103
The lack of trust swelled up inside me, bloating like something rotten. I could feel it, thick in my throat, heavy in my chest. It pressed against my ribs, coiled around my heart, choking me out.
I swallowed past it, past the way my lips felt dry and useless when I tried to form words, past the way my fingers twitched where they rested against my lap.
Then, soft. So soft I almost didn’t recognize my own voice, I whispered, “I’m sorry he was a dick to you.”
Adeline didn’t move.
I licked my lips, dragged in a breath that didn’t feel like enough, and tried again.
“I’m sorry he ditched you when you needed him the most.”
The words cracked, broke somewhere near the end. I didn’t mean for them to. I clenched my jaw, trying to force it all back down, but it didn’t work.
I kept talking anyway.
“He—” My voice stuttered, like my throat was folding in on itself. I forced myself to breathe, pushed past the lump sitting high and painful. “He used to do that. Leave when he was needed the most.”
I stared at my lap, nails digging into the fabric of my clothes, twisting the material like it would somehow ground me, like it would somehow make this easier to say.
“When we were kids,” I started, slow, hoarse, every syllable clawing its way out, “we got caught sneaking into Dad’s study. We wanted to know what he kept in that drawer he always locked.” My lips twitched at the memory, not a smile, not really, just something faint and barely there. “We spent hours planning it. Came up with some dumb plan about distractions and fake alarms.”
Adeline let out a quiet huff, but I couldn’t look at her.
“Dominic made me open the drawer. Said he’d keep watch, be my backup.” My fingers curled tighter, knuckles white, legs bouncing slightly where they rested against the mattress. “I got the damn thing open, and there were papers inside. A whole stack of them. I didn’t even get the chance to read them before Dad came in.”
The memory tasted stale, old but bitter, like something I had buried a long time ago but could still taste when I wasn’t careful.
“Dominic ran. The second he heard Dad’s footsteps, he took off. Left me there, holding the drawer open, looking guilty as hell.” I let out a breath through my nose, sharp and quick. “I got grounded for two weeks. He got away with it.”
Adeline exhaled through her nose, a small huff of breath that might’ve been a laugh if there wasn’t something else hiding beneath it. Her arms hung limp at her sides, fingers twitching like she wanted to reach for something but wasn’t sure if she should.
I still couldn’t look at her.
My eyes burned again, that awful sting creeping back in. I didn’t wipe at them this time.
“He was an ass,” I muttered, voice scratchy, thick with something I couldn’t swallow past. “A selfish, cocky, arrogant ass.”
Adeline hummed. “Yeah.”
“He always thought he was the smartest person in the room.” My throat ached, a deep pulse of something raw that made it hard to breathe. “Never let anybody forget it.”
She tilted her head slightly, watching me. “Because he usually was.”
I huffed, shaking my head. “Still.”
Silence stretched between us, not uncomfortable, not quite easy either. Something sat heavy in the air, something I couldn’t name, something that settled into my chest and made my ribs feel too tight.
Then, Adeline sighed, long and slow. “That was Dominic.”
That was Dominic.
Always doing something reckless, always acting like he knew everything, always running his mouth, always leaving.
I sucked in a slow breath, pressing my lips together, pressing my nails into my palms, pressing everything down, down, down.
“He was supposed to be here,” I whispered.
Adeline didn’t say anything.
My throat got tighter. My chest felt like it was collapsing in on itself.
“He was supposed to be here.” My voice cracked, barely holding itself together, barely making it past the lump sitting heavy in my throat.
Adeline shifted, but I didn’t look at her. Couldn’t.
“He was supposed to call me a dumbass for getting caught,” I said, voice trembling. “He was supposed to figure out a plan. He was supposed to—” My breath shuddered out of me, my shoulders hitching with it. “He was supposed to fucking be here.”
My vision blurred. My hands shook. The weight in my chest grew heavier, pressing down, crushing, suffocating.
A sound clawed its way up my throat, something wrecked, something raw, something I couldn’t shove back down no matter how much I tried.
I lifted my hands, covered my face, my whole body curling in on itself as the first sob broke free.
It hurt. It hurt worse than anything I’d ever felt in my entire fucking life. Like something inside me was being torn apart, shredded from the inside out, ripped into pieces too small to ever put back together.
I gasped for air, but it didn’t feel like enough. It wasn’t enough.
“He left me,” I choked out, my whole body shaking. “He left me again.”
Adeline moved then, her footsteps quiet, cautious.
I felt her sit down beside me, close but not touching.
She didn’t say anything. Didn’t tell me it was okay. Didn’t say he was in a better place. Didn’t tell me he was watching over me. Just sat there, letting my breath slow, letting the worst of it pass.
I wiped at my face again, my fingers clumsy, unsteady. My whole body felt wrung out, like I’d been gutted from the inside and left with nothing but the weight of it.
Adeline exhaled, slow. “You need to be okay.”
I swallowed, staring at my hands.
“You need to be okay,” she repeated, her voice softer this time. “You need to be sane enough to do what needs to be done. You need to be ready.”
I rubbed at my nose, sniffling. My throat burned, my whole face felt hot, swollen, like I’d been punched a hundred times over.
Adeline watched me, patient. Waiting.
After a long moment, I gave a small, jerky nod. Then another. Then another.
Adeline’s lips twitched, something close to a smile but not quite. She turned her head, gaze flicking toward the doctor as if giving some kind of signal.
The woman straightened immediately. Adjusted her coat. Stepped forward with careful, practiced movements.
She clasped her hands together, looking at me like she was gauging whether I was in the right headspace to process what she was about to say.
I wasn’t. But I still listened.
“Based on the schedule Miss Torres informed me of,” the doctor started, tone even, professional, “certain treatments will have to be adjusted or avoided entirely.”
I blinked sluggishly, my body still weighed down from the crying, my limbs heavy, my mind slow.
She continued anyway.
“Antipsychotics like clozapine, chlorpromazine, and quetiapine, for instance,” she said. “They can cause drowsiness, dizziness, sedation. Given the nature of what you’re planning, we’ll need to avoid anything that could impair your awareness or slow your reaction time.”
Drowsiness. Dizziness. Sedation.
I barely managed a dry laugh. “Wouldn’t want to be too out of it while killing someone, huh?”
Adeline didn’t react. The doctor didn’t either.
Instead, she shifted slightly, fingers tapping against her coat. “That being said, there are alternative treatments. First-generation antipsychotics like haloperidol or fluphenazine, for example. They have a lower risk of sedation but can cause stiffness, restlessness, and involuntary movements if not monitored carefully.”
“Great.” My voice felt hollow, my hands fidgeting with the hem of my shirt. “Can’t wait to start twitching like a fucking crackhead.”
The doctor ignored that.
“There’s also aripiprazole or lurasidone,” she continued, her tone still level, still void of any kind of emotion. “They’re second-generation, but they have a lower chance of drowsiness. You may experience some nausea or weight changes, but overall, they’re better suited for what you need.”
What I needed.
What I needed was for none of this to be happening.
I sniffed again, rubbing at my face one more time before exhaling through my nose.
“Okay,” I murmured.
The doctor nodded. “I’ll write up the prescription.”
Adeline’s gaze flickered to me again, her expression unreadable.
I clenched my hands into fists, nails pressing into my palms, grounding myself.
I had to get it together.
For Dominic.
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