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“Are you what?”
I swallow roughly. “Meant to be his?”
To my surprise, the answer comes quick. “No.”
“How do you know? How can you be so sure?” A sinking suspicion hits me. “Am I meant to be with one of your kind? Is that why the Fae Queen is sending you people after me?”
Nine keeps his mouth clamped shut. He inhales through his nose, then exhales sharply. The word sounds like it’s been dragged out of him when he finally whispers, “Yes.”
And I know, because I’ve always been able to tell when someone’s lying to me, that that is the truth.
Oh, boy.
I think I liked it a lot better when he didn’t answer my questions.
I don’t sleep at all that night.
Even after Nine slips back into the shadows, vanishing from sight right before the sun comes up, I stay huddled in my bed. I’m too afraid to close my eyes now. What if I do and I’m transported back to the empty room where I danced with Rys?
I wait until my wake-up call that morning to throw open the door and plead with Amy to get me in to see whatever doctor is free.
Nine isn’t real. Rys isn’t real. I can’t let them be. My life’s so much easier when there’s no such thing as the fae, and I spent the last few hours reminding myself of that. There has to be a reason why, after all this time, I’ve had three separate episodes back-to-back. Sometime this morning, after the sun came up and I was still searching shadows for a figment of my imagination, I finally remembered my nighttime meds.
This all started on Sunday night, when I first could have sworn that I heard Nine’s voice calling my name. Know what else happened on Sunday? I met Dr. Gillespie and he put in an order for a new medication.
That pink pill. Whatever the hell that thing is, it’s not working.
I need a med check.
Just my luck, though. The first available doctor? Dr. Gillespie.
Because of course.
I almost have to laugh. Running on no sleep, as anxious as I am, I would rather talk to anybody else in Black Pine before Dr. Gillespie. And, sure, it’s been a few days since our disastrous last session on Monday, but hell if I’ve forgotten how I told him all about Nine. The last thing I want to do right now is admit that I imagined a full-blown conversation with Nine for the first time in years.
I can hear the doctor now. He’ll either say that I’m relapsing—again, tell me something I don’t know—or that this is a breakthrough. Knowing how these psychologists all work, most likely he’ll decide that it’s because I opened up to him about Nine.
I hope not. I don’t think I could sit there and look at the satisfied, smug expression on his impish face if he decides he’s been here less than a week and he’s already “fixed” me. Then again, if my verbal diarrhea our last session is what brought on these recent episodes, maybe he’ll be the one who gets in trouble for it.
Here’s hoping. All I know is that it’s Friday, I won’t have another check-in with Lorraine until Monday, and any of the other doctors for our ward are all booked up until this afternoon at the earliest.
It has to be Dr. Gillespie.
“Riley, it’s good to see you again. How are you today?”
“I’m tired.” So, so tired.
Dr. Gillespie nods knowingly. “Well, yes, that happens sometimes as the sedation wears off. Your body is rested, but it takes a couple of days for the serum to dissipate and the grogginess to fade away.”
I sink deep in my seat. “You heard about that?”
Of course he has. And look, I wasn’t even a little wrong when I thought I’d be forced to see him with a smug grin.
Damn it.
The doctor opens his portfolio, picks up his pen. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re here? It’s not your day to see me for a session, and I don’t have you down for a check-in. I squeezed you in, so I only have a few minutes before my next patient. If it’s okay with you, let’s get right to it.”
Okay. Right to it. I can do that.
