Page 11 of Mad Love

“Bored,” I muttered. I glanced around the room with its white walls, white tiled floor, and utilitarian sink and toilet. Other than the bed—which had no sheets because I was a suicide risk—there was nothing for me to look at. At least someone had turned up the thermostat. I’d spent the first night shivering hard enough that my teeth clacked together. It was still colder than I would’ve liked, though.

“The purpose of this last week was to acclimate you to your new medication regimen. How are you feeling? Any problems?” She tilted her head, waiting for my answer.

I shrugged. “I mean, I guess I feel more tired than usual.” My brain felt foggy, but I was praying that it had more to do with a lack of stimulation than whatever they were pumping into my system.

“A normal side effect,” she assured me. “Any thoughts of harming yourself or others?”

“I’m not suicidal,” I blurted out.

Her brows lifted.

My hands balled into fists on my lap, and I forced myself to relax when her gaze lowered to them. “It’s kind of cold in here at night. Can I at least get a blanket?”

“Actually,” she began with a smile, “I think we can do better than that. You’ll be moving to a new room shortly.”

My spine stiffened. “Where am I going?”

“The level is an intake floor we use to get patients used to their new routine. You’ve adapted well to the medicine, and aside from your initial outburst and refusal to take your meds, I see no reason you can’t be moved to a more permanent room.” She smiled at me, her expression expecting a reaction.

“Thank you,” I finally murmured, gritting out what I knew she wanted to hear.

Her shoulders relaxed as though I’d uttered the magic words. “We’ll be moving you to the fifth floor—”

“I’m staying here?” I interrupted, panic settling around my heart. I’d hoped moving meant I’d have a shot at breaking out.

Her brow furrowed. “Of course. Highwater is an institution designed to cater to all sorts of challenged young adults. You’ll start classes on Monday with some of the other students, along with individual study.”

“I’m not… When can I go home?” I hated way my voice wobbled when I asked her.

“Maddie,” she said slowly, “you won’t be going home. Not anytime soon. Your father—”

I flinched at the mention of that motherfucker.

“—is very concerned about your mental well-being, as well as your physical recovery.”

Oh, that was rich, coming from the man who had single handedly dropped the equivalent of an atom bomb on my life.

“In addition to the medication and classes, we’ll have regular counseling sessions. It’s my deepest hope that we’ll be able to get to the root of your issues and help you go on to live a productive, healthy life.”

I swallowed around a ball of silent fury. “When can I see my friends?”

Dr. Browne’s forehead creased in concern. “By friends, do you mean Ryan Cain? Rebecca Whittier? Lincoln—”

“Yes,” I cut her off. “My friends.”

Sighing, she leaned back a bit in her seat and regarded me. “Madelaine—”

I sucked in a sharp breath through my teeth.

“I apologize, Maddie,” she amended. “Your father and I believe that with time and space, you’ll realize the people you viewed as friends didn’t have your best interests at heart.”

I glared at her. “And my marriage to Ryan? Like it or not, Gary has to accept that he’s my husband.”

She inclined her head slightly. “Technically, yes, you are currently married to Mr. Cain.”

Everything in me went ice cold.

Currently.

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