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“Felicity?”
“I’m not crazy,” I said to him, still not giving him my attention. “I know Mark and Cleo aren’t real. I know I never killed anyone. I’m not crazy.”
“The meds are—”
“No—urgh!” Never yell was one of the many lessons I’d learned here. Taking a deep breath, I faced him. “I hate the medication. It makes me feel like I have no control over my body. But I take them anyway. The medication isn’t the reason I know I’m not crazy. I remember my mom. I’m not like her.”
“Schizophrenia is different for every person—”
“I’m not insane.”
“Felicity, having schizophrenia does not mean you are insane. It means you’re sic
k. Without the medication, you saw Mark and Cleo the minute you left this facility. Do you remember the last book you read while you were here? You brought it with you and always kept it by your side.”
“No, I can’t remember.” I just wanted to run away.
He put the book on the table. “Look.”
“William Shakespeare’s…” I paused before saying the next two names. “Antony and Cleopatra.”
“You took two characters from a Shakespearean tragedy and made them into your best friends. You don’t think it’s important to know why?”
“No, because they aren’t real,” I said, even as I watched Mark pull a book off the shelf behind Dr. Butler’s head.
“Marc Antony is a cool name. Besides, for all he knows, I could have easily been for Marco Antonio. Did you hear Vivir Mi Vida. It gives me chills,” Mark said, salsa dancing beside Dr. Butler.
“Can I be Jennifer Lopez, then?” Cleo laughed, joining him. “Elizabeth Taylor killed Cleopatra for me.”
“I thought so too.” Mark spun her around and into his arms.
“Felicity?”
“Huh?” I glanced away from them and back to him.
He turned around. “What was it you were concentrating on?”
“Nothing. I saw a book I thought Theo would like, and thinking of him kind of took me off to another head space.” I lied with a smile. When I first came here, I’d wanted to get better and fix myself, but no one listened to me, and I remembered why I’d hated this place so much when I was young. It made me feel as if I were less than a person. I followed their rules, took their medication, but I still saw Mark and Cleo, now more than ever. But if I told them that, they wouldn’t let me leave.
This was not the place for me. I wanted to go home.
“Why don’t we talk about Mr. Darcy?”
“I don’t want to talk to you about him.” I sighed, wrapping my arms around myself. I tried not to think about him because it just left me feeling horrible.
I had realized two important things in the last two weeks I had been here. I was in love with Theodore Darcy. I knew that because the only person I could think about was him. I didn’t want to undo anything I had been through because it had led me right to him. He knew how to make me laugh. He knew everything about me and accepted it. For the first time in a long time, I felt safe in someone else’s arms, even as my world crumbled. The second thing I had realized was now more than ever, I was no good for him, but I truly wanted to be. I was scared the more time I spent in here, the less he’d remember me, care about me.
“You don’t want to talk about Mark and Cleo, you don’t want to talk about Mr. Darcy. Or what you are writing about in you’re journals. Felicity, you do I know I want to help you, right?”
No he didn’t. None of them did. They wanted us to stay here forever. If we didn’t say something they thought was “right,” then we failed and would either have to be watched, have to take stronger medicine, or they would extend our say. The trick was there was no right answer.
“You have helped me, Dr. Butler. I’m on my meds. I don’t believe Mark and Cleo were ever real. I remember what actually happened. I’m in a much better place than where I was two weeks ago.”
“As long as you don’t tell him you still see us, you should be fine,” Cleo said to me, leaning on his chair.
“Felicity, you seem to have a hard time concentrating today.”
“I’m more bored today than other days.” I shrugged.
