Page 47 of Dark Ugly Places

No more pills. I hear her in the back of my head, nails tapping on a window. We’re done with that, Nicola. Done. Done. Done.

My hands clamp over my ears, and her voice disappears into the recesses of my skull. A slight throb in my temple emerges, like her fingers pressing on me from within. I get ready and dress quickly—8:45 a.m. I need to get all the way down to Wilshire before it’s too late. Before she comes back.

Downstairs, I hug Emmy and try to leave before she has a chance to ask me anything. She looks up at me from her laptop with big, concerned eyes. “You okay? You look freaked out …”

“I’m not freaked out. I’m fine.”

You don’t seem fine.

My head twitches at the sound of her voice coming through so strongly. Emmy doesn’t notice. I breathe a quick sigh of relief.

“I was worried we didn’t have the money,” Emmy says, chewing.

“What?”

“You threw away all your pills. I was worried we didn’t have the money to replace them.”

The money. The money. Right, we didn’t have the money. Until Martha sold my ring.

“Did you get a new job?” Emmy asks.

“Not yet. I will, though.” My armpits start to sweat. The unbearable itch of Martha beneath me is constant now. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Are you going to Dr. Constance?”

I start to answer, but Martha interrupts me. No. You’re done there. Things are changing, Nicola. Try to keep up.

Emmy stares at me while I think of what to say. Damn you, Martha.

“I’ll be home later, and we’ll talk about everything.”

Emmy makes a face. “Ew, that sounds bad.”

“It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”

Emmy rolls her eyes and replaces her headphones. “If you say so.”

I park on the road adjacent to Wilshire, feed the meter, then head into the office building, the fog of last night still distant and strange, like a half-formed dream. As I turn and head into the lobby, I catch myself in the reflection of the mirror and stop for a moment, noticing my tired, skinny frame, the weakness that’s formed in my limbs, the slight, stooped position I now walk with. Martha pokes at me.

Do you see now? I had to come.

“Go away,” I whisper low enough so that no one hears me. “Not today.”

Her voice burns in the chamber of my throat. You can’t keep me back now. Look at you. You know this is right. You need me. Emmy needs me. We have to fix things, don’t we, Nicola?

“Everything was fine. We were doing fine.”

But you weren’t. You were one bad day away from a total breakdown. Admit it.

“It’s not true.”

I turn and notice the security guard behind the desk staring at me. A woman brushes past me, giving me a concerned glance. I quickly dart to one of the open elevators, willing Martha to be quiet.

For a few moments, I try to keep my thoughts from her, but Martha is so close now. I get the chilling sensation that she hears everything I think, even though I’m getting only a tiny bit from her. The balance is all wrong.

Inside Constance’s office, a woman with headphones rocks back and forth in her chair, saying, “It’s gonna be okay,” over and over under her breath. A man in dirty clothes sits next to an old woman with a walker decorated like it’s the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. I wait in the chair furthest from the door, my feet positioned on either side of the large reddish-brown stain in the carpet. Grape juice? Vomit? Blood?

The door parts, and I hear someone else’s name, but I bolt up anyway and tell Silvia, “It’s an emergency.” She takes one look at me and doesn’t argue. Back I go into her office, the AC blasting, and the scent of stale plants and old furniture overwhelms me. Dr. Constance ushers me in and sits.