Chapter 28
Twenty-Eight
CADE
Another episode of some house remodel show starts. Someone coughs from behind the glass of the check-in desk. I gnaw on the side of my thumb, the nail bitten to the quick and oozing blood. I wipe it off on my jeans— too hot for June but they were the only clean pants I could find.
The last time I sat in one of these antiseptic-smelling waiting rooms was before school a year ago to get a physical.
Unfortunately, they gave Dad a referral for a specialist who wouldn’t see me until I turned eighteen.
Because nothing says, ‘Happy Birthday,” like going to the doctor.
I just had to open my dumbass mouth. Lesson learned: doctors don’t understand dark humor or sarcasm.
A hand lands on my knee. I’ve been bouncing it. I glance at Dad sitting in the chair beside me.
“It’s alright, Bud.”
I slouch and cross my arms over my chest. Now he wants to notice the warning signs. Not when I was in the thick of it. Not when I needed help. When I needed my dad.
Me? Resentful? Nah, not at all.
“You didn’t have to come.”
He sighs. He’s only here because he didn’t trust me to show up on my own.
“Cade?” a feminine voice chirps. If I stare at the fish tank across from me, maybe some other Cade will follow the nurse back.
Dad squeezes my shoulder. “Want me to go with you?”
“No.”
He clears his throat. “I’ll be here.”
I unglue my ass from the seat and approach the overweight, middle-aged woman in scrubs. She flashes a sympathetic smile. I fucking hate it.
“How are you?” She asks, engrossed in her clipboard as we walk down a hall lined with numbered doors.
“Peachy.”
She finally looks up from her paperwork to usher me into room seven. “Any birthday plans?”
“This.”
She lets out an awkward laugh. I make her uncomfortable. I make everyone uncomfortable. They don’t know how to act around people like me— the really fucked up ones. I’m as alien to her as an extraterrestrial.
“We just have to run through a few questions, then Dr. Bedi will be with you shortly.”
The wax paper crinkles as I plop onto the exam chair. “Let’s get this over with.”
I’ll give it to her— she’s efficient. After collecting my vitals and confirming basic health stuff, she exits. I shove my thumb between my teeth and resume chewing my cuticle off while checking my phone.
Andrea:
If you thought I wouldn’t remember your Gemini ass’s birthday, you have a smooth brain.
My lips twitch. Only Andrea could coax anything close to a smile out of me right now.
Between cheerleading and her controlling cult leader dad, I've barely seen her in months.
Her absence has affected me more than I expected.
I miss her laugh. Her sass. The way she just gets me.
Though, I suspect there's more to her distance. I pushed too hard, too soon.
But she's not the only one avoiding me.
I clutch my phone in a death grip.
It was supposed to be the other way around— Sebastian twisted into knots, conflicted between his beliefs and me.
But here I am, unable to let it go. It took weeks for the bites and bruises to fade and when they did, I debated inflicting them again on myself somehow.
They were physical reminders that I didn't imagine it. That his words were real.
You made it all up, she whispers.
A lump lodges in the back of my throat. I didn’t.
This is how it starts.
“No,” I hiss out loud. Grinding my teeth, I scroll through my texts until I find his name. My hands shake. If I ask him and it never happened, he’ll think I’m insane. If I ask him and it did happen, he’ll think I’m insane. It’s a lose-lose. Then again, I'm confident he already thinks I'm insane.
I drop the phone and massage the bridge of my nose. “Fuck.”
He hasn’t wished me happy birthday. Didn’t acknowledge me at his graduation. Has been out of the house as much as possible. Stayed out all night last weekend. I know I need to get used to him being gone, especially after finding his FMU acceptance letter, but I don't know how to stop caring.
That’s what happens when you give in, Cade. Evil intentions don't beget good results.
I’m so fucking tired of her voice. It's killing me.
Two knocks and the door swings in. A petite South Asian woman enters. Unlike the nurse, her smile is warm. I almost drop my guard. Almost.
“Hello Cade, I’m Dr. Bedi,” she says, sitting in the chair beside me— the one intended for family members. Crossing her legs, she rests my file on her lap face down, her dark eyes trained on me. Unafraid. Curious. Sincere.
I chew the dead skin on my bottom lip and wait.
“I’ve read your background and have been briefed by your father about your… hesitancy towards professional help. I want to be clear with you. This isn't punishment. My job is to find a treatment plan that works for you long term, but for me to do that, I need your cooperation. Is that fair?”
I pick dried blood from under my thumbnail.
“I guess.”
She continues studying me. It doesn’t feel like it has with other psychiatrists. I’m not just a nut-job for her to slap a diagnosis on. It’s like she’s trying to figure me out.
Or she sees the demon beneath your skin.
Instantly, I’m on edge again. I scan her for religious jewelry or tattoos. None visible. It could be a ploy. A bait and switch— get me talking, then ship me off to some crazy-pants facility. I can’t be sent away.
She leans back in her chair and cocks her head.
“Rewiring your brain after the trauma and conditioning you’ve experienced takes time and a lot of work on your part, as does confronting the emotional abuse you've endured. You have to be open. You have to want to heal. Are you willing to work with me and my team?”
I stare at my sneakers. “I don’t have a choice.”
“You always have a choice.”
An echo of what I said to Sebastian. Such a hypocrite, I scoff at myself.
“Not in this.”
Her lips press into a determined line. “Then we will get started on Monday. For now, you will enjoy the rest of your birthday.”
I don’t need to be told twice. I’ve wanted out of here since we arrived. When I return to the lobby, Dad is murmuring to the woman behind the glass, setting up a billion appointments I have no desire to attend.
Fuck, I need a smoke. I’ll wait for him outside. Reaching into my pocket, I slide a cigarette from the pack— that I bought myself legally, thank you very much— and hustle to the exit.
I almost trip.
In the corner, slumped in his chair, staring at his phone, is Andrea’s best friend, Remy. She mentioned he's sick, but I didn't think he was this kind of sick.
He looks up.
Shitshitshit.
I’m a deer in the headlights. Andrea can’t know I’m here. No one can.
The panic must be written on my face. He tips his chin at me once, then resumes scrolling on his phone.
“Ready, Bud?”
I thaw slowly. Dad’s anxious eyes rake over me.
“Yeah,” I croak, glancing once more at Remy. He’s absorbed in whatever is on his screen while I silently plead for him to forget he saw me.
He won’t.