Chapter Fifteen
Quinn - Present Day
I know now that all I was doing that night was swapping one abusive person in my life for another, and I think that’s why now I have hesitations.
Because, let’s face it, my judgment of character so far in my life has been shocking, and life hasn’t rewarded me for it.
If anything, life has punished me. Religious people would say that God only gives you what you can handle, but what if you’re not a believer? Then what?
Bones and I have been texting all night. I was awake till stupid o’clock this morning, feeling giddy.
Bones: Good morning, Little Magpie. I hope you managed to get some sleep. Are you free this evening? We can pick up where we left off last night…
Me: Good morning, Bones. I slept, which is more than I can say for most nights, I suppose. It turns out talking can help when it’s with the right person. I think I might be able to do this evening. I have some things to do first, but I can let you know when I’m back.
Bones: Sounds good to me. I’ll wait to hear from you. Teddy is looking at me like he’s going to eat me for dinner if I don’t feed him right now.
Me: Ha ha ha! Feed the hound, asshole! As his pawyer, I demand you treat him with respect and feed him everything he wants.
Bones: When he’s old and fat and unable to be walked, I’m blaming you.
There’s that word. Fat. Is that what he thinks of me?
Me: There’s nothing wrong with being fat. It makes you harder to kidnap.
Bones: You better not be talking about your fucking self…
Me: Fat isn’t a bad word. I am the definition of fat.
Bones: Your definition of fat and my definition of fat are clearly two very different things. While there is nothing wrong with being fat, when I look at you I don’t see what you see. I just see beauty. In my opinion, it just gives a man more to appreciate.
Me: You’re a cheeseball. You’ve only ever seen me with my clothes on, so you couldn’t possibly comment.
Shit! Why did I say that? I go to delete the message, but the ticks turn blue. FUCK!
Dots bubble across the screen as he types, and I want to throw up.
Bones: …
Bones: This is going to be very unprofessional of me, and if anyone ever asks, I will plead the Fifth, but if I ever have the privilege of seeing you without your clothes on, you best believe commenting about it isn’t the only thing I’ll be doing.
Me: [insert embarrassed emoji] I bet you say that to all of your patients.
Me: Ok, on that note, I’m going to hide and die from embarrassment.
Bones: Little Magpie, you never have to be embarrassed with me.
I've become accustomed to saying what I need to say instead of what I want to say. Or some would say what I’ve been trained to say.
Keeping the secrets in my house from the outside world has become a toxic poison that I’m searching for an antidote for.
After meeting Harley yesterday, I wanted to spill my guts and tell him all of my darkest secrets.
All of the times I have exaggerated or lied for attention.
The times I have made people question their sanity or pushed people away because they got too close to discovering the truth of the real person that I am.
All of a sudden, I’m drowning in a guilt I didn’t know I was capable of and questioning whether I should tell the full truth, finally discover the realities of my health, and the person I could potentially become.
Or whether I should continue to be the liar I’m not even sure I really am, or if it’s just what the people around me have convinced me of.
If I tell the truth now, he might decide I'm too much hassle, or if I should tell the truth at a later date, then he might think I'm nothing but a liar.
And I don't know about you, but apart from predators, there's nothing worse in this world than a liar.
It's been a day, and I'm questioning whether my food addiction has been replaced with a him addiction, because since I've met him, nothing other than him has crossed my mind.
The food noise is gone. Disappeared to fuck knows where.
No incessant noises in my brain telling me to eat this and that I crave that.
The monster's voices are gone, too. Maybe they're all one and the same? I don't know what's real anymore.
My appointment for ECT is today. I didn't tell Harley that that's what was planned when he asked me to meet up with him and continue our talk. Maybe it was shame, maybe it was ignorance, but the last thing I wanted was for my parents to steamroll this and ruin my first opportunity to get better. Maybe once I’m in a better place, they'll actually be proud of me.
Even after everything they've done, I crave their acceptance.
I have this delusion that one day, I'll wake up from this world, in another one with the same family, but different.
There was a movie I watched at school once called Pleasantville.
It's about a brother and sister who are transported into a TV show in the 1950s in black and white, but they must stay in character and change the town's dynamics.
As their influence grows, colour filters in, changing the world in the most profound way.
That's how I feel. Like I live one life in black and white and one life in colour, and there're no cracks for the colour to filter in and blend both lives together.
Maybe in a different world Eric would love me, and if he did, maybe she would, too.
“Quinn, are you ready?”
“Ready as I'll ever be,” I mutter to myself. I check my reflection in the mirror, and I’m pleasantly shocked by what I see. There’s a glow to my cheeks, a little twinkle of light in my eyes. Skirting around our previous interaction, I text Bones.
Me: Heading out with the fam for a drive. I have an appointment.
Might as well test the waters and see how he reacts.
At least if he gets mad through text, then I don’t have to respond.
Since my divorce, I avoid conflict at every possible opportunity.
If I can deal with it through message, then I will.
It’s the only way for me to get my words out and make sure they make sense and implications can’t be made.
I run down the stairs, grab my coat off the hook and slide it on, conscious of not breathing in too much to do it up and attracting her attention.
She rounds the corner. “An answer would be nice.”
“I did answer you. I can't be blamed for the fact that you didn't hear me.” Just as her palm connects with my face, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out as I rub my cheek, trying to soothe the sting.
Bones: No worries, I’ll talk to you later. Text me if you need to, Magpie.
There’s something about that nickname. The way my body responds when he says it and the way sparks shoot straight to my pussy should be illegal. Even my nipples react, which is mind-boggling because they’re about as sensitive as my mother.
Sometimes she looks at me like she wants to tear my head from my shoulders. She's been physical before, but not much. I think I'd rather the physical wounds; they heal easier. The mental ones feel like they're wrapping me in mesh and consistently tightening, robbing me of the ability to breathe.
“Attitude, Quinn, it’s unbecoming.”
“Sorry, Mum.”
Eric appears at the bottom of the stairs, coat and shoes on like he’s going somewhere, too. “Where are you going?” I ask him.
“I’m coming with you.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t trust you not to convince them to turn the car around and bring you back home.”
My mother chuckles. “You underestimate me, my dear. I’m counting down the moments until she’s out of my hair.”
“Ditto,” Eric mutters.
“Geez. Way to make a girl feel welcome.” They both ignore me.
Standing there and staring at me as if silence will make me move.
It does. One of those looks from Eric's eyes sends tremors through my body, and I can never place why. She grabs his hand, and they start to walk out to the car together. “Don’t forget to lock the door, Quinn. I’ll need your key,” she calls to me.
“Why do you need my key? It’s only one appointment to get more information.”
“I lost mine.”
“I’m sure I saw you use it yesterday.”
“Quinn, it’s my house and my front door. If I tell you I need it back, then I need it back. End of story.”
“Ok.” Eric opens the car door for my mother, acting like the gentleman he really isn’t—my dad is already in the driver’s seat—while I lock the door.
It’s like the family outing I’ve always wanted but never got.
Who knew all I needed to do was agree to have my brain fried?
I feel the click of the lock as I turn the key, and something feels off.
Like it’s the last time I’ll be locking this door—with this key—as this person.
According to my parents, the medical centre we are going to for the ECT is about a couple of hours away, but other than that, they haven’t given me much information.
I settle into the back, careful not to get too close to Eric so as not to contaminate him, and open my Kindle to read my newest dark romance book.
I accidentally found the genre a few months ago when I found a free online book event and went through the options.
It’s safe to say I’ve had fun testing my limits since then. Who said trauma couldn’t be fun, hey?!
After about thirty minutes, my mum turns around. “Here, Quinn, you’re anxiety tablets.” She hands me a bottle of opened water with two yellow tablets. “I don’t feel anxious. Actually, I feel calm. I don’t need them.” Something flickers across her face.
“The doctor said it was imperative you continued to take your medication as prescribed. This isn’t an as-and-when medication, Quinn.”
“Maybe she doesn’t need it this time, love,” Dad says, speaking up for once. You’d think he was dead, and I lived in a single-parent family with Eric, my brother, as a stepfather, the amount of appearances he makes in my life.
“I’m your wife. You’re supposed to side with me,” she hisses, pulling the wife card silences him every single time. It’s like they have a safe word that only gets used at her convenience.
“No, but the medication is for anxiety, and I’m not anxious.”
“Just take the tablets, Quinn.”
“But—”
“For fuck’s sake.” My brother takes the tablets out of her one hand, grabs my hair with his other and pulls my head back. “Open your mouth, Quinn.” I can’t say anything. Shock and pain debilitate me. “Now, Quinn.”
I whimper, but open my mouth, and he shoves the tablets in with his calloused fingers.
Remnants of oil still litter the fingertips, and my brain goes frantic.
He pours water down my throat. “Swallow.” I’m frozen.
A moment in time playing in my brain, flickers of hands, tools and a car.
White lights flashing around and me on the floor, hands fumbling my rolls.
Eric lets go of my hair, and I slump back against the seat, and just like that, the moment stops playing.
“Next time, just do as you’re fucking told.”
I must have fallen asleep at some point in the journey because I wake up and dusk is starting to settle in the sky—which is strange—because we left at lunchtime and they said it would only be a couple of hours.
Something sinks in my stomach. I pull my hood tighter, tucking my hands in the pockets of my hoodie, and try to take in my surroundings.
There are trees everywhere, on either side of the road, and they’re tall.
We’re off the motorway and on a single-lane road.
Every so often pulling over to the side to allow another car past, steadily climbing into the mountains.
Where we live is a tiny little town; it’s nowhere near the beach or mountains.
The closest we get to a body of water is the lake down the road from the house under the derelict train tracks.
“Where are we?”
“Almost there, don’t worry.”
“I thought it was only going to be a couple of hours? What happened?”
“You must have fallen asleep.”
“But I wasn’t tired.” My brain refuses to accept her explanation.
“You know how you can get after your tablets, sometimes.”
“But—”
The look on my brother’s face stops me mid-sentence, and I shrink back into my seat.
The inside of my body feels odd. I feel on edge.
The nerves of my body are on fire, and the cold temperatures are settling into my body, causing my pain to worsen.
It doesn’t matter how much time passes; the pain never goes away.
“Mum, have you got my pain meds? It must be almost time.”
“I have them, but we need to wait until after the appointment. Don’t want you to fall asleep again, do we?”
My mind is swimming. Eric is chuckling, and my dad is watching me through the rear view mirror with this pitiful look on his face, like he’s trying to silently communicate with me.
We’d have to have a relationship for a secret language, Dad.
I can feel my breaths shallowing, and I’m teetering on the edge of a panic attack.
Maybe Mum was right to make me take the tablets earlier.
It’s like there’s water in my ears; everything that should be audible isn’t.
Everything that should be visible is blurry, and no matter how many times I squeeze my eyes or move my ears, nothing is returning to normal.
“Are you ok, love?” my dad asks.
“She’s being dramatic as usual.” Eric’s jabs are getting boring.
“Maybe we should pull over.” My dad’s face seems weird, twisted, but there’s almost a smidgen of concern.
“Don’t even think about it. We can’t be late.” Mum, ever the taskmaster, admonishes him.
My dad sighs but continues to drive, and for every second we ascend the mountain, my anxiety bounces ahead of it.
For a moment, I think they’re lying to me and that I’m not actually going to see a doctor, but why would that benefit them?
Something is telling me I’m right in thinking that they’re lying, but I can’t put my finger on what.
After what feels like forever, but in reality is mere minutes, we turn off the road onto a dirt track, and after about a quarter of a mile, we arrive at a gate.
It’s about ten feet tall, white wrought iron, and a full fence runs along either side of it.
As I take in the fence, from bottom to top, I notice there are spikes on the top of it. Huh? That’s weird.
My dad presses a button on the intercom system that’s attached to a pole, and a bored voice filters through.
“Hello, welcome to Saving Hearts Mental Hospital, dedicated to saving the hearts of the lost. How can I help you?” My ears perk. I’m sorry, what?
“Hi, I’m here with Quinn Burrows to meet with Dr Jones about ECT?”
“Please head up to the main house.”