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As I rest my head on my pillow, I make a decision. I’m going to bring the Fraternitas and its Heirs to its knees.
3
ARIAH
“It’s time to get your shit together,” I mumble to myself, but there’s no conviction in my tone. The girl staring back at me is unrecognizable. Dark circles encompass my eyes like a bad attempt at a smokey eye, displaying my lack of sleep. My collarbone is more prominent, a testament to my lack of appetite. It’s not that I’m refusing to eat. It’s that any attempt has been mostly unsuccessful.
Leaning over, I splash water on my face, hoping the cold temperature will put some color back on my cheeks and make me appear less sluggish. My gaze narrows in the mirror.
Yeah, I don’t believe the bullshit I’m slinging to myself, either.
Sighing, I close my eyes, mentally preparing myself before going downstairs. I know if I look like death run over by an eighteen-wheeler twice, Dad will make me see the doctor. He threatened to do so last week. Luckily, I was able to use the “adjusting to time zones” excuse. I know that won’t go over today. We’ve been here for two weeks, and I’ve spent most of that time hiding in my room, quelling my mounting anger and nursing my bruised heart. Some of which I’ve made known.
Amid my rage, I may or may not have left Owen a voicemail that relayed my feelings about how the fuckwads treated me. I would’ve preferred to say it to them, but I quickly learned I was blocked by all of them, further fueling my anger. I still can’t wrap my head around what happened.
I finish in the bathroom and then head downstairs, my senses on alert for the helicopter parenting that’s about to take place.
As if my thoughts summoned him, Dad rounds the corner just as I’m about to enter the kitchen. Our gazes lock. Prepare for worrying parent in three. . . two. . . on?—
“You’re seeing the doctor today, Ry. It’s been two weeks, and you look worse than last week.”
“Gee, Dad. Way to make a girl feel good about herself,” I quip, but he dismisses my sass, recognizing it for what it is. . . deflection.
“Dr. Jaffri will be here in fifteen minutes. Get yourself something to eat,” he instructs.
He freaking preemptively called her.
I dig my nails into my palms to keep myself calm. I expected him to call. I just didn’t think he’d do it without speaking to me first.
Do I know that this is from a place of love? Yes. However, this isn’t the way it should’ve been handled. I should have been consulted. I’m of sound mind, capable of deciding a plan of action surrounding my health.
“Don’t look surprised. I told you I was calling if you weren’t getting better, and you aren’t.” His gaze narrows, and he lifts a finger, preparing to list all his reasons for overstepping. “You’re withdrawn to the point that you hide in your room about ninety-five percent of the day.” I roll my eyes at his “measurements of time” as his middle finger joins the index one. “You aren’t eating.” Then comes his ring finger. “And you barely sleep.”
I’d argue with him, but after he ticks off his points, I know he’s right. I’m barely holding it together.
“Fine,” I mutter. Now it’s his turn to look shocked. He wasn’t expecting me to acquiesce so easily. Maybe I should’ve made him sweat. That makes me smile as I pose my question. “Were you expecting a fight?”
His brow quirks. “Remember, I know you.”
I snort. “While I don’t appreciate you overstepping and making the appointment behind my back, I also know it’s time for me to be seen.”
Dad sighs. “You left me little recourse. I tried to give you time to come around, but you continued to put it off and make excuses. However, I am sorry for not having a conversation with you before calling Dr. Jaffri.”
I nod. “You’re right, and thank you.”
He pulls me in for a hug, kissing the top of my head. “Go grab some breakfast. Dr. Jaffri will examine you in the medical wing.”
“Medical wing?” I ask, squeezing him before I pull from his embrace. He nods, and I roll my eyes. “Of course, there’s a medical wing. Because those are standard in all homes,” I mutter, and he laughs as I head to the kitchen.
The cook prepares my breakfast, and ten minutes later, I’m giving myself an internal high five for finishing my smoothie and bowl of oatmeal before heading for the medical wing.
I’m poked, weighed, and instructed to take deep breaths before she prompts me to explain the reason for her visit.
In the last hour, Dr. Janan Jaffri has drawn blood, prescribed medication, and agreed to get my records from my previous visit to the doctor. In short, she’s amazing.
The barely five-foot woman is a force. She scolded Dad for making the appointment without my consent and eased some of my worries. Not only do I admire her tenacity, but I also admire her fashion sense. She’s wearing a stone-blue linen suit with a white camisole and a matching hijab adorned with light gray and white flowers, which looks beautiful against her tawny skin.
“Take one tablet every night before bed, and you should sleep soundly through the night,” Dr. Jaffri explains, handing me the prescription bottle.
