Page 10 of Chemistry: The Chemist

“Three tests, Chem. We’ve taken three tests. They all make it clear that the visions, the voices, the disorganized thoughts, delusions, sleeplessness, lack of connections, it all points towar–”

“There’s also sanity, education… to the highest degree, orderly thoughts, outstanding hygiene, routine grooming, utter motivation, high spirits, self-sufficient–Rather, baby, come on. This is me. Nothing about me says I’m losing my shit. Nothing about me–”

“Says her. Nothing but this, Chemistry. And it means almost nothing. You’re right. You’re not losing your shit. You’re just being… you. Don’t look at it as a bad thing. You’re stable. Very. I doubt this will progress, though it is known to. I can’t say anything about you has changed in the last six years. That’s good news.”

“None of this is good news, baby.”

“I’ve already told the others.”

“Good. Just keep my brothers out of this.”

“Good? Are you afraid?”

“I’m not afraid of shit, Rather, but becoming the woman I called Mother.” With a shake of the head, I paced her office. “Now that my only fear has come to fruition, my list is empty.”

“I love you, Chemistry.”

“You never had a choice, baby.”

Genetics. They were a motherfucker.

Bipolar disorder. It was the split personalities my mother suffered from each day.

Schizophrenia. It was the invisible illness that I wholeheartedly knew convinced her to kill the man she loved and then herself because she couldn’t bear life without him.

That part of her condition was often overlooked and underestimated because it was hardly scribbled across her medical records and barely spoken of during her treatment.

“One thing at a time,” her physician requested, though they were both killing her, simultaneously.

Blowing out warm air in frustration, I planted my index fingers in my freshly faded hair and rolled them slowly to relieve the pressure building in my head.

Catherine.

Catherine.

Catherine.

Catherine.

Her name rang out. Over. Over. And over.

Catherine.

Catherine.

Catherine.

Catherine.

“Shhhhhh.”

“Say something, Chemist?”

Aden’s eyes met mine in the rearview. A shake of the head assured him there was nothing I had to offer.

Catherine.

Catherine.

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