“You are,” she agreed.
Tommy worried at his lip. “Can I afford this? Is this draining my accounts?”
“It’s not cheap. But you’re financially fine. We had to move a few things around, and I can get a full breakdown of reports from your accountants if you’re worried. But I don’t want to add that stress if we don’t need to.”
Tommy breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m doing everything they want me to, and more.” The black hole had been shrinking. It wasn’t fast, and he had moments the black void of depression seemed to devour him. The morning panic attacks, the dawn effect, or whatever they were, happened like clockwork, but he could work through them. He wasn’t having several other attacks everyday like he had been weeks ago. “I need more time.”
“He’s requesting another doctor come in and interview you. One of his choosing.”
“How does he get a say on any of this? I’m not a kid, and I made you the PoA.” It wasn’t even new to his current illness. He’d made all the changes after VG broke up, making Katie PoA rather than leaving that to Ru, and tripling down on his portfolio, ensuring it was safe from embezzlement, andrelativesorfriendsseeking fast cash. His goal had been, even if his career in music was over, he’d have a way to live comfortably.
“The law favors family. Even if that’s not the right thing to do. Your age doesn’t matter as much as your ability to take care of yourself.”
“This is where I need to be. They are helping. I’m doing the right thing, getting the help I need and putting in the work to get better. Do I have a choice? If I see this doctor or not?” Tommy knew he was going to unravel soon. He had a stress intolerance. Part of the cascade of illnesses from addiction to recovery. Small things that barely bothered regular people, Tommy’s brain magnified by a thousand, and big things, they could undo all his hard work with little effort.
The familiar vibration of panic arched up his spine. He’d been proud he’d walked in on his own two feet, but suspected they’d have to wheel him out. How far was this going to set him back? And what if his dad got control? Would he ever recover? Terror made his stomach clench.
“Not really,” Katie said, sounding tired.
He gripped the table and had to work through the 4-7-8 breathing again. Shana’s touch on his shoulder was familiar. The first during the day panic attack in almost a week. He hated them. How much he had to work to pull through them, how they narrowed his thoughts down to nothing but fear and irrational chains of ‘what-if’ negative self-talk. Most of the time they happened for no reason, or small things set them off. But he had a reason to panic now. The idea of his father ripping everything away from him, and he remembered how Paige had mentioned Eddy, Bas’s little brother, overmedicated until he was a zombie. Tommy didn’t want that. He’d die before he let that happen.
The darkness took over fast. Thoughts, ideas, wishes, filling his head in a way that made him sick. Tommy cringed from the touch, recognizing the void that settled over him. “Can you take me to the therapist?” He begged of Shana. “I’m having SI.” Those words were hard to utter, but he’d been taught to recognize it, to call out suicidal ideation as soon as he felt it, and tell someone. “Don’t bury it,” he whispered. Burying it could end up with him buried, permanently.
“I’m sorry,” Katie said, but she was distant now.
Shana helped Tommy into the chair. He’d been so fucking happy to be free of it. Now he was back in the fucking chair. He felt tears streaming down his cheeks, blurring his vision as they traveled through the halls. He longed for a hit. Or a long drink of something bitter and biting. Something to take him away from all of this.
Maybe he should be medicated to the point of being a zombie. What was the point otherwise? What was he contributing? If he was dead, the bulk of his money went to Ru. Would that be something else his father would try to undo? He clung to the chair unable to find a light in the darkness this time and wishing he would pass out.
