Page 623 of The Tempted

Chapter Thirty-two

Reina called her shrink and asked for an emergency house call—all I kept thinking was my father told me I wasn’t crazy and I shouldn’t let anyone make me think I was.

What a joke.

It doesn’t get crazier than a house call and a tranquilizer.

I suppose I should be thankful for the reprieve because without the sedative I would still be reeling—picturing Blackie’s face as he was arrested, recalling the blood on his hands.

Or fighting with my father to do something, anything, just make it right. Blackie didn’t deserve to rot in a jail cell over me but for some reason my father is dismissing me and insisting on taking care of it his way

It’s my word that will free Blackie.

I’m the one who was attacked so why am I sitting here with Dr. Spiegel going over my moods, behaviors and introducing her to my fucking maker.

“You seem distracted,” she commented.

“I’m sorry I was nearly raped less than twenty-four hours ago and watched the man I love get arrested. Oh, and let’s not forget I’m crazy,” I said sarcastically.

“You’re not crazy, Lacey,” she said softly.

“Right, says you,” I crossed my arms and peered at her. “What else do you need to know? I think I laid it all out there for you, no? My father was diagnosed when I was five with bipolar disorder. I watched my little brother get killed and was never the same after that. I have the ability to be happy until my mind casts a shadow of doubt and I come crashing down. I feel like I’m fighting a losing battle and I’m exhausted all the time. Sometimes I’ve gotten so deep in my mind that I have even contemplated killing myself because I can’t bear it any longer. I’m ashamed that I’m not normal and I don’t want to disappoint my parents because I’m all they have left. So doc, tell me, are you sure I’m not crazy? Not even a little?”

“Bipolar disorder can be treated, ignoring it is the problem, and you’d be surprised by how many people are just like you,” she affirmed. “We will make it manageable Lacey but you’ve had an emotional few days. Tomorrow, I want you to come into the office and we will do a full work up so we can start treatment. I’d like to talk about what goes on when your ‘maker’ calls to you,” she continued, using her fingers as quotes when she mentioned my maker.

I heard the front door slam shut, and I glanced over her shoulder, trying to get a look at who had walked in but I couldn’t see shit. I turned my eyes back to Dr. Spiegel.

“Are we done for today?”

“That depends on you,” she replied, cocking her head to the side to study me like I was a science experiment or something.

“I’m all talked out, Doc,” I said as I continued to divert my eyes towards the hallway and struggle to listen to the voices talking in hushed tones.

“And you’ll meet me at my office tomorrow?” she stressed.

Damn, how did my father do this?

He has no patience.

Like none.

It was almost comical imagining him sitting in a chair, in front of a shrink firing questions at him. I bet he motherfucked a lot during his sessions.

“I’ll be there,” I promised, rising from my chair. “I appreciate you coming to see me,” I added.

I don’t know if I should be grateful that my family had shrinks on call like this or absolutely terrified that we were all fucked in the head. I’m going to go with grateful since I didn’t feel like I was ripping apart at the seams anymore. I was relatively calm, albeit a medicated calm, but whatever works right?

I left Dr. Spiegel in the living room and followed my father’s voice towards the kitchen. I stole a peek and spotted my father hunched over, his hands braced against the edge of the counter as he spoke.

“Just lay it on me,” he demanded.

I looked to Riggs, watching as he pulled off his hat and ran his hands over his hair roughly.

“I went to the hospital like you told me to and checked on the fucking kid,” Riggs hissed.

“Please, tell me the little shit’s alive,” my father interrupted.

“Barely, he’s on life support,” Riggs muttered. “You might want to sit down for this one,” he suggested.

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