Page 15 of Fractured

In just a handful of hours, I’d see Harper, and she’d be able to help me forget, just like she always did. I shook the tightness out of my fingers, then carefully put my cello away. Afterward, I straightened up the living room and picked up my phone and keys.

“Holy shit,” I breathed.

Four hours, I had played, and it felt like minutes. Seconds or minutes, rather than hours. But part of me wasn’t surprised. I’d taken so well to playing music because it was a much needed way to shut my brain off and only focus on the task at hand.

I’d tried other things, like cooking and crafting, but bad thoughts were still able to weasel their way in when I least expected it. Nothing was as effective or enjoyable as music.

There really wasn’t a lot of time left if I went to see Lauren now. Randolf’s was completely off of the table for today. I wouldn’t be able to go there and get ready to meet Harper.

In my car, I turned on the stereo, playing upbeat music I could sing along to in an attempt to dispel any lingering darkness.

I felt great now. Almost back to a hundred percent, and I sent a silent prayer up to no one, thanking the stars I’d found music. I almost bartered with the imaginary gods I didn’t believe in to keep me sane. Not to let me fall down the path that scared me the most.

But that would make me a hypocrite after the conversation I’d had with Ambrose.

One parking spot was open at Bright Path, and I snatched it right up. I had no idea why they were so busy today in particular. Visiting hours were every weekday, from nine to eleven am, then two to six in the afternoon. Most of the patients were criminals who had been sent here due to insanity, so it was safe to assume they didn’t have a lot of people beating down the doors to see them. But the hospital saw visits from loved ones as a positive, so they had a fairly lax visitation policy.

Yay for me. Because I needed it.

“Hey!” Sophia greeted me at the desk with a bright and cheery smile.

She worked in a psych hospital for people who were certifiably insane and most had random, troubling bursts of violence. How was she able to smile so easily?

“Hi.” I tried to return her enthusiasm, but it wasn’t there. If she thought anything was off, she didn’t show it.

“Today’s a good day. They needed help during lunch, and she was coherent and calm. Perfect day for a mother daughter visit.” She winked like that would make my day.

Did it?

Yes, but not for the reason sweet Sophia was thinking.

“That’s fantastic.” I signed myself in and took the visitor’s badge.

“Rhett’s off today, so Hayden will take you back.”

“Thanks.” I stepped over to the waiting area by the double doors like I’d done a thousand times. The walls seemed taller today, as if they towered over me a bit more than they had in the past. I knew it was because I’d felt off lately, but I was fine.

And it was all in my head. A product of my phobia. I smiled morbidly to myself.

If only Atticus were here for this revelation. Harper had never diagnosed it, but it didn’t take a genius to know it was the driving force of all my major life decisions and most of the little ones. That was why I’d freaked out on Drake.

The bell dinged over the doors as they swung open, revealing a young man I’d never seen before. He had to be a few years younger than my twenty-five years, with a baby face and too much pep in his step.

What would make someone so young and full of life want to work here?

I didn’t ask, and he didn’t talk, just smiling politely and waving me through. Rhett would probably always be my favorite orderly, but this man, with his lack of chattiness, was a close second.

“She’s in the commons.” He pointed to a chair by the window, overlooking the circular yard. Bright flowers lined the edges of the grass all the way around, giving the courtyard a pleasant, happy appearance, as if it could make up for the evilness that prowled its paths.

Maybe not all the patients had evil inside them, but in my experience, mental illness killed the good in some. Obliterated their conscience so much, the few tatters that remained were useless against their base urges.

And that was a terrible thing.

The chair was an old-fashioned high-back that had probably been built sometime in the early nineteen-hundreds, with bright, peacock blue embroidery over the creamy fabric. Lauren had always appreciated the pretty things. It was what she’d said she saw in my father.

“Hi, Lauren.” I spoke quietly so I didn’t startle her or any of the other patients.

She sighed, but didn’t lift her gaze. Her face was gaunt, as if she’d lost weight since the last time I’d seen her. Small blue veins were slightly raised in her hands and arms, as if she was a little dehydrated. That was the thing about this hospital. They might force her to take her medicine, rightly so, but they didn’t force them to eat or drink. Their basic survival was up to them.

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