Maladaptive

Chapter 29

JULES

The scene around me dissolved, fading into nothing, and with it, I felt like I was slipping further away from my own mind. The daydreams wouldn’t stop. They kept coming, relentless, crashing over me like waves.

I was so scared.

But mostly, I was tired.

Exhausted.

It was like my body didn’t belong to me anymore.

I couldn’t keep myself here, in this moment, in this version of my life.

My thoughts had become their own cruel trap, dragging me back to places I didn’t want to go.

I couldn’t take it. I let out a scream, piercing and raw, the kind that comes from deep inside and makes your throat burn.

My hands flew to my head as if I could rip the thoughts out and physically claw them away from my mind.

I didn’t want to daydream about him anymore.

I didn’t want to see his face every time I closed my eyes.

I didn’t want to hear his voice echoing in my head, soft and teasing, saying my name the way no one else ever had. And I didn’t want to live in this twisted space where every memory, every feeling, was blurred between what was real and what wasn’t.

I was done.

I ran up the stairs, my footsteps pounding so loud they echoed back at me like some kind of taunt. I was done. Done, done, done. But God, it hurt so much to fight it.

I slammed the door shut and locked it, my breath coming in these quick, gasping pulls like I’d run a marathon.

Carol was right behind me, but the click of the lock shut her out.

I dropped by the bed, my legs giving out beneath me, and my hands trembling so badly I had to grip them together to stop the shaking.

When I looked down, I saw the marks on my palms—old scars, fading but still there.

I pressed my long nails hard on top of the old scars, making them bright red.

I pressed harder, welcoming the sting because at least it was real. The pain in my hands was something I could handle. It wasn’t like the pain in my chest, spreading through every part of me like a wildfire I couldn’t put out.

“Jules, please, let me in!” Carol’s muffled voice came from the other side of the door.

My whole body was trembling now, and every nerve was burning as I controlled my spiraling thoughts.

The pressure in my hands and the sharp bite of my nails were my go-to ways to stay grounded, but not this time.

This time, it wasn’t working. The room was spinning, everything was blurred, and I could feel the edges of a full-blown panic attack coming. My breathing was fast and shallow.

“Jules! Please!” Carol called again, more urgently now.

“I need a minute!” I forced the words out, shaking so badly that they almost didn’t make it past my lips.

I needed to be alone for a moment to gather myself and push the panic down where it belonged.

Even as I was having a literal breakdown, the thought that came to my head was that I couldn’t let my baby sister see me like this. She’d worry too much.

Then there was another knock.

Harder.

Louder.

Fuck. Just. One. Freaking. Minute.

“I SAID I NEED A MINUTE!” I snapped.

But then… A different voice, softer, calmer, broke through.

“It’s Nana, my dear. Can I come in?”

I froze. Even my tears stopped coming like I had hit pause on my entire body. My breath hitched as I wiped my face, trying to shove the panic down back to wherever it had crawled out from.

Human. Now.

I couldn’t let Nana see me like this. She’d never let it go, and I couldn’t handle her worrying right now. I needed to get it together, at least on the outside.

“Nana, of course. Come in!” I called out, forcing my voice to sound steady.

The door creaked open, and there she was, calm as ever.

Nana stepped inside like she had all the time in the world.

She didn’t look like she was here to comfort a complete mess of a granddaughter.

She looked like she was strolling into a garden for a midday chat.

Her face held that serenity I envied so much.

I hoped I could get to that place one day.

Her eyes locked onto mine, and I knew she could see everything—every crack, every tear I was attempting to hide.

I smiled to give her some reassurance, but it was useless.

I could never keep my mask on with her. Nana didn’t push.

She never did. She came over and sat beside me on the bed.

It felt easier with her around, like she absorbed all the noise and chaos.

She didn’t say a word, waiting for me to start when I was ready.

My voice came out in a shaky mutter. “You missed Chris. He was just here.”

Her face didn’t flinch, didn’t change at all. She nodded like that was the most natural thing in the world.

“I can see that,” she said softly, reaching up to brush away a stray tear I hadn’t even realized was still clinging to my cheek.

That tiny, simple gesture shattered me. The dam broke, and I couldn’t hold it together anymore. The tears spilled over again, faster and harder, and with them came the words I hadn’t been ready to say. Saying them made it all feel even more unbearable, more real.

“We were supposed to meet, Nana,” I choked out between sobs. “Twelve years ago…”

She didn’t rush to respond or fill the silence with questions. She let the words settle before saying, in the calmest voice: “I know, dear.”

Her words stopped me cold. My sobs caught in my throat, and I blinked at her, trying to process what she’d said.

“What?” I whispered. I wiped at my face, trying to see her clearly through the blur of tears. “You knew? How?”

“I’ve always told you how special you are. How gifted,” Nana said.

I hated that word. Gifted. People used to say it when I was a kid, back when I could pick up on things faster than other kids my age. But then I grew up, and all that “potential” people used to talk about became a source of disappointment. Suddenly, my “gift” was me being too much.

I shot up from the bed, anger swelling in my chest, giving me the fuel to move.

“I’m not gifted! This is insanity! I should be locked up in a facility!

” I snapped. If someone, even Nana, could see inside my head for five minutes, they’d have me admitted in a heartbeat.

I knew that. I had always been good at pretending to be normal, but the cost of wearing that mask…

had been breaking me piece by piece over the years. And now, I was completely shattered.

I stomped to my closet, yanking it open like it had offended me. The sight of my perfectly organized clothes mocked me. My compulsions, my need for order—what a joke. In a fit of frustration, I grabbed as many hangers as I could and threw the clothes to the floor.

“My sweet, sweet Jules…” Nana’s voice was calm. Her tone almost pissed me off even more. “Why can’t you admit you have a gift? You can see so much more than other people.”

“What are you even saying, Nana?” My hands were shaking as I looked at her.

“Life is like a radio, my dear. Most of us can only listen to one station at a time,” she said, her expression soft, like she was explaining the simplest thing in the world. “But that doesn’t mean the other stations aren’t there, playing… somewhere else.”

Oh, great. Nana had gone fully deranged.

I paced the room, running my hands through my hair as I muttered, “I see where I got the crazy from.”

She ignored my sarcasm.

“There are infinite paths, my Juliette. People would go mad if they could see them all, so we’re given one station to tune into.

” Her smile grew. She looked pleased with her explanation.

“But you, for some reason, can catch glimpses of the other channels while you’re still here, in your main station. ”

I stopped pacing and stared at her. Nana had officially lost it. Was this the part where I called for an ambulance? Maybe there was a family discount if we both checked in together.

“You’re telling me my daydreams are… what? Glimpses of other realities?”

She kept that peaceful smile. “That’s exactly what they are, dear.”

I shook my head, laughing bitterly as I knelt down to gather the clothes I’d thrown all over the floor.

“This is ridiculous, Nana,” I muttered. The sight of the mess overwhelmed me. What was I even doing? I shoved a dress back onto a hanger, then another, trying to restore some order, even if it was just to my closet. “It’s a condition. Maladaptive daydreaming.”.

“That’s what people who can’t see want to call it,” she replied softly.

I yanked another hanger off the floor, my hands trembling.

“I can’t see other realities,” I snapped, mocking as I said the word realities. But I wasn’t trying to convince her. I was trying to convince myself. When I turned around, she wasn’t on the bed anymore. She was standing right next to me.

I hadn’t even heard her move.

Her soft, wrinkled hand brushed against my cheek, and it sent a shiver through me. There was something about her smile that made my heart skip a beat.

“If you can’t see other realities,” Nana paused, “then how are you seeing one where I’m still here?”

The words hit me like a tsunami, pulling the ground out from under me. My heart pounded so hard it felt like it might break through my chest. It was like the air in the room had been completely sucked out. I didn’t dare try to inhale.

No, no, no.

I looked at her, into her deep, knowing eyes, and I knew. I knew exactly what this was and why she was here. Desperately, I glanced down at my palms, searching for the marks left by my nails from earlier—the ones I knew should be there. But there was nothing. My skin was smooth and unbroken.

"I'm..." I could barely get the words out. My hands shook as I reached for hers.

She smiled. That soft, knowing smile that always brought me peace, even when everything else in my life was chaos. Of course, this was the face I brought for when everything fell apart and my family broke apart.

"I'm day—" The word caught in my throat. I couldn't say it. But she nodded slowly, that smile never fading.

I gently pulled Nana’s hand away from my face, turning toward the vanity with a sudden, frantic urgency.

It was like something was guiding me there, and my movements were almost automatic.

I yanked open the drawers, tossing aside jewelry and accessories, my breath shallow and my hands trembling.

I wasn’t even sure what I was looking for until I found it.

There it was.

I stared at the framed wedding picture of George and me, the one that always left a dull ache in my chest whenever I saw it.

The sadness had always felt heavier than the simple weight of a failed marriage.

It had always felt like something more, something I couldn’t quite name.

My fingers hesitated, hovering over the photo, before I lifted it slowly.

Beneath it, hidden away, was a folded piece of paper.

A sharp buzzing filled my ears, drowning out everything else. My vision tunneled, the rest of the room fading away as my focus locked on that single piece of paper. My body resisted, every muscle tightening as my mind screamed at me to stop.

Don’t look.

But I couldn’t stop. Not looking wouldn't change a thing. I already knew what I was doing.

My fingers trembled as I gently placed the picture back on the vanity, the frame landing with a soft thud that felt louder than it should.

Carefully, I picked up the paper. It was heavier in my hands than a single sheet had any right to be.

Slowly—so slowly, like taking my time might change what was waiting for me—I turned it over. And there it was.

A memorial card.

The elegant script. The beautiful photo of Nana smiling softly as though she knew something the rest of us didn’t. The air rushed out of my lungs. I clutched the card tightly to my chest, my hands trembling so hard it was a miracle I didn’t crush it. The ache in my chest grew sharper.

Finally, the words broke free from me, “I’m daydreaming.”

I sank down, the words hitting me hard. She had been gone for so long, but the moment life became too much, my mind went searching for her.

For my synonym of comfort and safety. I knew it was a coping mechanism, a daydream stitched together by grief.

But over time, she'd felt so real, I'd let myself believe.

The tears came, hot and relentless, blurring my vision until the memorial card was a smudge against my chest. I pressed it tighter to my heart, squeezing my eyes shut as if I could will her back if I held on hard enough.

I didn’t want to turn around. I couldn’t.

I knew what I would see—or wouldn’t see. But I had to.

My whole body trembled as I turned, bracing myself for what I knew was coming. When I opened my eyes, the room was exactly as it had been. Quiet. Still. Empty.

Nana was gone.

The pile of clothes still lay scattered on the floor. The closet doors hung open, swinging slightly from the force of my earlier tantrum. The room was so quiet, I could only hear my breath.

She was gone.