Page 104 of Fallen Stars

But it will be worse without Oliver.

“Need to see him,” I mutter into my pillow.

A gentle knock sounds on my open door—another thing I’m annoyed by; the lack of privacy—and my body wilts. Without peering over my shoulder, I know it’s Mom. Were it my father, the rap of his knuckles would’ve rattled the wood. My name would’ve immediately followed in his authoritative baritone.

Although my father has been… compassionate since my return, it’d take a hell of a lot more to change Jefferson Thornhill-West. Had it been my mom that was taken, he would have set the world on fire to get her back. He would have complied with any demands.

Mom rounds the end of my bed. “How are you, darling?”

Ugh.

Sick and fucking tired of being asked how I am,is what I want to tell her.

Instead, I bite my tongue, take a deep breath like Dr. Hampton instructed me to do in these moments, then give my mom a gentle smile I don’t feel whatsoever.

“Fine.”

Taking a seat near my feet, she rests a hand on my leg.

I flinch.

Her mouth turns down at the corners as she puts her hand in her lap. “Sorry.”

I say nothing.

It isn’t her fault that touching happens on my terms now. Physical contact must be of my volition.

“Dinner will be ready in ten minutes.” She wrings her hands. “It’d be nice if we could all sit together.”

Since returning home, I’ve only left my room for appointments and to sit in the garden sporadically. Dr. Hampton said it was better for my recovery if I was in a familiar place instead of a sterile environment. So last week’s therapy sessions and physician follow-ups, the doctors visited the West estate.

During my seventh session with Dr. Hampton—she came to the house two to three times a day, depending on my headspace—I told her the house felt like another prison. I never left my room—not for meals, not to speak with anyone, not to roam the estate. Every time I did, my parents or brother or one of the house staff fawned over me like a wounded creature. They always asked the same monotonous questions. They treated me with unwelcome fragility.

I may have gone through the worst fucking experience of my life, but I am not some brittle, helpless lamb. I don’t need or want people to treat me as though I’ll break at any moment. And I sure as fuck don’t want their pity or uncertainty.

Hell might not have shattered me, but my family may soon.

An inkling of relief coursed through my veins when Dr. Hampton switched all my future appointments to her office. Like all things in my life right now, there’s a downside. Until she gives the all clear, I’m not allowed to drive. Something about possible triggers and flashbacks while I’m behind the wheel.

Whatever.

At least our sessions give me purpose. Something to look forward to. For a few hours each day, I get to leave the house and exist outside the lifeless walls of the West estate.

The biggest, most pathetic highlight of my day.

My days wouldn’t be so treacherous if I had entertainment. Some form of stimulation. Something other than the bare walls and bland colors in my old bedroom. I have nothing. No pictures or books. No television, video games or computer. No phone,dangerousobjects, or access to anyone outside the house. Not without asking my parents.

Prisoner.

I am slowly suffocating in this place.

I need to get out.

Blinking out of my reverie, I glance up at my mother. Hope glints in her eyes as she waits for me to answer.

The last place I want to be is at the dinner table with my family as they blather on about insignificant things. But if I want out of this house anytime soon, I need toshow signs of improvement.

“I’ll come down in a moment,” I say after far too long. As the words leave my lips, a knot forms in my belly.

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