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“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”
“I’d be happy to refer you to another physician for a second opinion. Even a third. What we’re talking about here, Kennedy… This is a serious thing, and there are likely legal implications. Chances are, once courts get involved, you’ll get some very rigorous testing.”
I felt like my head was spinning, like I was in a car that was driving too fast and I was supposed to read all the billboards stacked one after another on the side of the highway. I was catching bits and pieces, but the whole picture was still floating just out of reach—too big and too horrible for me to fully get my head around.
“I don’t understand,” I said softly.
“I believe your mother was leading you to believe you suffered from imaginary conditions, Kennedy. All your symptoms you described on the new patient form… I think those were all just side effects of the medications she has been giving you. Medications that are meant to treat illnesses you don’t have. Do you understand?”
No. I didn’t understand why that would be true, or why my mom would do that. “You said this Munchausen syndrome thing is for attention. My mom has like no friends. She doesn’t talk about my conditions to anyone. She…” I trailed off, feeling like I might be sick.
“Like I said. It can be motivated by other factors. It’s a psychological disorder, though, and I don’t pretend to be an expert on it. So I shouldn’t speculate. But, Kennedy. This is very important. You need to stop taking these pills until we can run more tests. I can send these into the lab and figure out what they all are and how your mother got them, but you could be damaging your body by taking these if you don’t need them.”
“What about my mom?”
“I’ll have to report this,” he said. “And the rest will be out of my hands. Maybe your father could—”
“He has been gone since I was five.”
“Grandparents?”
“Dead,” I said. My voice sounded like a whisper.
He reached out and squeezed my shoulder. “There are all sorts of programs and protocols in place for things like this, okay? You’ll be taken care of.”
I rode back home with Logan in a daze. I wondered if they had already called my mom. If they’d already started to pull the bricks from the foundation of my life away. It felt like I was inside a crumbling house. Tristan had been lying about liking me. My mom had lied about everything.
What did I even have left?40TristanI pulled open the door and found Kennedy in her chair with her eyes red rimmed and puffy. My first instinct was relief to see her—just to be able to set my eyes on her and feel the faintest shadow of memory from how good it had been to know she was mine. After that, I felt regret. If she was still coming back for another attempt to fix things, I didn’t know if I had it in me to throw more stones.
I’d been tormenting myself with memories of all the good times between us, and my willpower was at a pitiful, all time low.
“Tristan,” she said, voice breaking. “I didn’t know who else to talk to.”
“Come on,” I said, motioning for her to come in.
I felt ashamed of the mess in my house as she tried to navigate her way to the living room, where I’d at least cleared the majority of shit off the couches. The realtor had come by two days ago and nearly had a heart attack when she saw the state of the place. She claimed my dad was going to send a cleaning crew, which meant I’d just need to throw another party once they were done.
I wasn’t sure how long I could buy myself time with the cycle, but I planned to buy as much as I could, even if the end game was fucked now. Before, the idea was to secure my scholarship before I wound up homeless. Now, the scholarship was going to be pretty damn hard to get when I wasn’t even on the team.
I took a spot on the couch and Kennedy decided to avoid the dirty love seat and use her wheelchair, which she positioned in front of me.
“I’m sorry,” Kennedy said. “I don’t want you to think this is some kind of attempt to guilt trip you into taking me back. I just… I tried to talk to Logan about it, but I couldn’t make the words come out. Even after everything—you’re…” she trailed off, taking a long, shuddering breath and blowing it out. “I trust you, even if that makes me an idiot.”
“Maybe a little,” I admitted. It felt so unbelievably good just to be talking to her. To see her. To look at that fiery red hair tucked behind her ear and glinting in the light of the chandelier over our heads. “But go ahead.”
