Page 157 of John + Siena: The Complete Duet

“But nothing,” Lucian said. “At that point, the discussion ends. At the point you understood, or at the very least suspected that he was hypomanic, your job was to stabilize him. Nothing more.”

“I—”

“Stabilize him,” Lucian echoed again. “Not feed him more medications, or allow the hypomania to worsen into full blown mania by ignoring it.”

“I did not ignore—”

Finally, John snapped out of his daze. He wasn’t sure what did it—his father being his voice when he had suddenly stop learning how to be that for himself after all these years, or the therapist who was blatantly lying. John had tried to tell her for months on end what was happening with him in too many different ways to count.

“I said over and over again,” John muttered, “that it was too many medications. I didn’t need them. I need less, not more. I went through intensive therapy learning how to manage my anxiety and depression because I can’t mix those medications with extra mood stabilizers. Putting them on top of medications I already take only puts me in a fog.”

“Yes, but John—”

“But nothing,” John said, sick, tired, and entirely over this whole charade. “I’m telling you right now what I need. I’ve dealt with this disorder. I’ve went through medication after medication. Not you. Me.”

Lucian looked to John, and frowned. “He is his only voice—you are supposed to be the advocate for that voice, but you weren’t. And for what? To suit your beliefs? Because you believed he didn’t have a grasp on his disorder? What was it?”

Amelia didn’t reply.

Lucian didn’t back down.

“He came out of prison stable,” Lucian stressed. “The most stable he has been in years.”

“It’s normal for those with bipolar to need medication changes!”

Finally, his therapist was able to get out one full sentence without being interrupted. Still, it was the wrong thing to say.

“But did he need it?” Lucian asked.

Amelia tipped her chin up. “I felt so, yes. I felt he could better manage other aspects made more present because of his disorder in this way. Like the depression, and the anxiety. Medication can help with all of that.”

“Yet, he managed fine without extra meds before.”

John glanced up at the clock. He was acutely aware of the ticking sound it made. For some reason, it felt like it was ticking inside his body. Something was counting down inside him, but he didn’t know what it was.

“I stopped taking the other meds, and halved the Lithium to every other day just so I could think again,” John said.

All eyes in the room turned on him.

Not for long, though.

Lucian turned back on the therapist in a blink. “You will hand over his files to whichever doctor’s office contacts you for them. If you so much as breathe a word in his parole officer’s direction that he is no longer having appointments here before we can find someone new, I will ruin you.”

Amelia straightened on the spot. “Excuse me?”

“Have you ever seen a building this size burn?” Lucian asked. “I’ve seen them come down in twenty minutes or less. Oh, and your husband is an interesting man. He’s thinking about running for the mayor next year, isn’t he? I would hate for something to change that.”

John’s gaze drifted between the conversation happening in front of him, and the clock on the wall. The damn thing was still counting down.

But to what?

“And if you hand in your license to practice,” Lucian said, “even fucking better.”

“It’s like a fucking pharmacy in here.”

John heard his cousin, but he was too busy looking at the clock on the wall of his parents’ kitchen. That tick-tick-ticking was still counting down inside of him. A count down that had not yet reached the end. A count down that he did not know what exactly was counting down.

He counted the numbers on the clock once, and then twice. He watched the second hand tick-tick-tick its way through another minute, and then two more.