“Would you care to stop tapping that pen like you’d rather be anywhere but here? And for the love of all things holy, stop looking at the fucking clock. I don’t want to be here either.” It would have stung anyone else. Unfortunately, it seemed that the good doctor had heard all kinds of bullshit before. Mine didn’t faze him at all. He did stop tapping the pen, though. I grabbed the small victory and held tight.
“I think you’re depressed, Carmen.”
“You’re brilliant. How many years did it take you to earn your degree?”
He ignored the insult and barreled forward. “I’m prescribing an antidepressant for you that’s just been approved by the FDA. While there are some side effects, I think the reward outweighs the risk in your case. Do you know if your mother was on any similar medication?”
What was this bullshit? “I am not my mother, Doctor Coleman.”
“Are you angry at her?” he asked. “Or me?”
“Yes.”
Doc put the pen down. “Because she took the pills, or because of her alcohol addiction?”
“Both. I should have been reason enough for her to want to live. She should have been a mother. She should have flipped the middle finger to my father the second she heard of his first affair and walked out the door. She should have lived the way she fucking wanted to, but instead, she just existed. My mom gave up, and that’s what makes me madder than anything in the world.”
Doc smiled slightly. “There’s still some fight in you.”
“There isn’t; I just feel gray. All the time, Doc. Like there’s nothing in me here.” I tapped my chest. “Like my soul’s gone.” Maybe Mom felt the same way. Maybe that was why she gave up. She never took sleeping pills before, which meant she knew what she was doing. Mom wanted to end it.
Swallowing thickly, Doc eased his chair back. “Were you raised to be religious?”
“No.”
“But you believe in souls?”
My foot began to bounce my leg up and down. “I believe there’s something missing in me. That’s all I know. You can call it whatever you want.”
“You called it a soul, Carmen. I don’t think that was a slip. You believe in something. But do you know what I believe?”
I snorted. “I’m sure you’re about to enlighten me.”
Doc smiled. “I believe there’s a soul inside all of us, inside of you. We just have to find it again.”
I tensed, ready to be released from this ink blot hellhole. Easier said than done, Doc. Like Mom, my soul was a coward, and it was going to take more than ink blots, psycho-babble, and stilted conversation in a boring office to rehabilitate it. I doubted rehab could handle such a chore.
The orderlies here wore white scrubs. Everything was sterile, blank—everything, except for the walls. Those were littered with inspirational quote posters, everything from the cliché, ‘If you believe it, you can achieve it,’ to, ‘Every journey begins with one step.” Last night, a nurse brought in the new miracle medicine and proceeded to tell me about all the warning signs to watch for, and that they would be watching out for: suicidal thoughts, worsening mood, hopeless feeling, and blah, blah, blah. Today, it was time for my two o’clock appointment with Doc for all things touchy-feely.
A male orderly was escorting me through the maze of hallways. I smiled at him and his eyes opened a little wider. When my arm brushed his, his nostrils flared ever so slightly. He knew it was no accident. I wasn’t exactly subtle about it. I wondered just how far he was willing to bend the rules…
“Are the cameras always on in this place?” I asked.
He swallowed, staring at the black orb on the ceiling ahead of us.
“Yes.”
“Do you have any friends in security?”
He paused outside of Doc’s office. “Maybe,” he smirked.
“Maybe…they would turn one off for you for a little while.”
The guy wasn’t smoking hot, but he was good looking enough. I needed a release and he might just be the one to give it to me.
“I can make that happen,” he said, standing straighter.
“Tonight?”
He smiled. “Will you make it worth my while?”
I raked my nails down his obvious erection. “Absolutely, if you bring me what I need…”
The door to Doc’s office swung open suddenly, interrupting us. I rolled my eyes and strolled into the office as Doc stared at my new friend threateningly. When he finally slammed the door, the blinds on the window rattled. Doc walked quickly to the desk chair and it sighed as his considerable weight sank into it. I was still standing. He gave me a smile, trying to hide his irritation and failing miserably at it.
“Have a seat, Carmen. Make yourself comfortable.”
“Not possible.”
He smiled, folding his arms across his middle and leaning back in the chair. “Why is that?”
“I’m not comfortable in this place, and no shrink couch is going to give me the warm fuzzies.”
He exhaled loudly. “How do you feel?”
“Cold.”
Doc tilted his head. “Mentally, how do you feel?”
“Numb.”
“You’re awfully chatty today,” he smarted.
“I’m a bursting ray of sunshine every single day, Doc. What did you expect?” I deadpanned. He chuckled and reached for his pen. He started to tap it, but caught himself and cleared his throat. Smart man.
“Do you feel more or less tired today?”
“The same.”
“Did you have vivid dreams last night?”
I perked up. “I did have a strange dream. I dreamed of burning unicorns.”
He looked up and pinched the bridge of his nose. “If you aren’t going to take this seriously, I’ll have to report back to your parole officer.”
I was serious. The damn unicorns were burning as they flew through the air, trying to skewer me with their fire-poker horns as I ran away. But apparently, he didn’t want to hear it.
“Fine. I’ll try to do better. If you give me a smoke, I’ll play nice.”
He didn’t take the bait, and the daily inquisition began. “Have you had any thoughts of harming yourself or others?”
Doc was a good guy. He was earning his money. He probably had a happy wife at home. She cooked well, by the looks of it. Maybe his kids were grown and he liked to play with his grandkids on the weekends. He thought he was doing a service by helping druggies like me, and in his perfect, average life, he didn’t give a shit if I had those thoughts or not. I knew that telling him I’d thought about stabbing a female orderly with an ink pen wasn’t in my best interest. She’d been a dick about bringing my food, slopping it all together. I hated it when food touched, let alone got mixed together. Telling him I thought about slitting my own wrists after I stabbed her? Definitely not something I felt like revealing.
“No, I’m not having any of those thoughts,” I lied.
My scalp itched, but it was tender to the touch so I tried not to scratch it. During the wreck, something lacerated my head. The ER had to shave a section of my hair off to evaluate me, and ultimately used nine staples to hold my skin together. When I got home, I shaved the rest. It looked stupid to have long hair and a streak of skin in between. The staples had been out for a few days, but the itch was constant. I would have a nasty scar. Eventually, my hair would grow back out and cover it, but I doubted the itch would ever leave.
His eyes followed the motion of my fingers. “How do you feel about your hair?”
“I look like shit. How do you think I feel?”
“Don’t answer a question with a question, Carmen.”
The fucking rules. I hated them.
“Fine. I hate that they cut my hair.”
He stared at me. “Why is that?”
“They say a woman’s hair is her glory, right?”
Doc smiled. “I’ve heard that, but there are more important attributes than beauty.”
I snorted, rolling my eyes at his bu
llshit. “Name one.”
“Kindness.”
“That’s inner beauty, Doc.”
He chuckled. “Charity.”
“Also inner beauty.” I raised an eyebrow.
“Fine,” he answered. “The most important attributes are not outer or physical beauty.”
“If you say so.” I learned very early on that if you were pretty, you got things. Your way, gifts, compliments, the attention of boys, drugs—the list went on and on. But that only got you so far. Shaved head or not, I wasn’t hard on the eyes. The staples weren’t going to define me. They were just a reminder of a royal fuck-up.
“Do you think some people are just bad, like bad seeds, Doc?” If so, I’m one of them.
Doc steepled his fingers. “That’s an interesting question. I do believe there are people who are inherently bad, but I think those are few and far between. I think most people are good, even if they make bad decisions.”
“You know, Doc, I think you’re wrong.” I stood up. “Can I go back to my room now?”
“Our session just began.”
“Well, I can just sit here in silence if you’d prefer. I’m not in the mood for your brand of bullshit today.” I didn’t know if it was my tone, the way I defiantly crossed my arms and legs, or how I closed him out for five full minutes, but he finally called for someone to escort me back to my room. Luckily, it was the same guy from the hallway earlier.
When we were out of Doc’s sight, he tapped the keys on his cell phone.
“My friend’s working now. No cameras.”
“Do you have smokes?”
He grinned, easing a pack from his pocket and placing the soft plastic in my hand. Full flavors, baby. “Lighter?”
He eased a light green lighter from his other pocket, giving it to me. I grinned. “Now, I wonder what I can do to repay you,” I teased. I knew what I was going to do for him.
When we got to my room, I pulled him inside. The hallway was empty, luckily. I shoved him against the wall, and as I reached into his waistband, he shoved me to my knees. The asshole thought he was in control. I proved him wrong with one lick.
I milked him; every moan, every grunt, and every drop. And then I told him to get the fuck out so I could smoke. A girl needed her privacy.
He opened his mouth to say something, but I held my hand up. “Save it.” I didn’t need his thanks.
“I really like you.”
The hell he did. He liked blow jobs. Every man did.
I winked at him. “Bring me something nicer next time, and we’ll see what happens.” Then, I shut the door in his face.
I flopped down on my bed, opened the pack, and flicked the wheel on the lighter, inhaling the glorious toxins. They erased the taste of him from my mouth.
3
The anti-depressants didn’t work, FDA be damned. These things didn’t make me any less depressed than I was when I walked into this place two months ago, other than the fact that I now felt that my life was a pointless and unfixable mess.
I didn’t have any ‘side effect’ other than dry mouth, but Doc noted that I was irritable. He was right. I was irritable, as well as a slew of other colorful adjectives. I was also smart, and for the last sixty days, I told them what they wanted to hear with a smile. The good doctor was going to sign off on my rehabilitation, telling the judge I was healed. I pictured him as a televangelist, palms up, twitching around. Would Doc pray for me if I gave him a grand? Probably. He’d use it to take his grandkids on vacation.
My hair was now an inch long. I wouldn’t look completely hideous when I left later this week. Although, getting home would be an issue. My car was totaled. Mom was dead. Father probably wouldn’t bother to come and get me.
“Your release is scheduled for this Friday morning at nine A.M,” Doc informed me.
“Friday is my favorite day of the week,” I told him.
“You have no cravings at all for cocaine?”
The mere mention of the word made me yearn for it. It made my toes bounce, but I couldn’t let him see how it affected me. “Nope. You’ve done a bang-up job, Doc.”
“You had a visitor yesterday, but he wasn’t on the approved list. I declined his visit.”
I ticked my head back. “He?”
“Dimitri Astrov.”
My skin began to crawl and my face felt hot. I dug my fingernails into the arm rest. “I don’t want to see him.”
Doc perked up. “Why?”
“He’s my dealer.” I didn’t want to snitch, but maybe Doc could do something, protect me from him. He may have denied his visit, but when I walked out those doors, I wouldn’t be in Sunny Bridge anymore.
A groan from across the desk drew my attention. Doc dragged his hands down his face. “Listen, Carmen. If you have any contact with him and fall back into your old habits, party with old friends, anything at all, you will fail. Do you understand? This will all have been for naught.”
I nodded my head. I knew that. I wasn’t as worried about the coke as I was that Dimitri had come here himself. What in the fresh hell was that about?
“I can keep him away from you while you’re here, but once you step foot off Sunny Bridge’s property, my hands are tied.”
“I know. Thank you,” I said. I wasn’t planning on staying around here anyway. Father wouldn’t be home, but I needed a ride to get my things. Then I could ‘borrow’ one of his cars and skip town. “How will I get home?”
“Sunny Bridge will pay for a cab fare.”
That was generous, considering the hundreds of thousands my father paid for this private facility. It was located in the middle of nowhere; ensuring his privacy and that the paparazzi wouldn’t be able to get a picture of his wayward daughter, despite their tenacity.
“Sounds good.”
“Carmen—”
“Save it. Can I go now?”
Doc stood up and adjusted his tie. “I’ll call for an orderly to escort you back to your room.” His eyes narrowed. “A female orderly.”
It was finally Friday. Release day. Legally, I was being remanded into my father’s custody and had to check in with my parole officer on Monday morning. Part of the deal my father’s lawyers negotiated was that I would serve a minimum of sixty days in rehab, followed by a year of probation. Fun times.
A male nurse watched as I gathered my things. My belongings included my discharge instructions, a written prescription for the antidepressant Doc thought was giving me a personality, and Doc’s business card—as if I would actually call him up to chat after I got out of this hell hole. I came here with nothing else. The police found cocaine in my wristlet and confiscated it; not that the blood hadn’t ruined the leather anyway. My clothes were cut off by the paramedics on the way to the hospital. My life, or what was left of my life, consisted of only a few sheets of paper.
“Did you get everything?” the orderly’s voice boomed in the small space.
I didn’t have anything else and didn’t want it anyway.
“Yep.” I held out my arms. “This is everything.”
He rolled his wrinkly blue eyes at me and waved me out of the room. It was more like a cell. I think Father tried to scare me straight with this place. It was kept so sparkling clean, one could eat off the floor, but everything else was exactly what I imagined jail to be like. No freedom, no privacy. Nothing but you and your thoughts. It was hell on Earth.
Doc waited outside. I guess he did leave his office chair once in a while. “Take care of yourself, Carmen. My cell phone number is written on the bottom of your discharge papers. If you need to talk, or if you need anything at all, please call me.”
People said that all the time, right? If you need anything, call. But if you did call, they seemed to be put out by your needs. It was just a pleasantry, nothing more. Either that, or he wanted to continue to charge me by the minute for his shitty advice.
“Don’t count on it,” I replied breezily.
Doc frowned, but stepped away from me with a sigh.
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I didn’t bother to wave or say goodbye.
A yellow cab streaked with black and white checkered stripes idled past the security gate that surrounded the center. The upholstered back seat was warm. I sank into it and gave the cabby my address, watching in the side view mirror as rehab quickly became a part of my past.
The drive took an hour and fifteen minutes. The cabbie, a guy named Mike who slapped his gum when he chewed it and liked to sing lyrics to the terrible seventies music he insisted on blasting, whistled as he pulled up in front of the drive.
“They already paid you?” I asked before I opened my door.
“Yeah. All taken care of.” At least Mike was honest. He could have said no and asked for more money. I’d expected as much.
“Good.” Stepping out of the car, I listened as he cranked the music again and eased away from the curb. The sun was setting, something I was beginning to realize was a harbinger of bad things to come. Before I could even punch the security code into the keypad, another car pulled alongside me. The engine purred as it idled.
The black Mercedes was non-descript. I didn’t recognize the driver, but as the tinted rear passenger window slid down, I knew I was in trouble.
In his thick accent, he ordered, “Get in the car, Carmen.”
“Dimitri, why are you here?” It felt like a thousand needles were poking beneath my skin. Everything in me wanted to run, but there was no running when Dimitri told you to do something.
“I come to speak to you. They would not let me see you at that place, so I’ll see you now. Get in.”
I hesitated, looking back at the keypad.
“Do not test my patience, Ms. Kennedy.”
If I made a run for it, I’d be caught. Best to go with him and figure out what he wanted. Maybe he just wanted me to entertain his friends, like he mentioned before.
The thought made me sick. I wasn’t a prostitute, but maybe I could do it. Just this once.
The driver of the car walked around to hold the back door open for me. Dimitri slid across the seat to make room. The leather’s cool temperature seeped into the backs of my thighs. There was a space between me and Dimitri—enough for someone else to occupy, but his presence made me feel like my face was pressed against the glass.
Keeper of Crows (The Keeper of Crows Duology Book 1) Page 3