Page 3 of The Oath We Give

Clear as possible, no room for question, no.

“Silas.” Her eyebrows raise to her hairline in surprise. “I can provide extensive medical proof and data I’ve gathered over your stay here. I am your proof of this false diagnosis.”

An itch builds in my throat, scratching and clawing at the flesh in my mouth. Cotton is lodged deep in my airway, and my hands in front of me weave together. Out of habit, I tap my thumbs.

I shake my head. “I don’t want to tell them. Not yet. I’m not—” I furrow my eyebrows, rolling my lips together. “Doctor-patient confidentiality. I’m not telling anyone, and neither are you.”

Jennifer watches me silently, analyzing every little movement and facial expression, I’m sure. Regardless of what her degree tells her about my behavior, I won’t change my mind.

She knows that.

“You and your family were taken advantage of. You all trusted a professional to prioritize your health, and he abused you all in your weakest state. It’s malpractice at the very least. There is no apology to mend what he did. But today, you can work on healing. You, your parents, your friends.”

“I still have depression,” I point out, leaning back into the leather chair, placing my hands behind my head to stare at the ceiling. “Chronically fucking sad. I’m not totally cured and healthy, Tako.”

Her sigh of annoyance at my stubbornness makes my lips twitch. It took an entire month before I spoke to her, and even then, it took a while for me to give her more than one-word answers. She knows if I don’t want to do something, I won’t.

It has never stopped her from trying though, and I’ve always admired that about her. One strong-willed, tough-ass lady.

“Mental health is a tricky thing. A lifelong sentence of questions with few answers and a lot of lonely moments. You’re allowed to have hope,” she tells me. “You’re allowed to start fresh and head in a new direction, Silas.”

My teeth sink into my tongue, and I grind my molars, the muscle in my jaw jumping. I burn a hole through the gunmetal-gray ceiling with my eyes.

“They won’t believe me, and I don’t blame them,” I say out loud, even though it was an inside thought.

Hope.

All the times I tried to tell my parents with the hope they’d believe me. Until one day, I gave up.

Those moments I wanted to tell the guys with the hope they’d listen, but something has always stopped me.

Feeling hope for the first time when I met Rosemary, knowing I had one person on this fucking Earth that knew the truth, and now what do I have left of that hope?

I have only the pain of losing her.

Fuck hope, because it fucked me a long time ago.

“If you never give them the chance, they have no opportunity to surprise you.”

I nod, simply because there is no point in arguing with her. She wouldn’t understand. There isn’t a degree she could receive that would help her comprehend something I learned at a very young age.

It has always been better to remain quiet than risk speaking words no one believes.

Book made for [email protected]

ONE

DIM STARS

CORALINE

Eight Months of Freedom

November

The pieceof paper in my hand is worn.

Crinkled from being shoved deep into a pair of burnt-orange Vans that sit in the back of my closet. I’m surprised it’s held the white color it had when it was originally given to me.

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