“Like shit,” I muttered to the floor.
He nodded, as if that was the expected answer. “I’ve reviewed your case. You stopped your medication for several weeks, then started again, doubling the doses. Combined with the stress of your father’s death, it triggered the seizure.”
I said nothing.
“You understand how dangerous that is?” he asked, his tone sharpening. “Stopping and starting like that can have serious consequences. You’re lucky it was just a seizure.”
“When can I get out?” I cut him off.
He paused, studying me. “You can leave now. The hold was a precaution. You were… agitated. Saying you wanted to see your father, that you wanted to visit him in hell.”
I recoiled. I couldn’t even deny it. I didn't know what I'd said. I’d just woken up confused, tired, and nauseous.
The doctor sighed, setting the chart down. “Mr. James, you need to take care of yourself. Your mental health is as important as your physical health. If you don’t take your medication consistently, this will keep happening. Next time could be worse.”
I didn’t respond. I just nodded, my mind racing with one thought…Jordin had seen me at my worst.
Not just angry or reckless. But helpless. Weak. A convulsing mess on the floor. I’d heard her scream my name. Heard her beg Oak for help. Then, nothing.
I imagined the fear in her eyes.
Would she look at me differently now?
Would she pull away?
Would she stay?
And if she did, how long before this shit became too much? How long before she realized she didn’t sign up for this? For me? Especially when she had a whole husband.
And what about Oak? Before, I was a rival. Now? After seeing me convulse on the floor, lost in my own head... he must see me as a pitiful half-man. Broken. Unreliable.
The real question isn't whether I see him as a threat anymore. It's whether he'd ever trustmeto protect her. To not be the one who ends up hurting her. After what he witnessed, I doubt it. How could he? I can't even trust myself.
I rubbed my hands over my face, swallowing the thick lump in my throat.
I was supposed to be stronger than this. She didn't need my shit added to the weight she already carried.
But now she knew.
The doctor handed me a new prescription and a list of therapists, then left. I stared at the papers. I’d been tripping, thinking I could have someone in my life with this mental shit going on. I knew what I had to do.
I called Tyrell as soon as I got my phone back.
“C, where the hell are you? Jordin’s been blowing up my phone, she’s worried sick.”
“I’m at the hospital. You know the one,” I said, my voice rough. “Come get me.”
A pause. “Why didn’t you call Jordin?”
“I don’t want her to see me like this,” I said, my voice breaking. “I fucked up, Tyrell. I don’t want her to see me.”
He sighed but didn’t argue. “I’m on my way.”
When he got there, he started in immediately. “You should call her.”
I ignored him.
“Ciarán.”
