“It does,” I agree. Plain anti-anxiety medicine worked for me, for a time. But then things had gotten worse again a few months ago, and my psychiatrist added the anti-psychotic. “But it’s not a long term solution.”
“You can take those medicines for years.” Dean reminds me.
“But they’re not a replacement for coping mechanisms,” I remind him. “Which I’m still working on.” I jingle my bag again, and the pills clatter around in their bottles. My tote bag full of remedies is just a crutch. A security measure. Therapy isn’t enough when the problem runs much deeper.
“You’ll get there if you keep working at it,” He says.
I can’t help but roll my eyes. “I am working at it. You sound almost like a real doctor.”
“I am a real doctor.” Dean says snidely, and it seems like I picked a bone with him. “I have a doctorate in pharmacy.”
“Whatever. You’re not my doctor.”
“Yes, I am. I fill your prescriptions,” He says roughly. He’s a little peeved now, and I can’t help but roll my eyes again toirritate him. I feel like I know how to push all his buttons. “Stop rolling your eyes at me.”
I raise my eyes to meet his. They’re dark and fierce and look vaster than the black sky. I’ve been vulnerable all night, telling him about Andy, and after that batshit insane man came after me, and I still feel like I don’t know anything about this man and why he’s doing all this for me other than the fact he probably thinks I’m a pathetic little puppy.
“Was the song written about you?” He asks me. “Is that why you didn’t want her to sing it?”
“Of course it was about me,” I swallow. “Why are you driving me on this trip? Seriously?”
“Because…” He trails off, breaking our eye contact. He shifts the leftovers from one hand to the other. “Are you trying to change my mind?”
“No.” I want to take back my question, but part of me needs to know. “Be honest with me. Is it really because I’m your charity case? Because you feel bad for me?”
“Craig told me you come into the pharmacy every single day at the same time, and you ask him incessant questions about every symptom you have. He tells me he’s even walked you home.”
“Yeah, I know Craig. He’s the owner of the pharmacy.” I remember him fondly.
“And when he hired me, he told me he’d pay me a five-thousand dollar bonus if I could get you to stop coming to the pharmacy for a week. I think he was just joking at the time.” Dean continues, rubbing his forehead. “But the opportunity just fell in my lap. When I told him I was taking off to take you on a road trip, he wired me the money and said he’d pay me for all seven days, including the weekend I was meant to visit my mother. He said to think of it like a work trip. And to convince you to change pharmacies.”
All I can do is stare blankly at him while I try to process everything he’s just told me. He’s here because he got a hefty work bonus, not because he wants to be. I’m not a charity case. I’m not a pity party.
I’m a fucking paid vacation. He’s a babysitter with a fat paycheck waiting for him at the end. And I handed it right to him.
“And you asked me to pay you for you to be here?”
“I needed the money,” He says, staring at the ground.
“It’s fucking cold. I’m going inside.” I announce, brushing past him, my tote bag cradled in my arms.
“Madeline, wait—” Dean calls after me.
“No!” I feel tears brimming on my eyelashes. I’m not even good enough to be a charity
case. I’m a work trip. A work bonus. I’m a piece of work. And fuck Craig. I trusted him.
“I’m telling you because I think it’s terrible, too! I don’t want your money anymore!” Dean calls, but I’m nearly running and he’s several paces behind, stuck in the snow. I take big strides in and out of the uncleared snow.
I yank open the door to the mansion and burst into the warm lobby and slam the door. I look around the lobby, torn on what my next move should be. Dean swings the door to the lobby open after me, his glasses immediately fogging up.
“Madeline, please,” He says, his tone utterly serious. He’s a little panicked now that I’ve gone rogue. “Come back here and let me explain.”
“Fuck off, Dean.” I mean every word. I pivot towards the staircase, and I take them by the twos. He follows me silently, except for his heavy breathing that I can't escape. I fumble with my tote bag, looking for the golden key to my room, and to silence.
After the longest thirty seconds I’ve ever felt in my life, I still can’t find it. Dean has stopped huffing, and he’s unlocked his own door.
“Madeline. Just go through mine.” He hangs his head, averting his eyes.
