Chapter Eighty Three

Chapter 83
Jay's words hung in the air like a thunderclap, each syllable cutting through the tension that had already wrapped tightly around the room.
"A mental facility?" Marcus repeated, his tone low, dangerous.
Jay didn’t flinch, though he felt the full weight of Marcus’s fury bearing down on him. He tightened his grip on the back of the chair he stood behind, forcing himself to meet Marcus’s gaze.
"She’s not safe, Marcus," Jay said, his voice steadier than he felt. "Not for herself. Not for us."
Across the room, Ava gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Jay... you can’t mean that."
“I thought you had gone to bed,” Jay said.
Ava rolled her eyes, “I couldn’t sleep but that’s not the point. You want to send our sister to a mental facility?”
"Do you think I want this?" Jay shot back, his voice rising. He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. "You think this is easy for me? She’s... she’s everything to me. She’s my love But this? This isn’t her anymore. A few more episodes and we could lose her forever."
"How dare you," Ava snapped, stepping closer, her face flushed with anger. "Jem’s been through hell because of us—because of this family, this life—and now you want to throw her away?"
“I am not throwing her away, don’t you see that?”
"Enough!" Marcus roared, his voice cutting through the argument like a knife. He pushed off the desk he had been leaning against and rounded on Jay, his movements sharp, predatory.
"You’ve lost your damn mind," Marcus growled. "We don’t abandon family, Jay. It’s the number one mafia rule. We don’t send them to strangers who’ll drug them up and leave them to rot in some padded room."
“That is not what we are doing. We are helping her. I read somewhere that psychoanalysis might help. At least even if Jemma doesn’t completely go away, Jemima would have full control.”
“We are not taking my sister, my twin to some fucked up mental facility Jay.”
Jay’s chest heaved with the effort to keep his anger in check. "And what happens if she hurts someone, Marcus? Huh? What happens when she doesn’t come back from this?"
"She will come back!" Marcus shouted, slamming his fist on the desk. The sound made everyone jump, but Jay stood his ground.
"How do you know that?" Jay challenged. "Tell me, Marcus, because I don’t see the Jemima we know anymore. I see... I see someone else."
The room fell silent. Even Ava had no retort, her expression crumbling into uncertainty.
It was Vanessa who finally broke the silence, her voice soft but firm. "She’s still in there."
All eyes turned to her, the usually quiet woman standing straighter than usual, her hands clasped tightly in front of her.
“And how did you get in here?” Marcus inquired, surprised that he was completely oblivious to her entrance.
“Y’all are not exactly quiet,” she shrugged.
"I’ve seen it," Vanessa continued, her gaze flicking to Marcus before settling on Jay. "In the moments when she’s herself, she’s fighting. She’s trying to hold on."
"And what if she loses?" Jay asked, his voice cracking slightly. He looked away, unable to meet Vanessa’s gaze. "What if we lose her for good?"
"Then we fight harder," Marcus said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
“Fight harder? What exactly are we fighting? Jemma was borne out of a trauma Jemima couldn’t handle.”
Marcus opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, a sharp scream echoed from upstairs.
Jay’s blood ran cold as he bolted for the staircase, Marcus hot on his heels. The others followed, their collective fear a palpable force as they ascended the stairs and rushed toward Jemima’s room.
They found her curled up on the floor, her hands clutching at her head as she rocked back and forth. Her breathing was ragged, her face pale and damp with sweat.
"Jem!" Ava cried, rushing to her side.
Jemima flinched at the sound of her name, her eyes snapping open. But when she looked up, it wasn’t with the warmth they knew. Her gaze was cold, calculating, and her lips curled into a smirk that didn’t belong to her.
"You’re all so predictable," she said, her voice dripping with disdain.
"Jem?" Ava asked hesitantly, her hands hovering just above Jemima’s shoulders.
"Not Jem," came the reply, sharp and dismissive.
Jay’s heart sank. He’d seen glimpses of this before—the way her posture would change, the way her voice would harden—but never this complete.
Marcus stepped forward, his jaw tight. "Who am I talking to?"
The smirk widened, and she tilted her head as if considering the question. "Let’s just say I’m the part of her you’ve all ignored for far too long."
"Enough of this," Marcus growled, moving closer, but Jem—or whoever she had become—sprang to her feet with startling agility.
"Stay back!" she hissed, her eyes wild.
"Jem, please," Jay said, his voice breaking. "We’re trying to help you."
"Help me?" she repeated, laughing bitterly. "You’re the reason I’m like this! All of you, with your lies and your secrets and your games!"
The room seemed to grow colder as her voice rose, and for a moment, no one dared to move.
"You don’t care about me," she continued, her tone venomous. "You never have. I’m just another pawn in your little war."
"That’s not true," Ava said, tears streaming down her face. "You’re my sister, Jem. I love you."
Jemima’s expression faltered for a brief moment, a flicker of confusion crossing her face. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by a look of defiance.
"Love me?" she spat. "You don’t even know me. Why didn’t you speak up when dad molested me? You act all surprised but why did you dismiss me when I told you about Seth?”
“And you!” She turned to Marcus, “you left for no reason! You left me. You abandoned me. Me! I’m supposed to be your twin. You never gave your reason for leaving.”
Jemma stopped talking and her breath became erratic. Her pain was raw. Tears streamed down her cheeks like a faucet and breathing was hard for her- she was having a panic attack.
It took hours to calm her down, and even then, it was clear she wasn’t fully present. Jemima—or whatever part of her had taken over—remained wary, her eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape.
When she finally fell asleep, the group reconvened in the study, their faces drawn with exhaustion and worry.
"She’s getting worse," Jay said, breaking the silence.
Marcus didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the glass of whiskey in his hand.
"She needs help," Jay continued, his tone pleading now. "Real help. We can’t handle this on our own."
Marcus slammed the glass down on the desk, the sound making everyone flinch.
"I said no," he groaned.
"Marcus—"
"No!" Marcus shouted, cutting Jay off. He stood abruptly, his hands braced on the desk as he glared at Jay. "I’m not sending my sister to some damn facility where they’ll treat her like she’s crazy. She’s not crazy."
"She’s not herself either," Jay shot back.
"Then we bring her back," Marcus said firmly.
"How?" Jay demanded. "Tell me how, Marcus, because I don’t have a clue!"
"Enough!" Ava shouted, her voice breaking. She looked between the two men, her eyes red and swollen. "Fighting isn’t going to fix this. We need a plan."
For a moment, no one spoke. Then, slowly, Dimitri stepped forward, his expression grim.
"I might know someone who can help," he said.
Marcus turned to him sharply. "Who?"
"A doctor," Dimitri replied. "She specializes in cases like this. But she’s... unconventional."
"Unconventional how?" Jay asked warily.
"Let’s just say her methods aren’t exactly legal," Dimitri said, his lips twitching into a humorless smile.
Marcus hesitated, his instincts screaming at him not to trust Dimitri. But as he glanced toward the hallway where Jemima lay sleeping, he knew they were running out of options.
"Fine," he said finally. "Bring her here."
The doctor arrived the following evening, her presence as unsettling as Dimitri had warned. She was a small woman with sharp eyes and a no-nonsense demeanor, her movements precise and deliberate.
"Where is she?" the doctor asked, wasting no time on pleasantries.
"In her room," Ava said nervously.
The doctor nodded and made her way upstairs, the others following close behind.
When they entered Jemima’s room, she was awake, her expression guarded as she watched them file in.
"Who’s this?" she asked, her tone laced with suspicion.
"My name is Dr. Elara," the woman said calmly. "I’m here to help you."
Jemima laughed, the sound hollow and bitter. "Help me? That’s a new one."
Elara didn’t react, instead pulling up a chair and sitting down across from Jemima.
"I’m not here to hurt you," she said. "I just want to talk."
For a moment, Jemima said nothing, her gaze flicking between Elara and the others. Then, slowly, she nodded.
"Fine," she said. "But don’t expect me to make it easy for you."
“I would stand up and leave if you actually do.” The doctor said, pulling out a pocket watch.
Everyone else watched with rapt attention, the room silent and the clock ticking.
“Now, if you don’t mind, would y’all excuse me. I need an alone time with my patient.” Dr, Elara turned to them, her face not giving them the chance to protest.
They all scurried out of the room and soon they were alone.
“Now,” she began facing Jemima. “Who am I talking to?”