Chapter One
“Bad Things”- Mieko
“So, no suicidal thoughts, no ideations?”
Dr. Hallman sits at his mahogany desk behind mounds of patient files. The deep lines set around his mouth reminds me of a marionette and I wonder what he’d look like with those little strings tied to his arms, someone forcing his arms and legs up and down. Inhaling, he folds his hands as his eyes set on me. “Yes? No?”
I smile. “No.”
“So the medication has been helpful?”
“I think so, I mean, I feel better, but I haven’t noticed any weird side effects or anything like that.” The air conditioner kicks on, the tick-tick-tick of it causing me to shift uncomfortably in my seat. I want to get up and slam my fist over it.
“That’s good.” He makes a note in my file as he scratches over his salt-and-pepper beard. Depression. It’s a pain in the ass. You have one moment where you think life’s not worth living and slit your wrists, and then you’re whisked away to a hospital and put on fucking suicide watch. I’ve been here for three weeks and I am ready to get on with my life. I bounce my leg anxiously, watching as the light blue gown slides up my thigh. Dr. Hallman glances up from his paperwork. “The orderlies said you’ve been reading.”
“Yes.”
“What?”
Why does it matter what I’ve been reading? If I say Stephen King’sDoctor Sleepare they going to think I’m a crazed murder who wants to off an entire family? “Um, Justin Wild, ever heard of him?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “Any good?
“Yes, very good actually. Dark romance, I think is what the genre is called.”
He doesn’t respond, just keeps jotting something down on his little pad. And then, he looks up and smiles. His thin lips curl around coffee-stained teeth. “Ms. Dawson—”
I cringe. “Marisa. Please call me Marisa.” I can’t stand hearing that last name because it was John’s. And John is the reason I’m here in the first place.
Dr. Hallman’s lips twitch ever so slightly as he taps his heavy, silver pen over the desk. “Marisa, nervous breakdowns aren’t that uncommon, especially in people who have dealt with what you’ve dealt with.”
I close my eyes and sweat slowly pricks its way underneath the collar of my hospital gown. I feel the thin material begin to stick to my back and I grip the armrests of the chair, my fingers squeaking over the leather. All I can see is John, his lifeless body slumped over, blood splattered all over the $7,000 French oil painting we bought at auction on our honeymoon. He blew his brains out because he couldn’t be withher—with his whore. Hisblondefucking whore.
“Marisa…”
I open my eyes and stare through Dr. Hallman, my vision swimming behind tears. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, “you were saying?”
“You’ve been through a lot. The affair, all the unraveling of John’s lies about what he did, who he was, and then, his death.” He closes the file folder in front of him, pushes the stack of files to the side, and leans across the desk. “But you are going to be okay.” I nod even though I don’t believe him. I just want out of here. I just want to go home. Back to whatever life it is I have left.
“Just make sure you keep up with your medications and appointments, and you call us if you ever need us. Okay?” He stands from behind his desk, the wheels to his chair squeaking as it rolls back. I take that as my cue to leave.
“When do I get to go home?” I ask.
“I’m putting in orders to have you discharged this afternoon. Do you have someone to come pick you up?” I nod as I stand from my chair and head to the door. I don’t need to tell him I’ll call an Uber, that I don’t have any friends left after John had isolated me from everyone. My pathetic life is no longer of his business. “Good. And Marisa,” he says, “try to take it easy on yourself, okay?”
“Okay,” I whisper as I place my hand on the door and walk out into the overly-sterilized hallway of the psychiatric ward. I go to my room and pack my few belongings: a toothbrush and the three copies of Justin’s books one of the orderlies gave me. The have the little barcode from the hospital library, but, I’m not returning them. My tears have seeped into the crème paper. The words within each chapter stole the little remnants left of my heart, so, I’m keeping them.
The nurse comes by at noon and I receive my discharge papers. There’s no fanfare, no farewell party. I just sign out and walk through the front doors. Alone. The white Camry with the Uber sticker is waiting for me in the roundabout. I place my bag in the trunk and give the driver, Adam from Georgia, the address to my old house.
The rural Tennessee landscape whirls past the window. Pines and cow pastures lined by wire fencing, but it’s all a blur because I’m in a daze, dreaming about Meredith and Lucas—the characters in Justin’s book. I have three chapters to go until I finish the last in the series, and I’m on pins and needles. Everything is so up in the air at this point. She’s been kidnapped and Lucas is on a killing rampage trying to find her. I worry how this will end, but I believe Justin will have them together. I canfeelit. It’s as though—I don’t know, as though I know him. Like reading his words, well, like I’m reading myownwords. I can feel what’s going to happen. I can finish the next sentence.
The cab rolls to a slow stop in front of my house, the large white antebellum home with the beautiful navy door and shutters. I loved this house when John first showed it to me. Everything about it was perfect. It had four bedrooms and three baths, a formal living room and dining room. A fireplace in the master bedroom and rich cherry bookshelves in the study. My stomach knots and slips when my gaze lands on the red “Under Contract” addition to the For Sale sign. We put it on the market after I found out about his affair. His affair with that slutty blonde that worked as his paralegal. The sign’s still crooked, I’d hoped someone would have corrected that by now. It’s just another fucking reminder. The sight of your dear husband’s head blown to bits is quite the horror, and I ran out screaming. I made it as far as the sign before my head began to spin and I passed out, hitting the sign and landing on the lawn.
I tip the driver, grab my bag from the trunk, and stand at the end of the sidewalk, staring at the huge blooms on the Magnolia tree in the front yard. I hate this house now. I hate everything about it, everything about my life. I don’t want to go inside, so I don’t. I drop my bag at the end of the sidewalk and sit on it, opening my book and losing myself in a world I wish I belonged to.
It only takes me half an hour to get through the last 50 pages. My heart thumps and jumps, my lungs fight to pull in my next breath as I turn the page and then…I gasp, shaking my head angrily. “No. No. No!” I mumble, my throat growing tight as I stare down at the blurry words. Tears fall, staining the page. The words “The End”.
Meredith shoots herself because she doesn’t want to live without Lucas. That’s it. Puts a gun to her head andpow.And Lucas is left heartbroken and alone, never to love a woman again. Where is the happily ever after? My face heats. My nostrils flare. “No!” I turn and chuck the book at the crooked For Sale sign, the chain to the “Sold” addition creaking as the sign sways in the breeze. I stare at the book sprawled out on the green lawn, it’s pages bent and spine split, and then, guilt consumes me. I quickly stand and jog across the yard to pick it up and dust it off. It’s not what I wanted, but, after all, it’s not my story.
It’s not my story. It’s Justin’s.
It’s Justin’s…
