Still, I wouldn’t bend. I kept moving. My choice was made.
“Emily!”
There was no more running. Not from this. Not anymore. The train had arrived at its final stop. And the end of the line was the Breakers.
“Emiliyyyy!”
Chapter 19
The last two weeks had been the worst.
Daniel and I had fought constantly. He was as determined to leave as I was to stay. The yelling, the arguing, the awful things we hurled at each other. They kept piling up and up and up. No matter how many times we apologized or tried to smooth things over, the topic of leaving the Breakers kept circling back—again and again and again.
It came up on beach walks as the salty breeze brushed our hair and the sun kissed our skin. It came up during boat trips as the sound of waves slapped the boat. Dinners in the charming towns nearby weren’t safe. For God’s sake, the Breakers even came up during a lighthouse tour—literally in front of a group of tourists. Daniel launched into it again just because I mentioned that the ocean view reminded me of the one from our bedroom at the Breakers. I’d never seen him like that before, as if he really believed the Breakers would kill us both.
It didn’t help that he’d started working again, at least part-time. After the large cargo ship sank, his company relied on him to manage everything. He arranged meetings at their Portland, Maine office, just far enough that he could make the drive a few times a week. While he was gone, I was never really alone. Either Hudson or Tara shadowed me around the house like quiet spies. They were always nearby, always watching.
I met with Anna three times a week and started my antipsychotics, prescribed by the psychiatrist. The pills made my head foggy, dulled the sharpness of the world, left my limbs heavy by evening. However, I hadn’t had a single psychotic episode. Not one.
At night, I took my pills for the nightmares, which I barely had anymore.
I was the model psych patient. Textbook stable. Calm. In control.
But was that a good thing?
The thought slipped out as I sat in the garden with the dogs, the afternoon sun warming the wood beneath my legs. One of the dogs, Muffin, sighed and shifted closer to my foot. My MacBook rested on my lap as Anna’s face filled the screen.
“No more hallucinations about the woman in the basement?”
I shook my head. “But there’s still that one percent that thinks she was real. It keeps whispering, even when it makes no sense.”
“It’s normal to question reality after hallucinations.”
I nodded. “Yeah. I guess so.”
“How are the nightmares?”
“I haven’t had any lately. But honestly, I’m struggling with it. I keep wondering if the meds are helping me or just getting in the way.”
She tilted her head gently, her voice sharp but kind. “Are you wondering if it would be better to stop some of your medications?” she asked.
“I mean, that nightmare I had about my scar. It scared the hell out of me, but it also gave me something. It felt like a piece of my memory was trying to find its way back to me. And all these meds, they keep the nightmares away, yeah, but it’s like they also keep everything else locked up.”
My fingers slid through the dog fur at my side.
“I can’t even remember a time I wasn’t taking something. I’ve been on medication since I was a teenager. But ever since we came to the Breakers—I don’t know how to say this, but it’s like...it’s like this place is trying to help me fight. Like it wantsto help me remember what happened. It’s trying to give me back my life.”
Anna leaned back in her seat. The wall behind her was lined with shelves filled with plants and books. Most were therapy-related titles about trauma, grief, cognitive something, but a few well-worn romance novels and thrillers had been squeezed between them.
“I have to be honest, I always recommend following your psychiatrist’s advice when it comes to medications. They recommend them for important reasons,” she said.
My shoulders slumped.
“But,” she added, and my head lifted again. “Nobody can force you to take medications you don’t want, Emily. You’re not in an involuntary psych ward. You’re not suicidal or homicidal. If you were to stop your meds, nobody would report it or force you to take them again. I’m only mandated to report self-harm, child abuse, or homicidal ideation.”
“So . . . I could just stop my medication altogether?”
Her expression sobered. “Well, it’s not safe to suddenly stop antidepressants or benzodiazepines. That can lead to serious complications, sometimes even suicidal thoughts and deadly seizures. But other meds, like your nightmare medication, are usually safer to stop cold. In most cases, there’s no withdrawal. Still, it needs to be discussed with your psychiatrist. I want to be really clear, I’m not telling you to stop anything. I’m saying there are some medications you can ask to stop. You can insist. Nobody can force pills into your body if there’s no self-harm or harm to others involved.”
