Page 23 of Kill Me

Chapter Seventeen

Quinn - Present Day

When I come to, Richard and Darla are hovering above me, concern etched on their faces. My head aches.

“What happened?” I ask, my voice hoarse.

“You blacked out,” Darla answers.

“Just like that? I just dropped to the floor for no reason?”

“Well, there are many reasons you could have randomly blacked out. Stress. Seizures. Any of your diagnosed mental conditions.”

“You know more than I do, then, because I don’t even know what conditions I have. My mother never thought it was important enough to tell me. She just tells me to take the medication she gives me, and that’s that.”

“That’s not unusual with most of our patients. Talking about a diagnosis can be triggering, and for someone with suicidal tendencies, most family members find it anxiety-inducing to approach those subjects, so they avoid them. That’s why you’re here. To work on that.” She reaches out a hand to help me get up, and I pull myself to my feet. I’m unsteady for a second, but then I remember where I am, and the dread settles back into my stomach. I look around and don’t see my parents’ car anymore. “Where is my family?”

“They’ve gone. They thought it would be better for you if, when you came around, you weren’t reminded of their betrayal, as you see it.”

“It’s not as I see it; they have betrayed me. The version of the truth that you have been sold is nothing like the actual version.”

“There are always three sides to a story, Quinn,” Richard offers a token of his undeniable wisdom. “Their side, your side, and the truth.”

“But surely your job is to want to uncover the truth? Your patients should be your priority. So if I’m telling you that what you’ve been told is untrue, surely you have a duty of care to listen?”

“Our duty of care is to keep you safe while you are here. Working in a place like this, we are often told fabricated versions of a patient’s truth with no way to know if it’s the actual truth or a delusion they have begun to believe.” Jesus, this Richard is a right fucking barrel of laughs, isn’t he?

“Ok, got it. So, you don’t care about what your patients tell you, just getting the money for their stay and keeping them alive?”

“I can see why your parents have sent you here.”

And he can’t handle sarcasm, either. What a fucking joy.

“I think it’s time to get you inside and get you unpacked. We need to search your belongings and make sure you have no contraband. I was assured your mother packed your things for you, so that shouldn’t be a problem.”

“What’s considered contraband?”

“All kinds of electronics, makeup, hair straighteners, anything that could alter your appearance, really.”

“What about books? Are we allowed to read?”

“Within reason.”

“What’s within reason?”

“We have a library of approved titles inside. You’re welcome to peruse those after you’ve been officially checked in. Do you have a phone on you?”

I mentally check myself so I don’t inadvertently flag that my phone is inside my bra by reaching for it.

“Ummm, no. I got out of the car so fast because I was so angry, I left it in the backseat. They can keep it.” I look them dead in the eye so there is no question about whether I’m telling the truth or not and go to grab the handle of my suitcase. “The only thing I have on me is my Kindle, which I can’t use for anything other than reading if I don’t have an internet connection. Can I keep that? Or will you be having it?”

“Unfortunately, that’s considered contraband because we cannot monitor what you’re doing on it, so we will have to take that from you. Thank you for being honest with us.”

See. Partial honesty has its benefits. Now they think they have everything I’ve got, and I can contact the outside world, unless they plan on strip searching me.

“Once we get inside, we will go through your case, and then you’ll be searched to make sure you’ve handed over all of your contraband.”

As always, my brain betrays me. I’m sure there’s someone listening who just decides whatever I say to do the opposite. Should never have even thought about it.