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I caught him, and I held him. A part of me wanted to hold onto him. I felt sad and guilty over his actions. Horrified.
I wanted to help him.
I wanted to toss him aside and run.
I wanted to have been the one that ended him.
I’m a clusterfuck.
So no, Dr. Peterson, I don’t want to go home. I’d rather stay right here.
You want to know another horrible fact. It took no time for Andrew's body to start to decompose. He pissed himself. No more bladder muscles to hold it all in. I felt it seep onto me because I was in his lap, holding him up.
“It’s been three weeks since the incident, Poppy.”
Incident.
Is that what we call suicide nowadays?
Not just suicide. What do you call it when you kill yourself in front of the person you tortured, abused, raped?What word is correct to describe that, Dr. Peterson? You tell me you're the doctor.
“You going to talk to me, honey? Talk about anything. It could be the food here.” She pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. She looks about my age. I wonder if she was a child genius to have become a doctor already. She’s apparently one of the best psychiatrists on the East Coast. Usually, she helps veterans deal with the aftereffects of leaving the military. Julian said she's helped some of his friends.
I guess I need help.
“I know it’s not the best food, but those pumpkin desserts Julian brings you, well, those must taste better than the banana pudding the cafeteria makes. Is that your favorite flavor?”
Were they pumpkin flavor? I couldn’t taste a thing.
Did Andrew take my taste buds, too?
I close my eyes only to conceal my eye roll. She’s really starting to piss me off. I know she means well, but I don’t care. I just want to be alone.
Actually, I want those pills she gave me to help me sleep. I just want to lay in bed, pull the covers up to my chin, and sleep until this is all over.
It is all over. Andrew is dead.
I can't ask her for pills so I can sleep during the day. Even I know that's like waving a big old red flag that I'm depressed. I'm not. I'm just...numb.
Andrew won. He took my thoughts and cemented himself into my mind. No matter how hard you hit the cement and break it up, there will always be parts that cling and debris that can never be removed.
To be honest, I completely retreated after Andrew did what he did.
I just stopped talking.
I woke up in a hospital and then was transported to a psychiatric hospital, where I've been ever since. I’ve got my own little room that tries to make you think you're safe. A twin-size bed with a bright and cheery yellow quilt on it. A small table and two chairs that look out over a lush flower garden. There is a picture of the beach overlooking the table and a few books on a shelf. It makes me feel like I’m in a dollhouse, and everyone is just waiting to play with me. To force me to smile and react.
There are a few cameras in every corner, which should bother me, but they don't because, after all, Andrew's been watching me all along.
I wonder what the name of my reality show would be.
A shadow moves from under the door. It’s either Julian, Harper, or Henry. One of them is always lurking outside when Dr. Peterson comes to visit, and one is always in the room when she leaves. I know what they are thinking. I’m going to copy Andrew. Just leave and be at peace.
I’m not.
I would never.
I just want to be alone.
