Chapter 47
chapter
forty-seven
“Some days staying clean feels less like healing and more like holding my breath and hoping I don’t break.” – Cyrus
CYRUS
I have no idea if anyone knows I’m here. If they’ve shown up, the staff hasn’t let me see them. The only thing that gives me comfort is my absolute belief that Haven won’t let me disappear.
Leaning back against the wall, I stare up at the tiny window, not seeing anything but solid blue.
My first day was spent ignoring everyone who came in to see me which included Dr. Fucknutt, who I ignored like it was my full time job.
Other than to take my pills and for a bloodwork, I didn’t say two fucking words.
Fury was like lava running through my veins.
There was no way I was getting let out of here if I spoke.
On day two, the nurse told me that the doctor would be in to see me. He never showed. Fucking figures.
Not that it matters, this will be a repeat of every other conversation I’ve had with one of these asshats in a white coat.
Do they all just read off the same sheet like a bunch of fucking robots?
They jot down their preferred answers, no matter what I say, then rinse and repeat.
It’s enough to make someone without any issues think they’re going crazy.
If they can keep me coming back, they make more money. Who better to target than a rockstar with enough money to pay for their fancy treatment, therapy sessions, and the endless bottles of drugs?
So instead, I spent the day humming the lyrics to every song in our backlist until I passed out.
Today is the day that I’ll speak to Dr. Fucknutt, and as long as I say all the right shit, he will open the door and set me free. Unless, of course, they make up a bogus reason to keep me in here.
I’m positive that my mother has paid someone off. I’m not a danger to myself or anyone else, so that is the only way she could’ve made this happen. And if that’s the case, then the system is more fucked than I originally thought.
I only know that time has come and gone by how sore my ass is and the sunlight now shining through the small window at the top of my room.
The shadows cast on the floor tell me it’s past noon.
Right on cue, the door clicks as it unlocks, and I look up from my mattress to see Dr. Shithead stroll in.
He looks around like he expects to find me painting murals of death on the wall in my blood.
I take four deep breaths and focus on the bigger picture—getting the fuck out of here.
“Cyrus, it’s nice to meet you. Do you know why you’re here?”
He towers over me, and I hate the sense of superiority flowing off him.
I slowly stand, then lean back against the wall so he doesn’t get his boxers in a twist thinking I’ll attack him or some shit.
The little camera in the corner is still recording.
That’s a good sign. If they plan to lock me up long term, they won’t want a record of this conversation.
“Vacation,” I bite out and shake my head at the idiotic question.
“I guess you can call it that. Your family requested a full psychiatric evaluation to assess your overall mental and emotional stability.”
“By family, you mean my mother. My father died years ago. I’ve been through this assessment before, so let me save you some time. No, I’m not suicidal or homicidal.”
He jots that down.
“Can you explain the fist-fight that landed you in jail?”
“Sure can. My soon-to-be wife used to date a lawyer who was a complete jerk to her. She told him to take a hike, and he showed up at our hotel. It was an emotionally charged conversation that ended in a fight, but not because I have issues, because he is practically stalking her. If anyone should be in here, it’s him. ”
Dr. Know-it-all pushes his glasses up his nose and makes some notes. I manage to stand quietly without saying something stupid.
“Now, I need to ask you about when you were first brought in. The nursing staff observed you responding to internal stimuli. Tell me about your hallucination.”
Sighing, I run my hand through my hair. I should’ve anticipated this attack. My instinct is to lie and protect myself from the memory, but instead I look the doctor straight in the eyes and tell him the truth.
“I hallucinated that a friend of mine, who died years ago in a car accident, was in here with me.”
“I see. What did this friend say?”
“That it’s not my fault that he died. That I’m going to be okay. That I need to let the guilt go.” I lift my shoulder and let it drop.
“Is that how you feel? Guilty for his death?”
“Yeah, I do. We were at a party and argued. We’d both been drinking, he stormed off and got in his car, then he was in a wreck. If we hadn’t argued, he’d still be here.”
“Do you see this friend often?”
I shake my head.
“No, this is only the second time. I’ve seen colors before, a rainbow, and once, a black void like the floor was missing.”
“Have you ever had command hallucinations?”
“Like harm myself or someone else?”
He nods his head.
“No. Never.”
This circular line of questioning gets us nowhere. I want nothing more than to rage and lash out, but Haven’s face flashes in my mind. I know exactly what she would tell me to do.
“How often do you have these hallucinations?”
“When I’m under a lot of stress, and sometimes right before my body starts to ache so much that I can hardly stand. It feels like a warning that the pain is coming. I usually end up not being able to get out of bed. Yesterday, was like that. I hurt everywhere.”
He doesn’t say anything, but his brows pull together, and I can see the little mice in his brain running on the treadmill. I don’t let myself hope that we are turning a corner.
“You mentioned intense stress. Do you find that stress affects your mood?”
“What you really want to know is if I’m depressed?
Just ask what you really mean. I’m not some flower that will wilt because you were direct.
I’m fine. Better than fine, actually. I’m happier than I’ve been in years.
I’m not depressed. I’m excited for my future.
I want to keep singing with my band. I want to marry Haven and start a real life outside of being a rockstar. ”
I push away from the wall and take a step closer.
“Look, I am angry. But that’s because I’m confused about what is going on with my body. I want answers, not a short-term fix. Everything that I’ve been given has been just that, and I want to get to the source of the issue. That’s all.”
The next forty minutes go by with Dr. Chatty-fucking-Cathy probing into every aspect of my mind and life. By the time we are through, he knows everything about me, other than how many times a day I jerk off. I’m shocked he didn’t ask that.
Finally, he says the words that I want to hear. He holds out his tablet, and I sign off so I can get the fuck out.
The same guys that hauled me in here, bring in my belongings, and I can’t change out of these fucking scrubs fast enough. When they lead me past the locked doors, I can see the sunlight from the exit shining like heaven calling my name. I glance at my phone, and of course, it’s dead.
My heart soars as I step outside and spot Haven leaning against her car. Her arms are crossed, and her hair is wild and vibrant, matching her personality.
Her lips twitch up when she sees me, and before the crowd gathered can arrange a Bat-Signal to announce that I’m free, I jog down the few steps to meet her.
“You’re fucking beautiful,” I say, dropping my lips to hers for a quick kiss.
“Come on, get in the car,” Haven orders.
“Bossy, always so bossy,” I mumble, but secretly love it.
She gets in, starts the engine, and as we pull out, I turn to her.
“Are we going back to the hotel?”
“No.”
“Um…okay. Where are we going?”
“Can’t tell you.”
“Can I charge my phone at least?”
I hold it up, but she plucks it from my fingers and sits on it.
“Nope.”
Crossing my arms, I stare at her profile.
“Haven, what the hell is going on?”
She glances at me.
“You’ll see.” She points to the backseat. “There’s a baseball cap back there. Put it on.”
Well…if this isn’t fucking mysterious as hell. If it were anyone else…I’d worry. But Haven…she can take me anywhere, and I don’t care as long as we’re together.