Jesus Christ. I'm sick. Maybe I need help.
She's unraveling.
I try again, softer. "Blue, I want you to tell me something truthfully. Do you feel out of control?"
"No," she says instantly.
"Do you feel exhausted?"
"No."
"Do you feel wired?"
Her smile is unsettling. "Yes. Because of you and our chemistry."
I close my eyes for a beat. God, help me. She means it. She genuinely believes her symptoms are proof of a connection.
When I open my eyes, I choose a different tactic. "If you won't sleep on your own, I'm prescribing something temporary. You can take it when these episodes happen."
"No."
"You need rest."
"I'm not taking pills."
"This is not optional." My tone shifts to the firm, clinical voice I use in emergencies. "Your brain cannot function without sleep."
She shakes her head. "No pills. I won't take them."
"We should call your parents. I think it's best if you aren't on your own right now."
Her whole body goes rigid. "Absolutely not."
"You need support."
"I'm not living with them. I'm an adult."
"Someone needs to stay with you. At least for tonight, then we can reassess," I offer.
Her voice cracks at the edges. "No. I told you. I only trust you. Not them."
My gut drops. She's clinging to me the way drowning people cling to anything that floats, even if it drags them deeper. I ask, "Why don't you trust your parents? They seem to love you a lot."
Her eyes darken. "They think I'm crazy."
"Why do you believe that?"
Her lips shake harder. She turns her head and blinks hard.
"Blue?"
She slowly meets my gaze. Her eyes glisten, and she answers, "They didn't believe me when Brax came to the house. Well, Dad did until Mom showed up."
"What did they believe that wasn't true?"
"That I stalked him."
"Let's talk about that." I tread carefully. "Did you sneak into both Brax’s and Valentina's places at different times?"
