Aria Cartier
I walked up to that receptionist desk with my hands shaking so badly I had to shove them in my pockets.
My mind raced in circles, and my thoughts smashed into each other like cars in a pileup.
I knew when I saw that positive pregnancy test that I had completely lost it, and ever since, every bit of sanity I might have had left had been slipping away while I stood there under those harsh fluorescent lights as the woman behind the desk looked up from her computer screen.
Her face was expressionless like she had seen a thousand messes like me walk through those doors already.
"I'm here to check myself in.”
She looked back at me with that practiced neutral expression they teach people in places like this.
"Welcome to Lakeside Behavioral Health Center," she replied, like I didn’t know I had driven myself to a psychiatric facility, after driving around for hours with no plan other than to stop the screaming in my head. "What brings you in today?"
I gripped the edge of the desk harder, my nails digging into the fake wood laminate as the words spilled out. "I feel like I'm about to kill myself or somebody else, that's what. I need a room, some meds, whatever y'all got to lock me down before I do something I can't take back."
She didn’t even blink. "We can't admit you directly here. You need to go to the emergency room first for a full evaluation and placement. They will determine if inpatient care is necessary and where to send you."
I slammed my palm down on the desk hard enough to make her jump back in her chair. Staff aimlessly working behind her turned to stare.
"Evaluation?! Bitch, I'm telling you I'm losing my goddamn mind!
I keep getting pregnant like some kind of curse, popping out kids I love but cannot handle without wanting to end it all every single fucking day.
I don't trust myself right now. I'm literally going crazy, and you sitting there telling me to drive to some ER? I’m not going to make it to the fucking ER! "
She reached under the desk slowly, probably hitting some silent alarm, while two security guards started moving toward me from the hallway. My heart pounded wild in my ears, but instead of backing down, I yanked my purse open and pulled out the Glock I always carried.
I pressed the barrel right up against my temple. Gasps echoed from the stairs, chairs scraped as people scrambled back, and the receptionist's eyes went wide. Now this bitch wanted to show some fucking concern.
"Check me in now," I snarled, thumbing off the safety with a click. "Or watch me paint this wall. I ain't leaving here unless it's in a room or a body bag."
The guards halted a few feet away, hands raised but not drawing on me yet, one of them talking low into his radio while the receptionist nodded frantically, her fingers flying over the keyboard. "Okay, okay, just put the gun down. We're processing you right now. Stay calm."
I kept it pressed there, finger hovering over the trigger, until she shoved the clipboard my way with a pen and said the words I needed to hear. "You're admitted. Sign here for voluntary commitment. Help is coming."
Only then did I lower the gun slowly, sliding it across the desk toward her while the guards closed in to cuff my wrists.