Page 46 of Actions and Reactions
I don’t know exactly why, but those are the words that break something open inside me.
“I did it tomyself.” I practically spit out the words. “How can I be traumatized over something that was my own damn fault?”
“Honey.” Mom rises and half sits next to me. Her arms are as warm and welcoming as always, and I don’t hesitate for even a second to bury my face in her neck. “The accident isn’t what caused all this. It’s the consequences of the accident that were your loss.”
“I didn’t ask you about your life before the accident last night because I didn’t want to worsen the situation.” I snap my head to the doctor and she holds up her palms. It reminds me of what Vinny did yesterday, but I push that away. “And you can tell me if I’m wrong, but from what they told me, you believed your whole life you’d be a professional hockey player, so you didn’t think you could be anything else when you lost it.”
“But I have another career, a successful one.”
Part of me doesn’t understand why I’m still arguing with them, they obviously won’t change their minds, but the other part of me... yeah, that’s beyond uncomfortable.
“You’re a resilient man, Silas, and you have a supportive family who loves you.” Does she think that means I can be traumatized by the smallest thing? Because that’s not right, not at all. “My recommendation right now is that you admit yourself to a mental health facility?—”
“You want me to go to a nut house because I can’t play hockey?” I demand, and honestly maybe she’s the one who needs therapy.
A fierce kind of hardness transforms her eyes into gray stone then.
“It isnota nut house, and I think you need such an intense course of action because you’ve proven you’re a danger to yourself, and if you don’t get the help you need, you could become a danger to others, especially considering you’re in such close proximity to people who have the very thing you lost and can never have.”
That’s one way to shut me up.
Mom defuses the tension by asking Dr. Denise for recommendations of the kind of facility she’s talking about.
I stare at the wall until she’s gone.
“There’s one that’s close to where Lottie lives in Chicago,” Mom says suddenly, and I see she has a bunch of pamphlets.
“I’m not going.” I push the damn buttons of the bed as hard as I can until I’m sitting straight and look each of them in the eyes. “I’m fine, and I have to get back to work.”And I have to forget every single word Dr. Denise just said.
“You’renotfine,” Dad explodes. He stalks over to me and leans in close. “You punched a fucking wall and broke seven bones because Vinny was latefor practice.” The thundering shout does bring home the point, and I can actively feel myself start to shake. “For fucking practice, Silas. He was calling his cousin because he was worried about him, and was only late by three fucking minutes. Youare the fucking opposite of fine, and you’re going to this facility.”
I swear I have something to say to that, but nothing comes out when I open my mouth.
How can I refute anything he just said?
Those . . . are the cold hard facts.
12
Silas
Staying stubbornlysilent to get your way really does only work for kids.
That’s proven to me quickly when my parents start making arrangements to get me admitted into thatmental health centerin fucking Illinois, since that means we’ll be close to my sister, and they haven’t asked me for my opinion on a single thing. Not the travel arrangements, not whether I want them there, nothing.
The thing is, though, I haven’t protested.
I’m an adult.
They can’t actually have me admitted anywhere without a court issued mandate, or a signed paper by a psychiatrist that says I’m unable or unfit to make decisions for myself. They’d never ask for those things either, so I know that if I do protest enough, they won’t kidnap me or anything.
And yet . . .
“Knock, knock.” The words are accompanied by actual knocks, and I’d roll my eyes at literally anyone else doing it, but I know that voice, and Gab isn’t only my boss but also someone I admire.
“Come in,” I call out, and I realize my throat is scratchy. I really have barely talked in a whole damn day. Mom and Dad stand to greet Gab and I take advantage of the minute to prepare myself.
I’m definitely unprepared for Gab to smile at me like nothing’s wrong, though. She leans her elbows on the table hovering over my feet and looks right at me. She’s not one to avoid anything.
