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“I didn’t.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You didn’t try to kill yourself?”
“I don’t try things. I do them, or I don’t.”
She frowned. “Do you still want to kill yourself?”
“Does anyone ever answer that question honestly?”
“Yes. Talking about suicide saves lives. If you’re honest about how you feel and what you might do, we can make a plan to prevent it. What would you do if Alder House discharged you today?”
He would summon a drug dealer to deliver him fentanyl-laced heroin. He’d enjoy the prick of the needle in his vein. The flash of blood. The way his pupils would dilate so wide, so fast, he could feel the stretch when it happened. He wasn’t picky though. He could always jump from a high rise, buy a gun of dubious origin, take a nap on train tracks. Still, an overdose was preferable. Aside from the better user experience, he didn’t want to ruin a train engineer’s day or leave a splattered body for someone to scrape off the asphalt. But he wasn’t going to tell her that.
She leaned forward, elbows perched on one knee, a freshflush of pink on her cheeks. “If you don’t talk, I can’t help you. If you don’t try, I won’t recommend your release.”
When he said nothing, she got to her feet, took a few steps, and then stopped.
“Here you are in a glorified psychiatric spa resort, with a fiancé desperate to see you and a personal psychiatrist who specializes in exactly the type of condition you have…” She shook her head. “Most people wait months to see a psychiatrist, and when they do, the doctor doesn't have the time to do talk therapy. They refer you to a therapist, but they don’t help you find one, and you’re depressed so you don’t have the energy to look, or call, but if you do call, that therapist might not be accepting new patients, or doesn’t take your insurance, or the next appointment is five weeks from now and maybe that therapist you waited for isn’t even the right fit for you, or the next therapist either.
“I squeezed you in for that first appointment because Dr. Modorovic is a friend. I keep doing therapy with you because I know how difficult it is for you to open up to new people. So many people would still be here if they had the resources you have. Money. People who care. Privilege.
“Not everyone has someone to talk them off the ledge, to stop them before suicide wins, and if they do make it, they get shipped to whichever hospital takes their insurance, or MediCal if they don’t have any, and at those sorts of places the staff tries, but the best they can do is provide you with a place to be safe until you’re not actively suicidal and then they bounce you right out so that someone else can have your spot.
“You have everything you need to get better, and you won’t even try?”
She walked the remaining length to the door. “I keep showing up, even though at least half of what you tell me every session is a lie, but I wait because maybe one day you’ll trust meenough to let me help.” Her hand paused on the doorknob. “If you don’t start trying, I’m afraid I won’t be able to see you anymore. It’s nothing personal. I’d like to free up my schedule for someone Icanhelp. You can work with Dr. Hills from here on out.”
She had a point, just not the point she thought she made. Alek already knew he was pissing away world-class psychiatric care that literally anyone else deserved more than him, but he didn’t feel bad for wasting something he never asked for. The point was that she could leave and for some reason, that thought had never occurred to him. He’d always assumed that psychiatrists weren’t allowed to give up on their patients, but she was giving up on him, and he didn’t have another goodbye in him.
Besides, revealing the bare minimum required to please Dr. Dhawan might kill two birds with one stone. Regrettably, the handful of thwarted suicides he’d attempted during his first few days of hospitalization hadn’t done him any favors. According to his attorney, Mercer Llewyn, it would be easier to bust Alek fromSitka Villageif he’d actually succeeded in killing himself. The only path to Alek’s release—so that he could kill himself without anyone’s interference, obviously—was through Dr. Dhawan, or Dr. Hills, and Alek would rather chew his own leg off to escape than confess his secrets to Dr. Hills.
“Does guilt-tripping your suicidal patients ever actually work?” Alek called after her.
She turned, her smile more of a grimace. “It got you to start talking again, didn’t it?”
“Come sit back down. I’ll tell you a story, one that’s true.” What did it matter what he told her when—ideally—he’d soon be dead?
“I’m listening,” she whispered lowly like she was afraid to spook him.
After she’d reclaimed her seat, Alek kept his eyes on the window and said,
“Once there was a lonely boy. He lived with his parents, but his uncle raised him, at least until his uncle disappeared. No one told the boy anything. Months passed and then his uncle returned. The boy was so happy, but it didn’t last. There was fighting and the boy was scared, so he hid like a coward while his uncle was killed.
“When his uncle died the boy felt everything all at once. All of his fear. All of the shame. All of his sadness. All of the rage. Until there was nothing left. He was alone then, except for his music.
“His mother died not long after. The boy was there. She did it to herself, but he didn’t stop her. He wasn’t sad. He felt nothing. Then the boy was sent away because his father couldn’t look at him without seeing all that he’d lost, and the boy wasn’t sad. He felt nothing. When the boy was old enough, he ran away, and he still felt nothing.
“Many years went by with only the boy, and his music, and nothing. Until he met a man who was special because he made him feel more than nothing. He made him scared. So the boy took the man and ruined him, so he could never leave.
“When I lost my music—” He met her eyes. “Sorry, the whole boy-man thing was becoming rather tedious.”
She nodded for him to continue.
“Without music, there’s nothing to keep the fear and the shame and the sadness away and all I feel is everything and I don’t want to feel anything anymore.” He sniffed. “That’s the truth.”
“Can I tell you the story the way I see it?”
“You may.”
