Page 5 of Starve
I perk up, brows raised. “Really?”
“Sure,” she deadpans, the sarcasm winning out over professionalism. “And then I’ll get a hold of a judge, have your rights stripped, and you’ll end up in Bluebone either way. So it’s your choice on whether you want this to take two hours or four. If I were you, I’d rather get there sooner so you don’t miss dinner.”
“Oh.” I settle back against the bed, rolling my eyes up to the ceiling. “You’re right, obviously.” When I flex my fingers, my palm twinges. “Wouldn’t want to miss dinner in the haunted, half-abandoned, crumbling asylum in the mountains. Silly me.”
My mom seems surprised when she’s informed I can’t drive myself, and looks at me like I’m the problem, as if I’m causing the medical system to do more work than necessary. As if Iwantto ride in an ambulance up a winding mountain, to a mental hospital with more horror stories than any house in Texas full of dead bodies.
But I can sense the vibes change in the room when the nurse leaves, and my mom glances at her phone more than usual, tipping me off about what’s wrong.
She wants to leave. Because of my little incident, her mandated parental time is long over, and her internal alarm is going off for her to get back to the life she prefers living. The one where I’m a phone call and a hundred miles away, instead of in her face and taking up her time.
“I’m fine, mom.” The well-rehearsed words are out of my mouth before I can stop myself, followed by the usual pang of disappointment that twists in my chest. She’s always been this way, so I can’t exactly be surprised. “You can go home.” I give her a wan, forced smile, which she returns too quickly, showing me she was just waiting for this; waiting for me to release her from motherly duties.
“I can stay.” But there’s no conviction in my mom’s words. And when she pushes her dark brown hair back behind her ear, it occurs to me, not for the first time, how different we look. I can’t help but wonder if she’d care more if she saw some of herself in me.
But it’s twenty-three years too late for that, so I file the thought away and force myself not to look needy and scared.
Which is hard, since I’m both of those things right now. Being thrown into a mental hospital for a mandatory seventy-two hour psych hold really wasn’t on my schedule or my bucket list. Especially Bluebone fucking Ridge asylum.
My brain goes through options, frantic in the last few minutes of relative freedom that I have.Relative,because I was already informed there’s a security guard outside, just in case I do something stupid like try to run the fuck away like a psycho.
Which, honestly, is pretty tempting.
“I can stay,” Mom says again, like I hadn’t heard her the first time. But there’s even less conviction, if that’s possible, and everything in her words hints that she’d really rather not. “I can’t really do anything. But I can stay until the EMTs get here to transport you?—”
“You’re fine.” Cutting her off before she can turn the conversation into the suffering Olympics. I don’t need to hear about how she’s been in worse situations with less support, or how she never would’ve expected anyone to hold her hand. I know this song and dance, and I’m not interested in repeating it today. “It’s okay, Mom.” I give her a reassuring smile, like she’s the one going through a hard time instead of just the one mildly inconvenienced after showing up at my house uninvited and letting her step-kids shove me to the ground.
In a way, this is sort of her fault. God forbid she fuckingcalls mebefore busting into my life.
I miss her next words, but I blink when she gets to her feet with her purse slung over her shoulder. She walks forward and hugs me awkwardly, radiating discomfort at the situation. “Call me if you need anything, okay? I can stay. I could get Nathaniel to take the kids?—”
“Nah, it’s all good, Mom.” I try not to sigh the words, but fail miserably. “It’s…fine. It’s always fine.”
She gives me a look.Thelook, if I’m being honest, and I know my words have had the effect they always do. They chase her away, sending her out the door with one last well-wishing statement coming from her mouth.
“Take care of yourself, Fern. Call me if you need anything.” Then she’s gone, just like always. Except this time she’s leaving me in a hospital bed, alone, as I wait for EMTs to take me to a probably haunted asylum.
But then again, I can’t really be surprised.
Things never change with my mom.
Chapter 3
The momentthe ambulance makes its wobbling way into the main parking lot of Bluebone Ridge, I’m ready to commit a war crime to escape. Never before have I ever considered myself someone who gets carsick, but then again, I’ve never ridden in the back of an ambulance up winding mountain roads so narrow that I was sure on no less than eighteen occasions we were going to go plummeting over the cliff.
And judging by the look on the female paramedic’s face who sits beside me on the seat, I’m not the only one; which brings me at least a little comfort. She takes deep, shuddering breaths as I watch with my legs curled up under me on the stupid stretcher I was wheeled out on.
Stupidly.
All of this is a joke, in my opinion. No matter how much I tried to describe that I’d dissociated—that it’s something I do sometimes—the nurses just looked at me as if I were about to start shrieking like a banshee and running into walls. The doctor, of course, had been exempt from my pleas to go back home, seeing as he only met with me over an iPad with a shitty connection.
“You good?” I ask the paramedic, who looks at me with what I’m sure she’s hoping is a reassuring glance. “Is it your first time to the cursed asylum on the mountain?” Given that she’s from the area too, I have no doubt she knows the stories of this place.
“Unfortunately not,” she replies with a sigh. She sits up straight, gulping in deep breaths. “But the drive is awful every time. I get sick on the mountain roads.”
I give her a few seconds, and then say in my most reasonable tone, “Tell you what. We could just turn around and go back now. I’ll hold your hand on the way down, and we’ll count the near-falls together. Seems like company would make the drive better, you know?”
My not-so-subtle bid for freedom gets a chuckle out of her, and the next smile she gives me is more genuine than her earlier glance. “Would if I could, hon,” she promises. “But that would break a couple of laws, and I like my job. Look, it won't be that bad, okay? Most likely, they’ll evaluate you and you’ll be home within three days. I won’t be your ride then; they have driver services for that. But seventy-two hours and you’re home.”
