Page 95 of Heart Sick

She offers me a folder. No guessing what’s inside.

I sit on the floor cross-legged, placing the folder in my lap. I don’t hesitate and open it. What I read tears my heart into two because it’s all here in black and white. My name is Luna Huxley and Joy McNelly is, in fact, my best friend, the best friend who committed me after I lost my mind and tried to kill myself.

The doctors have diagnosed me as a paranoid schizophrenic, and to cope with the loss of Jack, I fabricated this entire scenario in my head that I was Jack’s mother. They concluded to deal with what I did, I believed the world I created in my head was real.

I became Joy, in a sense. That the grief I felt was because Jack was my son, not my lover, the lover who I killed.

The white noise is soon replaced with one single word. A name.

“Misha.”

Recognition passes over Dutch. He’s heard me say this name before.

“That’s what you called Jack,” Dr. Norton explains calmly. “The doctors believe it was easier for you to disassociate yourself with what happened. Misha was a famous violinist you loved to listen to.”

“No,” I cry, shaking my head, refusing to believe her.

But the paperwork in front of me proves otherwise. My file confirms everything Dr. Norton and Dutch has said.

“Why can’t I remember?”

“The mind can play tricks on us, Luna. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. I just want to help.”

Dr. Norton appears genuine, but how can I accept this as truth?

“The world you’ve created in your head has helped you cope with your loss. It’s a lot nicer in there than it is out here. No one can blame you for wanting to believe in that world. But it’s time you joined us here, in the real world. Don’t you want that? Don’t you want to get better?”

I don’t know what I want.

I think about all the things Dutch told me and I hate that it coincides with what’s in this file. Closing my eyes, I try and remember. I wade through the heaviness and try to remember the man whose eyes haunt me in every possible way.

I focus on him and the way his heart has always sung to me. I’m met with a solid wall, like my mind refuses for me to penetrate to the other side. But I persevere and when I’m blinded by a bright light, I get lost in the memories which I wish would remain forgotten.

I hear David Bowie. I smell the unmistakable scent of marijuana. I see Jack behind the wheel. I see him because I’m there.

“No!” I scream, covering my ears to block out the horrible sounds.

The car crashing. Jack’s labored breaths.

This is my fault. I know I was the cause of his death. I can feel it spread like wildfire through every inch of my body.

It’s true. All of this is true.

No wonder I can’t remember. Who the fuck would want to remember this?

“It’s true?” I say to Dutch. “Your heart…hisheart, it’s true, isn’t it?”

I know it sounds crazy, but it makes sense to Dutch and me. This entire time, Dutch felt like his heart was leading him toward the answers he so desperately needed, but now that we’ve got them, I wonder if his heart has confirmed what we know to be true.

“Luna—”

“Just answer the fucking question!” I exclaim because I need to hear it. I need him to say the word which will seal my fate forever.

“Yes.”

There’s no closure. I don’t feel like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders.

All I feel is empty.

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