Old me would find his grin charming and his efficiency adorable. Today, I loathe that he’s not giving me a free pass. I need one. Can’t he understand the magnitude of what I went through?
“Sorry, squirt,” King says.
“About?”
He takes a deep breath. “You’re welcome to stay with us for as long as you want, but you can’t vegetate on the couch.”
“You’re banned from the couch.”
“You can’t do that. I’m drowning. I need support,” I argue, trying to make them understand that their attempt to fix me is futile.
“Fight,” Myles says. “Stay afloat. We’ll find a way to bring you back to shore.”
My life as I knew it is over. I don’t see myself being the same person. Can’t they just give me a break? Can’t they see I’ve suffered enough—still suffering?
If Myles and King are kicking me out, I have other options. At least three of them. “Then I’ll go to live with Burke.”
He nods. “We have a comfortable guest room. You’re welcome to stay as long as you drag yourself to work and a therapist.”
“I can’t work.”
This time I’m not shaking with fear, but with anger. Who are these men, and why are they pushing me away from the only place I feel safe?
I don’t even know if TPSJ Life Concierge is still open. We could’ve lost all our clients while I was away. And now… “Who’s going to want to hire someone that looks like she just lost an MMA fight?”
“At least she has her sarcasm and sense of humor.” Fletch chuckles.
“I’m glad. It’s good for business,” King states. “There you go, go back to work.”
“Why are you doing this to me?” I hate how my voice sounds. Desperate and whiny. Teddy, their sister isn’t like that, and maybe they should accept that now.
They should let me go. And just like that, I feel lonelier than I did when I woke up.
“We’re doing it because we love you,” King, who still holds my hands, tells me with a patient voice he barely uses. “And we’re useless regarding mental health. You need a professional.”
“We all do,” Myles agrees.
I stare at them dumbfounded. Is this intervention going from Teddy needs help to the St. Jameses should be committed?
“What does that mean?”
“As a family, we’ve lost a lot,” Myles explains. “Our parents divorced, Archer died, and you almost…”
“She’s here,” Burke interjects. “Teddy is alive and we’re thankful for that.”
“Exactly,” Zach says. “But we all feel useless and powerless after knowing we couldn’t save you before this happened to you. We need to get professional help to be able to be here for you.”
Lang points at the brochures. “You need that too.”
They’re worrying me. I clamp my mouth but then ask, “Since when are you the logical ones of the family?”
“We only do it when you need us,” Fletcher answers.
“Well, I need you to understand that I won’t be leaving this penthouse until I feel strong enough.”
“Something has to change. At least go and see your friends. Do something different that doesn’t involve pajamas, that blanket, and my couch,” King says.
I recall Seth’s request. “If I visit Thea Decker, will you give me a break?”
They look at each other. “For now.”
For the first time since I got back, I smile, feeling slightly like my old self. I stood my ground against six tall, insufferable, and stubborn men—and I won.
Did I actually win, though?
I feel like they shoved me out the door as soon as we came to an agreement. Thirty minutes later I find myself in front of Thea Decker. “It’s good to see you.”
Lang’s car is in the driveway, but he disappeared with the excuse that his boss wants to see him. I can’t leave until he’s done. I can’t just give Mrs. Decker a message and turn around. Nope. I’ll have to stay and pretend my life is good.
“Hi, Mrs. Decker. How are you?” It feels nice to be the one asking the question.
“I’m well, sweetheart. Why don’t you come inside? I’ll make us some tea.” She opens the door wider and waits until I make my way inside. “Your brothers told me this is the first time you’ve gotten out of the house since you were discharged from the hospital.”
Of course my brothers told her. This seems like level two of the intervention.
“I’m sorry for what happened to you.”
I don’t like that she knows. Everyone in the family learned what happened to me, which, by extension, includes the Deckers.
“Is lavender tea okay?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“It must be difficult to be here, or to be anywhere,” she says as she pulls out an electric kettle from the pantry.
I draw circles with the tip of my shoe while answering, “It’s hard. But it doesn’t matter where I am. It’s almost impossible to be. My mind is hazy, and my thoughts scary.”
This is the first time I’ve said it out loud. The heaviness of the words lingers in the air. She might call Mom or someone to take me back home.
She squeezes my hand. “And it might get worse.”
I stare at her, open mouthed. “Aren’t you supposed to tell me that it’ll get better with time?”
“Why lie?”
Is she for real? “It can’t get worse than this,” I argue. She doesn’t know. This is probably part of the intervention. “Are you scaring me so I go to a rehab center?”
She shakes her head. “Either way, it will get worse.”
“Even if I seek help?” I swallow. She’s telling me this is over and there won’t be any way out. I’m cursed to live a half-life with fear.
“There’ll be a slight difference, though,” she continues. “Your dreams will drag you to those days and to the place where everything happened. The memories will get worse.”
I hold my head. This can’t get that bad.
“If you’re at a rehab center, the next morning, you’ll talk to professionals about it and maybe other patients who have gone through the same trauma. You’ll learn coping mechanisms for your anxiety. It’s a long process, but you’ll reclaim your life.”
She grabs two mugs, pouring in water and setting them on a table next to a tray with different types of teas.
“Please help yourself.”
“What if I don’t go to rehab?”
“You’ll wake up from the nightmares feeling like the world is ending all over again and you’ll have to deal with those feelings on your own.”
“I didn’t come to discuss therapy.” My voice is a warning, a threat. I’m ready to follow my instincts—fight or flight.
“It’s some advice from one abused woman to another.” She takes a seat. “Lots of mornings will be tough. For years, I used alcohol and drugs as a way to cope. It keeps the nightmares away, but only for so long. Afterward, you have to do it again and…”
She shakes her head. “It’s not the best way to survive. It’s actually half living.”