Page 18 of Madness Blooms

“I’m sorry, Grace.” She strokes my hair, and I don’t fight her. “We’ll figure things out. We can contact Doctor Walsh and set up an appointment.”

Numbly, I nod as she leads me to the couch. I fade in and out as she goes to the kitchen and returns with a mug of green tea. I stare at the television, not registering what I’m seeing. Eventually, I fall asleep, hoping that when I wake up, this will all be a bad dream.

A week goes by, and I manage to drag myself out of bed long enough to wash up and catch a ride to my appointment.

The bus rocks back and forth as it travels down familiar roads. People talk and laugh, their voices blending as they pass the time until their destinations. I put on my earbuds and skip toBlack Hole Sunby Soundgarden. It seems appropriate, given the gloomy weather, with the rain falling steadily from the sky. We drive over a soaked street, splashing water on the sidewalk. I feel trapped in this stupid metal box, in this miserable existence.

I stare out the window as the world passes by. I rack my brain for answers, but I can’t shake the feeling that George’s murder is somehow connected to me. Like it was my fault that psycho went after him. It’s too much of a coincidence. I pinch the bridge of my nose, wondering if I should bring up my suspicions to my therapist, afraid he might think I’m crazy.

That day, I called Luke and blubbered like a maniac, dumping my trauma on him as if he was paid to listen. He didn’t interrupt me and let me spill my guts. He apologized for being so forward at the theater and promised to take it slow from here on out until I got better. However, I insisted I was still interested in more.

Because of course I am. With him, I’m not invisible. I’m important, like someoneseesme, not through me. Is it selfish of me to cling to the first stable, attractive guy who pays attention to me? Probably. Is the connection I feel mutual? I hope.

He offered to come to my house, bring me food, and even keep me company until I fell asleep. I accepted, knowing that his presence allowed me to rest more soundly. I trust he will protect me and keep me safe from the monster that lurks in the shadows.

As the bus lurches to a stop, I shut off the music and shove my Discman into my bag. I slip into the aisle, pop the hood of my coat, and step off the bus. The ground beneath me bubbles in a messy brown bath, caking my shoes in mud as my feet hit the earth. I frown, hoping it’ll wash off before I reach Doctor Walsh’s office.

Raindrops patter my hood as I cross the street and traverse the sidewalk. I’m thankful that I had the foresight to wear a raincoat. Upon reaching Doctor Walsh’s office, I hesitate for a moment, staring at the door before taking a deep breath and going inside.

The receptionist is typing furiously, her fingers flying across the keyboard like a speed demon, her eyes glued to the monitor. She doesn’t seem to have noticed me, so I awkwardly remove my hood and stand in the waiting room. After finishing her task, she grabs the Styrofoam cup perched on her desk and takes a sip. “Grace Lawrence?” she says, her gaze finally sliding toward me.

I nod, and she gestures toward the door situated across the room. I enter the office where my middle-aged therapist sits, energizing himself with his coffee of choice. Like an old song and dance, I sit in the oversized leather recliner and muster a small smile.

I started seeing Doctor Walsh soon after my family moved to Vermont. Mom had found me too difficult to handle because of my ‘mood issues.’ Of course I was. I was abruptly uprooted from my life in California to move across the country because my mother couldn’t bear to live in the same house where her husband passed away. Everything happened too fast, leaving me grappling with an unprocessed loss.

With the help of Doctor Walsh, I could untangle the thoughts in my brain and realize that the dark thoughts were not my fault. Through a combination of antidepressants and a low dose of anti-anxiety medication, I eventually found stability. However, given the current circumstances, he may prescribe something stronger.

I can only reveal so much about what’s truly going on. But I tell him about the harassment at work, being followed home, and my boss’s murder. Then I change the subject to Luke, and how he’s been a bright spot in my otherwise lonely life. Doctor Walsh nods along, taking notes, and as predicted, he increases my doses and sends me on my way.

After picking up my prescriptions at the pharmacy, I’m about to cross the parking lot when Luke pulls up in his car in front of me.

He rolls down his window and asks with a flirtatious wink, “Need a ride?”

Despite the exhaustion weighing me down, I break out into a wide grin. “Definitely.”

The drive back to my house unexpectedly calms me. When we reach the porch, I can’t help but yawn. Luke chuckles as I unlock the door and invite him inside. I hang up my coat on the hook and kick off my shoes to dry on the mat, and he does the same, deftly balancing the tray of food he prepared specially for me.

“Sorry I couldn’t give you a ride to your appointment,” he apologizes. “I was running late today because the interview went on a bit too long. But I made sure to whip you up something good.”

I playfully rub my stomach. “Oh, I could definitely use something good right about now.”

His eyes smolder at the implication as he leans closer, planting a kiss on my lips. “I need to warm this up first,” he says, patting my back and urging me upstairs. “Wait for me, okay?”

“Always,” I say almost breathlessly.

I climb the stairs in a heated daze and enter my room, crawling into bed and snuggling under the blanket. I swear I only close my eyes for a moment before I feel a dip in the mattress beside me. Luke slides under the covers and folds his arm over me protectively.

“Food’s ready,” he murmurs, pushing a strand of hair away from my face.

I pout, content to stay like this forever. But I manage to eat the meal before surrendering to sleep in his arms.

“Sweet dreams,” he says, tucking me in.

Sweet dreams, Bunny.

My eyes shoot open, but Luke is already long gone.

“Just my imagination,” I whisper, falling back asleep.

---