O-kay, let’s be ser-i-ous. What the hell hap-pened in New York?”
“I’m not . . .” I sigh; it’s useless to pretend with her. “One minute I’m with this girl in her apartment, getting dumped, and the next I’m on the floor in my kitchen. It got bad fast.”
“You ex-per-i-enced an ep-i-sode in front of her?”
I shake my head. “We spent an incredible weekend together. I can’t remember the last time I felt so normal. Like the old me.” I throw up my hands. “But she flaked out. Doesn’t feel the same. I get it. No one wants to take a chance with me. I sure as hell wouldn’t.”
“You told her a-bout your psy-cho-sis?”
I look away.
“Then how do you know it played a role? May-be some-thing else is go-ing on. Blam-ing your-self turns into a self-ful-fill-ing proph-e-cy.”
I bare my teeth. “Kind of hard to hide, you know. People sense something’s off about me.”
“You mean when you don’t let an-y-one see the real you?” She leans back on her headrest, her eyes focused skyward.
“I know what I am, and shit yeah, I’m a handful.”
She clucks her tongue. “Mi-cah the vic-tim.”
“I knew you’d say that. Anyway, I can’t compete with a dead guy.”
“Dead guy?”
“Her boyfriend—he be dead.” I laugh.
She studies me. After a long beat, she angles the pointer attached to her wrist toward her screen. “I’ll ad-just your dose.”
“Why? Feels like I’m flying. Now, let’s talk about your love life, Dr. Val.”
“We’ll pick this up la-ter.”
“I don’t regret being with Brynn. So I got dumped. Whatever. She’s not what I need right now.”
“Oh?”
“What’s playing?” I lift my chin in the direction of the stereo behind her.
“You like it? Franz Schu-bert’s Ninth Symph-o-ny; quite a ro-man-tic comp-o-si-tion, if you ask me.
Makes me want to dance all night long.” She smiles, waving her bird hand at me.
“Come on, once a-round the of-fice. You can sit on my lap like they do in that Jo-jo Moyes mo-vie.” She cracks herself up.
I roll my eyes, seeing through her twisted sense of humor. She uses it to get me to lighten up when I’m feeling like this . . . like I’ve just been passing as normal this whole time. I’m never going to get better. Destined to be alone.
Her eyes turn gentle. “Why are you here, Mi-cah?”
I sit up fast, throwing my feet to the floor.
Dr. Val shrinks back and her elbow slips from the armrest. She lists to the side, unable to right herself up.
I bounce up. “Sorry, I—”
“I got this.” She rocks her body back into place in increments. “No harm done.”
I close my eyes, digging my fingers into my scalp.
Dr. Val gives me one of her gummy smiles. “Sit. Tell me why you’re here.”
Out the window behind her, a little girl in a red dress walks beside a man in a pale yellow suit with salt-and-pepper hair. Holding his hand, she stops to pick up something from the sidewalk. She passes it to him, her toothless grin lighting up her face.
He raises it toward the sun and flips it over in his fingers, talking to her. He gives it back and pulls her along.
She digs her heels into the ground and leans away from him, her legs rod straight.
I look back at Dr. Val. “I want you to reset my brain so I can forget her.”