Page 1 of The Fire We Make

Prologue

Joy blinked slowly, mentally taking inventory of her facial expression.

She ensured her eyes were soft and pasted on a rehearsed smile, painting a picture of serenity.

Dr. James smiled softly at her. “Your notes look great, Joy, a vast improvement. It looks like you’ve been opening up more, participating in group sessions and taking your medicine without a fuss. You’ve been doing your journaling?” she asked, pushing the big round glasses up her nose.

Dr. James was an older woman, maybe in her 60s. She had flawless deep brown skin and a salt and pepper bob that came to her shoulders. Despite her white coat and professional demeanor, she was warm and kind. A contrast to the cold, sterile facility the two women sat in.

Joy shifted in the hard metal chair, folding her hands together in her lap. “Yes,” she lied.

“Great,” Dr. James nodded. “That’s good. Do you feel in control of your emotions?”

Joy nodded.

“I need words, honey.”

“Yes, I feel in control.”

A lie.

Joy hadn’t felt in control of anything in the nine months since she’d been institutionalized. Everything was out of her control. What she wore. What she ate. What she did and when. Most of all, everything that happened beyond those padded walls — the business and her father’s lack of communication — was out of her control. She was anxious to be released so she could regain it and she’d say whatever the woman before her needed to hear to ensure that happened.

“Good. Do you feel like hurting anyone?”

“No.” Another lie.

Joy wanted to hurt many people, starting with the Chapman family for putting her there and ending with Dr. James if she didn’t stop asking stupid fucking questions.

She was growing impatient, her nails digging into the skin of her palms under the table.

Fighting to remain present in her body and maintain control of her mind, Joy’s eyes darted around the room.

5 things I can see…

4 things I can touch…

3 things I can hear…

2 things I can smell…

1 thing I can taste…

“Great. I’m proud of your progress, Joy. If you commit to taking your medication and sticking to the tools you’ve learned here, I have no doubt that you can be a productive member of society. I’m going to sign off on your release.”

For the first time since she’d stepped foot in that god forsaken building, Joy smiled.

“Welcome back Miss Thibodeaux. How are you feeling?” the family driver, Darnell, said, waiting by the car as Joy approached with her belongings in a plastic bag. His smile was warm, but his eyes were wary, watching her every movement as she came towards him. He moved as she did, ensuring his back was never to her.

“Much better, thank you,” Joy replied with a soft smile to put him at ease.

Darnell’s face softened a fraction, but his sharp eyes still watched her closely. “Good. Good to see you.”

“Likewise,” Joy replied, pulling her Chanel sunglasses over her eyes.

Darnell returned her smile with a weak one of his own and opened the backseat of the Mercedes. She thanked him and climbed in quickly, eager to get away from the mental health inpatient treatment facility that had been her home for almost a year.

She’d been away too long and missed too much. Too many changes and events she wasn’t privy to on the inside. The events that led to her arrest were still a little hazy, but she remembered enough to know that her actions weren’t without consequences — not just for her, but for her organization. The silent treatment from her father only confirmed how badly she’d fucked up.