Page 87 of The Fix

And not the good kind of weird, the high kind of weird.

Just … wonky.

Quiet.

Because while my mind’s been silent for the first time in over a decade … my heart has started screaming in its place.

Aching after all the mistakes I’ve made. Demanding I accept the beating for all the wrongs I’ve done.

Like surviving the night my dad died.

Destroying that liquor store.

Ruining my best friend’s lives.

Getting fucking arrested.

Lying to the one person that’s realized how deeply fucked I really am …

“It didn’t feel like a lie then. It felt like I was doing my own thing, dealing with myself all damn day long while she kept herself locked away in the castle.”

“And this would be Anna, right?”

Startled, I shake my head and blink at the doc. “I said that out loud?”

She nods, jots something down, then crosses her ankles next to the leg of her chair. She’s wearing one of those skirts that get smaller around her knees, just like some of the ones Anna wears.

It’s even beige and now I’m digging the heel of my palm into my aching chest.

“Yeah. I …” I sigh and lick my cracked lips. “I tried quitting then. At the cabin.”

“But you didn’t?”

My hand goes to my hair and my fingers stutter against the missing length, the shorter strands slipping through.

Will Anna like it?

I clear the lump building in my throat and shake my head.

It’s not gonna matter if she likes my hair.

“When you first walked in, you said you were pissed?” My gaze shoots to the doc, my brow raised at her flippant ability to curse. “Tell me why.”

“Well, first, I need to get over the p-bomb you just dropped, Doc.”

The woman snickers and returns a lifted brow. “You think because I’m on this side of the chair that I don’t understand the language?”

“Just surprised is all. I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Well? Why do you feel that way?”

Pulling in a deep breath even though my ribs feel like they’re toting around bone-deep bruises, I run a hand down my face. “It’s hard to explain.”

The doc is quiet for a moment, her gaze on me expectantly as I work through the feeling in my head.

“I’m pissed that I made it.” I sigh, staring at the ugly rug between us. “I’m pissed that my family hasn’t come to see me.” I gnaw at the fleshy inside of my cheek for a beat. “And I’m more mad at myself.”

“Is it really anger that you’re feeling towards your family?”

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