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My skin crawls as I scoot away, my back slamming into the side of the couch. I might have gloves to protect my hands, but what about my neck, my throat, my chin? Nope. I don’t know her.
I won’t let her touch me.
I can’t.
The tech hovers, hand outstretched, visibly confused. She doesn’t know what to do. I almost snap at her to leave me alone, though I manage to keep my mouth shut when I see Amy step into the day room.
She’s carrying a tray of drinks. Water, iced tea, juice. Some mid-morning refreshments for our downtime. Her eyebrows lift when she reads the scene. Without losing any of her usual charm, she calls out, “Is everything alright in here, Diana?”
The blonde technician rises from her crouch. “Just checking on one of the patients.”
Amy’s soft brown eyes land on me. Understanding dawns in an instant and she nods. While she places the tray of drinks down on an empty table, she says, “Riley, let’s get up off of the floor, okay? You’ll stretch your gloves out if you lay on them like that.”
My gloves. Amy knows exactly what to say. I value my gloves more than anything else I own. Every Christmas Mrs. Everett buys me a new pair of gloves to cover my hands. I work so hard to soften the leather, molding them to my fingers like they’re a second skin.
It’s only June. Who knows if I’ll get a new pair in December? I have to make these last.
Besides, I know Amy. Amy, she’s safe. She gestures for Diana to back off—finally—giving me enough space to awkwardly climb back to my feet. It takes a few seconds for the dizziness to pass. When it does, I exhale roughly.
I feel better now.
After I wipe the palms of my dusty gloves against my pants, I slip back onto my spot on the sofa. With Dean gone, there are at least three feet separating me from Kim.
?
??Better?” asks Amy.
I nod.
And that’s it. It’s over. A peek out of the corner of my eye reveals that Diana is still looking at me curiously. Since I don’t want to face her right now, I turn so that I can watch Amy take a spot next to the table where she set down the drinks. Her trusty clipboard is tucked under her arm. She pulls it out, flips the page, then clears her throat.
“In a few minutes, I’m going to let you guys come up and get some refreshments. It’s Sunday, so we’ll be doing some group therapy in the day room in a bit, but first I’ve got a quick announcement so listen up, okay? We all know that Dr. Waylon left, right?”
A couple of people vocalize their answers. I just nod. I liked Dr. Waylon. She didn’t push. I was sad to see her go, though I long ago lost track of which number psychologist she was. Ninth? Tenth? Something like that.
“Good. Well, I’m happy to announce that her replacement is finally ready to take over. And, even though it’s Sunday, he’s decided he wants to get a jump on meeting with you guys. As the oldest group, this ward is up first.”
There’s a chorus of groans, me included. It’s never fun when we get a new doctor because they always insist on opening up old wounds, then digging around inside of them. Even though they’re all given our case files when they start at Black Pine, the doctors want to hear it straight from us. And, well, there just comes a point when I’m sick and tired of telling them that, despite all evidence otherwise, I really don’t belong in here.
If they understood that the fae were real, they’d realize that everything that has ever happened to me—everything that I’ve ever done—is a direct reaction to them.
Too bad every single doctor, therapist, psychologist, whatever I’ve met with since I’ve been locked inside the asylum is convinced that my belief in the fae is one of the biggest clues that I do belong at Black Pine.
After a while, I just gave in and agreed with them. The fae aren’t real, I’ve got no one to blame but myself for Madelaine’s death, and my insistence that no one can touch me is an irrational phobia, not the result of being taught otherwise since I was a little girl.
Two weeks, three days, and a couple of hours.
I can do this.
As the groans die down, Amy purses her lips. She looks genuinely sorry for us. “I know, I know. But let’s all be on our best behaviors, okay?” When no one answers, she sighs. “Okay, guys?”
I’m feeling a little grateful for the way she helped me a few minutes ago. “Right.”
A couple of others half-heartedly agree with me.
Amy smiles. “That’s better. Now, for those the new doctor wants to meet…”
Glancing down, she consults her clipboard. I wait for what I know is coming. I give her three names before she says mine.
