Page 4 of A Hint of Delirium

She watched me carefully but didn’t say a word; she just waited for me to continue.

“The man tried to pay with leaves; I felt them in my hand! It wasreal!” I was wide eyed and indignant, leaning forward on the table. “You have to believe me, Ma. I know I’m not crazy,” I whispered the last part.

Her face fell and she reached for my hands. “Baby, you’re not crazy. How many times have I told you to stop saying that?”

“Well, it’s how I feel sometimes.”

She sighed. “Have you been taking your medication?”

I snatched my hands away from her. “Yes, I have!” I answered indignantly. “But they don’t work. I just—” I wanted to repeat what I used to claim many years ago, that what I saw wasn’t in my head, that maybe, just maybe, what I saw was real. But past experience showed that would only lead to another conversation I wasn’t ready to have with her this early in the morning.

“You just what, Vi?”

I looked down at my lap. “Nothing.” I shook my head. “I don’t think the meds are working.”

She tapped her fingers on the rim of her coffee mug and then stood. “Which is why I made you an appointment with your psychiatrist for this afternoon.”

I shot up from my chair. “But—”

My mother gave me a stern look that shut me up quickly.

“Fine …” I grumbled.

She pulled me into her arms and kissed my forehead. “I love you, Vi. I just want what’s best for you.”

* * *

The room smelledlike vanilla candles, but the smell was so pervasive it made the room seem almost muggy. Dust motes swirled through the air as afternoon sun filtered into the small waiting room of my doctor’s office in Astoria, Queens. The waiting room was empty except for me, which made me even more anxious.

It was never fun seeing the shrink, especially when I was confronted by the creatures only I could see. When the door to her office opened, out walked her client with one of those creatures clouding over him like a black ghost. It had glowing red eyes, and I could have sworn it growled as it sucked something out of the guy. I startled when the patient tried to shoo the beast away. Could he see it? Or was he merely brushing away dust bunnies? This placewasdusty.

“Ms. De La Rosa?” Doctor Shankar called from the doorway of her office. My attention snapped away from the man and turned to the doc, my hand trembling and a bead of sweat forming on the side of my face. I stood and followed Dr. S into her office and she shut the door behind us, cutting me off from the sight of the creature. “I spoke to your mother this morning.”

I took a seat in a chair beside her desk. “I’m sure you did, and I’m sure she had a lot to say,” I mumbled, trying to get my breathing under control from the shock I’d just witnessed.

Dr. S took a seat across from me, her notepad and pen already there waiting for her. She was a middle-aged woman of Indian descent, and she’d been my psychiatrist for the last five years. I had no complaints; she was the nicest one I’d had, and certainly the most understanding. It was probably why she’d lasted this long.

“Yes, your mother told me what happened last night, but I want to hear it from you.”

With a big exhale, I leaned back in my armchair and got comfortable as I regaled her with the whole story of what happened at The Black Keys. What I hadn’t mentioned to her or my mom was how the strange man followed me home. I didn’t know why I kept that part a secret—maybe because I was scared they wouldn’t believe me—but I kept quiet on that front. I didn’t know what he wanted.

After tossing and turning all night and replaying the events in my head over and over, I came to the realization that he probably hadn’t planned to attack me; he just wanted to talk. Even so, he shouldn’t have followed me all the way home that late at night. I mean, the guy crossed over to a different borough. That was creepy as hell!

“Do you believe what you saw was real?” Dr. S asked. I knew it was a trick question. That was how she got me every time.

I swallowed loudly and looked her straight in the eyes. “I don’t think so,” I lied. She watched me, trying to catch the lie, but I didn’t tear my gaze away.

“Violet, I want you to try weekly therapy.”

She didn’t believe me.

“I’ll also readjust your antipsychotics and we’ll see how they work in a couple of weeks.” When Dr. S started scribbling on her prescription pad, I stopped listening.

It was no use. I was just plain crazy.

3

ANSEL

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