The doctor leaned back in her chair, tablet balanced on her knee.
"Hallucinations from post-ICU PTSD, sleep paralysis, ICU delirium…" she said, ticking them off on her fingers. "Most people see them fade, but yours haven't. You're still struggling to tell what's real. We've prescribed the pills to help you sleep, but we need to know how these hallucinations are affecting you. Can you tell me about them?"
I twisted the hem of my sleeve. "Beside everybody is another version of themselves, but faceless, like a mask. Sometimes I bump into one thinking it's fake, and it's real. The faceless ones aren't always hallucinations."
"Have you been taking your medication?" She asked gently.
"Yes," I replied swiftly
"And the sleep paralysis?"
"That stopped after the first week."
"That's good." She offered a small smile. "Since you've been here—therapy, medication— have the hallucinations gotten any better?"
I hesitated because it felt strange saying it out loud but finally spoke up. "They used to be everywhere. More than the people in the room. Now it's maybe four or five. When I'm alone, I only see them if I space out. If I focus, they're gone. And I don't feel them anymore."
"That's wonderful," she said, jotting something down.
"One month" I whispered to myself everyday as the time went by.
I'd been here three weeks, and somehow, the place didn't feel like a cage anymore. The doctor wasn't just "the doctor" now; the nurses weren't the cold, robotic machines they'd been at first. I wasn't strapped down. No restraints. No constant watch. I could walk around, breathe, exist—so long as I swallowed my meds and sat through therapy.
Whenever I asked about Nolan or what was happening outside, the doctor's face tightened, and she'd steer the conversation elsewhere. I kept waiting for police officers to show up, to take my statement as a witness—as a victim. But they never came. That silence made me suspicious of everything outside… and of her.
She'd smile and say, everything's alright. I'll take care of you.
"Why?" I asked her once, unable to hold it in.
"Why not?" she replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Yes, Nolan put you here, but I'm a doctor. I save lives. And besides…" she glanced at me, almost shy, "I thought we'd grown closer. I want to take care of you."
"You know that doesn't make me trust you more, right?"
Her lips curved, soft but steady. "As long as you're safe."
I don't know if it was the meds dulling my edges, or my own exhaustion wearing me down, but I couldn't push back. My instincts should've screamed louder, but instead, I let myself believe her. Maybe I wanted to.
When the month finally ended, she called me into her office. This time, her tone was different—serious, like she'd been rehearsing this moment.
"I know why you're here. Sit. Let's talk," she said, already shuffling papers.
The folder slid across the desk to me. My breath caught. A new identity. Papers that said I was eighteen, not seventeen. A passport. Plane tickets.
"It was only a year off," she said. "Not too hard to arrange. Do you have somewhere to stay once you arrive?"
"Yes," I answered quickly.
"And your plans after?"
"College. I inherited enough—it should hold me for a while."
She studied me carefully. "If you need anything, call me."
I forced a small smile. "Thanks. For everything."
But inside, I was ice. I didn't trust her. I couldn't. Anyone connected to Nolan was tainted. Still, if I could use her, I would. And I had.
She'd already moved my things from my mom's house to another place—the one I'd use when I got back. Everything was packed, neat, ready. All I had left to do was leave.
So I changed clothes, tightened my resolve, and let myself be driven to the airport. Sitting at the terminal, ticket in hand, I repeated it to myself: I'm leaving. I'm not wasting the rest of my life on him. I won't let Nolan ruin me.
My phone buzzed. An unknown number. I almost ignored it. Almost.
I picked up.
A familiar voice slid through the line.
"Hey."
The sound tickled my ear.
"How?" I whispered.
"You don't sound surprised."
I scoffed, "Should I be?, I was expecting it."
"Well, you know me. So—how are you?, Feeling better?, Hallucinations gone?"
"Don't pretend like you care."
"I do care. Why else would I have sent you there?"
"What did Mom and Aunt Dahlia mean to you?"
A pause. Then his voice dropped lower. "I loved your mother once. But then she lied—said you weren't mine, that you were his. And when I found out… imagine how I felt." "When did you find out?"
"Dahlia always knew. Your mom told her. That's why she hated you, why she tried to kill you. She gave it away."
"So you found out after she tried to drown me?"
"Exactly. Which is why I decided to keep you."
"You know I'm not an object, right? I'm not something to own or keep. That sounded so cliché, didn't it?"
He chuckled.
"What?"
"You're just like me."
"No. I'm nothing like you."
"You know it hasn't even been a year since your mom died. Why'd you bother? I buried her while you were in a coma. You never even looked for her. Sure, you were sad. But you're different, just like me."
"I'm just in shock," I said, weakly defending myself, even though I knew he was right. My eyes darted through the crowd, searching for him.
I collided with someone. A stranger. He pressed something cold into my palm.
"Hold onto that for me, would you?" Nolan's voice filtered through as the call ended abruptly.
I stared down. A necklace. Snake chain. Spiral sun pendant. I knew it—he always wore it. But why give it to me now?
"How cringe," I muttered, slipping it around my neck.
They called my flight.
I stood, leaving everything behind without looking back. I don't forgive him. I don't think I ever will. But I won't dwell on it either. I'm moving on.
The End