I grunt at her lame attempt to get me to respond to her. I’m still hell-bent on refusing to give her any words she can use against me. Using this unfortunate meeting to my benefit, I home in on the calendar behind her, and my chest caves when I read the month and date.
Four weeks.
I’ve been here four hellish weeks but it’s felt longer than an eternity.
“Still not talking, I see?” she remarks. After several moments of silence, she sighs, takes off her glasses, and folds her hands in front of herself. “Look, I feel like we keep getting off on the wrong foot, Mackenzie. I’m sorry if you felt I pushed too hard before. I just want to…I want to understand. This situation with your sister, I’ve never had any patients like this. I want to help.”
I glance away, feeling a sting behind my eyes at the mention of Madison. “You can’t help.”
“Why not?”
My bottom lips trembles. “Because she’s gone.”
No amount of talking or psychoanalyzing will ever bring her back. My twin sister is dead. My other half was murdered.
“From your head?”
I glance at her, fighting back my emotions. Why is she always so in tune with what I’m thinking?
I’d gotten so used to hearing my sister, now that I don’t have her constantly in my head guiding me, I’m suffering without her. I miss her. I feel like I’m drowning without her.
“Have you tried…asking her to come back?” She seems pensive, asking a question like this. It goes against everything she believes in, everything that pertains to her craft.
“It’s not like she’d listen. Madison was her own person. She was vibrant and always did whatever the hell she wanted.”
“And what about you?”
“What about me?” I counter.
“You seem to always talk about Madison. What she was like, what others thought about her, but what about you? She’s gone, Mackenzie. Why not focus on the you that’s here?”
“I can’t do that,” I snap. “It was supposed to be me.”
“What was?”
“The night she died. I was supposed to be there that night, and she went instead. Do you understand now why I can’t let go? The wrong twin died that night. It was always supposed to be me. She was supposed to go on in life and do great things, not me. She would’ve been successful and beautiful. Everything I’m not.”
Clarity lights her eyes. “So, it’s guilt. That’s your driving force,” she muses. “This part of your mind, that part that’s holding on to your sister, you need to let go of it. It’s your consciousness speaking to you. It’s your fears from the past, and the guilt eating you up. It is not Madison. It is unhealthy, this obsession you have with your dead sister.”
“My…my obsession?” I stutter over the words incredulously, shooting forward. The movement must be too threatening because the nurse hovering near the door grips my shoulder in warning, causing pain to shoot down my spine. “It’s not an obsession! She was my twin. My other half. We’re connected in life and even in death.”
Her lips purse. “That’s not possible.”
“Take me to my room. We’re done here.”
“Mackenzie.” She sighs. “You’re on edge. This is exactly why you need to let this go. Your sister brings out the worst in you.”
I bite down on the inside of my cheek until I taste blood, trying to hold myself back, but the words come anyway.
“Is there anyone you love in this world, Poppy?” I spit her name venomously. “Is there anyone you love with your entire heart?”
She swallows. “Of course, there is.”
I smile. It’s cold and detached, so unlike me. “I hope you lose that person in the most gruesome way. I hope the pain I feel every single minute of every single day, you feel tenfold. Now, take me back to my room or you’ll regret it,” I hiss out, something sinister in my tone. It’s new. Something I didn’t even know I was capable of.
Dr. Aster lets out a ragged gasp at my outburst, her body going rigid at the tone in my voice, concern lighting her eyes. At this point, I can’t tell if her concern is for me or for herself due to my outburst.
“Gary.” She clears her throat, her eyes never once straying from me, as I keep my hateful glare solely fixed on her. “Please wheel Ms. Wright back to her room. Thank you.”
I’m silently fuming the entire way back to my room. If I had more fight in me, I’d quite literally fight off Gary and not have any qualms about shoving my fist into the good doctor’s face.
How dare she say those things to me? She doesn’t know me. She doesn’t know anything about my life.
Vibrating with hatred, I stew in my room for God knows how long. That’s the thing about being stuck here. My sense of time is off when I have nothing else to do but sleep, eat, and stare at blank walls. I can understand now why so many want to be with others. They want the interaction, just as I do. I crave it. But being with others isn’t safe, especially now.
After the cryptic comment from that woman in the activity room, the tarot reading, and that possible sighting, I’m not sure who to trust. If she is working with him, then how many others are working for him, too? And Dr. Aster, is she in on it, too? Maybe that is what the notebook is for? She’s keeping notes for the rest of the guys.
Soft knocking on the door startles me out of my paranoia, and when I see who it is, I want to groan. For fucking fuck’s sake, wasn’t that enough psychoanalyzing for one day?
The doctor walks into the room, looking a bit unsure. She pushes the edge of her glasses up her nose and squares her shoulders, clasping her hands in front of her.
“Mackenzie, I want to apologize if I upset you earlier. In any way. That’s not my intention here.”
“If?” I laugh, but it’s without humor.
“Yes. If I crossed the line, I’m truly sorry.”
“Well, you did,” I snap, thinking back to all the ugly things she said. “So, you can take your apology and fuck right off.”
Obviously taking my words as an invitation instead of a dismissal, she grabs the chair and pulls it to the foot of the bed. I realize when she sits, crossing a leg over the other, her hands resting in her lap, what’s missing. The notebook. The notebook isn’t here.
For some reason, that cools some of the indignation billowing from within. I settle back into the pillows on my bed and feel my heart slowing its angry race in my chest.
“I’d like to start over. Maybe talk about something else other than your sister. Can we discuss your previous relationship?”
My heart squeezes.
That’s another sore subject.
Inhaling a deep breath, I purse my lips, trying to remain aloof on the outside, when on the inside, I feel like I’m being ripped in half at just the thought of discussing Baz. I’m not sure any part of me is ready to talk about him.
She quirks a brow, clearly waiting for me to give the green light. So, I nod, but lay down some ground rules.
“The second you piss me off, we stop.”
Surprisingly, her upper lip twitches, like she’s actively hiding her smile from me. “I can do that. Now, let’s talk about him. What’s his name, and before you say it, really stop and think about what saying his name does to you. What emotions do you feel?”