Epipen.
Spare glasses.
Brain cells—God, what am I doing??
“Aggie? Baby, come back inside. It’s starting to rain, and your mother needs to sleep before she leaves at the crack of dawn tomorrow!” Arnie comes out with a big smile and a bowl of buttery popcorn.
My weakness, damn his receding hairline.
But no bowl of double butter with extra salt is enough to make me stay alone with Arnie for three months while my mom goes to stay with my grandparents in Cardiff.
“I’m fine, Arnie. I’ve got a job and a place to stay. I’m twenty-five. I can do this.” My smile is wobbly and false.
“A place to stay? With who? You shouldn’t be left alone... After last time.”
They always make it sound like it just happened, never letting me have the victory of surviving past that moment. “That was in college during the worst week of my life, three years ago. I’m still going to meet with my therapist on video calls.” My voice barely shakes, but the tremors in my hands make me shove them in my hoodie pouch. Arnie looks pissed—and that’s when I know that I really need to go. He should look concerned, fine, but not angry.
He’s a doctor, but he never makes me feel better. In fact, sometimes I feel like I'm getting worse when he's around. I've even wondered if he is slipping me something or changing my meds right before I have those “drop-offs,” but...
But that’s part of my horrible mental health, he says. They all say. Paranoia. There is never any proof. Blood tests always come back normal.
“My therapist says I’m ready. Dad and June think I’m ready.”
“Dad and June haven’t seen you get fired from all three jobs you’ve had for taking too many days off for appointments and panic attacks,” Mom snaps.
“If I fail, then I fail. You get to gloat.” I shouldn’t be petty, but I can’t hold it in. It’s the way they treat me like a baby, almost as if they want to keep me here, watching me lose this battle. The half-obscured daylight glints off Arnie’s glasses, giving him grayed-out lenses as he squeezes my mother tightly to his side.
Creepy.
The paranoia.
Side effects.
If you’re considering self-harm, you need to stop this medicine... If you’re considering self-harm, you need to take this medicine...
“I’m not hurting myself by leaving,” I say in a firm, clear voice. It helps. I smile. That helps, too.
Visualize the best outcome.
I leave. Pine Ridge is a nice, cozy little town. The job as a paralegal at the Wymark Family and Business Law Practice will be a great way to use your degree, earn a good salary, and get a fresh start. The town will be welcoming. Pretty.
My shaking calms. Smile turns real.
Arnie is in front of me, hands on my shoulders, voice low enough that only I can hear. His eyes are visible through his glasses now, but I wish they weren’t. They’re smug and sparkling. They don’t match the tender, fatherly body language. They don’t match his voice, which is...
Malevolent. That’s the word.
“I know what you’re doing, Aggie. Don’t. Don’t waste your time.”
His words are soft, but they slice deep.
“Don’t try that manifesting crap. Behavioral modifications do squat. I’ve seen all you crazies try it, and the only thing that works is putting you in your place and curing that sick mind with pills that keep you there.”
I back up, but Arnie is the one who leaps back, looking stung. “Arla, I tried. I tried, honey. She won’t listen to me as a father or as a doctor. I’m going in the house.”
My mother puts her hands on her hips. “Aggie!”
“Mom—I...”
