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The two detectives finally left, and I let out another deep sigh, rubbing my temples. Dr. Ackley remained on the chair to my right, watching me.
“I’d like to ask you a few questions as well, Sienna,” he said, offering me a friendly smile. “Is that all right?”
“Sure.”
“I’ve had a look at your records,” he went on, scooting the chair a little closer. “I see you attended therapy sessions with a psychologist for two years after a traumatic event you experienced when you were younger. You also spent some time at a mental health retreat in New Zealand over the last year.”
I frowned. “What kind of doctor are you?”
“I’m a psychiatrist. I—”
I raised my hand and cut him off. “No way,” I said tersely. “I know what you’re doing with these questions. You’re trying to paint me as an unstable liar.”
“That’s not true, Sienna. I’m just asking questions to establish facts about your mental health history.”
“Well, you already know everything. I experienced something horrible in high school and went to therapy because of it. Then I went to New Zealand for a while to clear my head. That doesn’t mean I’m crazy.”
“No one is saying you’re crazy. I really don’t like that word,” Dr. Ackley said. “Your old therapist diagnosed you with anxiety, didn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“You had Lexapro prescribed to you. Is that right?”
“Yes. But I stopped taking it ages ago. It made me feel weird.”
“I see.” He made a note on his clipboard.
I narrowed my eyes. “You can’t seriously think my anxiety made me do all that stuff last night.”
“Of course not. Your behavior last night was caused by the illicit drugs you had in your system.”
“I didn’t take any drugs,” I said through gritted teeth.
Dr. Ackley lifted a palm. “I’m not saying you took them, Sienna. As you said earlier, you may very well have been drugged by someone else. That’s up to the police to look into,” he said. “But, based on my observations from today, I think you’re still suffering from an anxiety disorder. I’d like you to try another medication.”
“Right,” I muttered, twisting the blanket in my hands.
“It’s not Lexapro. I know you said that made you feel strange, so I’m prescribing something else,” he said. “We can see each other again in a month to evaluate how it’s working out for you. Would that be okay?”
“Sure.”
“Great.” He gave me another amiable smile. “Now, I can’t force you to do this, but I’d also recommend that you start seeing a therapist again.”
“Okay,” I said listlessly.
He rose to his feet. “Someone will bring you something to eat soon. Also, I believe your father is out in the waiting room. Should I send him in to see you?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
My dad stepped into the room a few minutes later. With his tall frame, chiseled features, and impeccable dress sense, he embodied leadership and polished charm. That quality had taken him far in his political career.
“How are you feeling, darling?” he asked, briskly stepping over to my bedside.
“Pretty bad.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” He offered me a tight smile. “I had someone from my office contact Tate and Michaela, so they should be here to visit you soon.”
“Thanks.”
