As I turn away from the window, fearing the possibilities of who could be stalking me, I notice that my breath has created fog on the window and the words I know are traced in it. At first I think it’s on the outside of the window, but I’m able to wipe them away from the inside with the sleeve of my shirt, which means two things: 1) I zoned out and wrote them or 2) someone was in my room.
But I’m not one-hundred percent sure which one it is. It’s hard to see the reality when there’s so much craziness inside me.
Chapter 26
Maddie
I quickly discover that the longer my insomnia goes on, the more insane I get. It makes me fear my mind less because there’s so much scattered nonsense in it that Lily’s voice has even become incoherent. But the longer it goes on, I do start to get paranoid about allowing myself to sleep. I start waiting by the window for the figure to show up and another message to appear every night, but it never does. Every time I shut my eyes, I slip into the nightmare full of rain, cold concrete, where I’m afraid and imprisoned by a man who loves to kill and who always threatens to kill me. The woman’s voice always appears but I can never see her. I’m forced out of my nightmare by the worry of what I’ll do when I close my eyes. I get jittery, unsettled, twitchy, not a good combination for a girl with a split personality. Lily and I both are desperate to rest, but I won’t cave and give in. My mom starts to notice, too and when she catches me one day in my room, talking to myself, she loses it and tells me no more skipping out on therapy anymore. I’m too exhausted to argue and tell myself that in a few weeks I’ll have my own place—my own life—and none of this will matter anymore.
Preston notices right away how tired I look and starts probing me with questions about my sleep schedule the moment I enter his office. Then he brings up my behavior at home.
“Your mother called me today before you came here,” he says with a pencil tucked behind his ear, like he’s a shop teacher ready to build something. I wonder if that’s how he sees me. If I’m a project he’s trying to put together. “Your mother said you’ve been having a hard time the last few days and that you’ve been very uncooperative.”
“I’m too old to be living with her,” I state, tapping my foot restlessly against the floor. His desk is a mess today, papers in a chaotic order, folders everywhere, and his shirt looks wrinkly, the smell of cigarettes more potent than ever, a real hot mess just like me. “I’m an adult for God’s sake... I think it’s time for me to move out. I’m too old to deal with this anymore, no matter what she wants to believe. Besides, it might be good for me to get some space from her… she makes me worse instead of helping me. Always lying.”
It takes him a second to answer, as if he’s calculating the right thing to say. “Maddie, I know you don’t want to hear this, but I think it might be for the best if you continue to live with your mother.” He fidgets, taking the pencil out from behind his ear and tossing it onto the desk. “I know in age your old enough to live on your own, but I think your confusion with your identity sometimes makes you act younger than you are. And the lying part… I can assure you that everything your mother does is in your best interest.”
I stare out the window at the grey sky and beads of water rolling down the glass. Out in the parking lot is a blue Camry that belongs to my mother—she refused to leave me here alone. “You sound like you’re on her side.”
“On whose side?”
I meet his gaze, wondering if he knows the stuff my mother refuses to tell me. Maybe he’s in on whatever it is too. “My mother.”
He swiftly shakes his head. “I’m on no one’s side, Maddie. All I’m here for is to help you.”
“But you talk to her all the time, right? About me? Which isn’t allowed.”
“Yeah, I do, but for a good reason.”
“You know that doesn’t help with the trust factor, Preston,” I point out, crossing my legs. “You say everything here is confidential, but you talk to my mother about me, which is wrong.” I wonder if he knows about the accident and that I was doped up when it happened. I wonder if he knows about Lily, my supposed sister. I wonder if he knows about my entrapment with the crazy man.
“I’m not breaking any trust by talking to your mother. You signed a release form so I could,” he says evenly, collecting a stack of papers and shoving them out of the way so he can rest his elbows on the desk. “I would never do anything behind your back or against you.”
“I never signed a release form,” I argue, shaking my head in protest. “I would remember if I did.”
“Yes, you did,” he says, reeling his chair around. He opens up the filing cabinet that’s behind his desk and retrieves a folder with my name on it. Dropping it on the desk, he opens it up and takes out a paper. “Back when we started these sessions.” He slides the paper across the desk at me.
I stare down at the paper that definitely has my signature, yet I can’t remember signing it. There’s no date on it either to remind me. I drag my fingers down my face. “Well, I didn’t know what I was signing.”
“I explained it to you and you understood it then,” he explains. “You even agreed it was a good idea.”
“If that’s the case, then why is this the first time I can remember hearing anything about this?” I skim read over the paper that specifically explains he’s allowed to talk to my mother about the things that go on in here with me. I clutch the paper in my hand, crinkle the corners. “I would never sign this. I know I wouldn’t.”
“It was for your own benefit,” Preston explains as if he truly believes it. “Back when we started these sessions, you were really struggling with simple tasks, like picking out outfits for yourself or writing your name down. It was for the best that you and your mother could talk about your progress so she could help you while you were at home.”
Shaking my head, I tear up the paper, not once, twice, but into tiny pieces then drop them to the floor like confetti. He stares down at the shreds of paper, scattered all over his desk and the floor. I expect him to get cross and call me out on my temper tantrum, but instead he says, in a very composed voice, “How about we get started with our session for today?”
I don’t answer, but I don’t leave the office either, so he takes that as a yes.