Page 58 of Kill Me

“Don’t you even fucking think about it,” I growl.

He pisses himself laughing, and Lulu joins in. “Your face. I told you it would be worth the look on his face, didn’t I?”

“A right fucking comedian, aren’t ya?” I ask.

Quinn’s standing next to me, stifling her laughter. “Oh, funny is he?”

She lets herself go, clutching her stomach as she cackles. “I’m sorry, but your face was priceless. So, yes, he’s hilarious.”

“No one else gets to call you Magpie. I’ll cut a bitch.” I glare at X, who smirks and turns back to the cooker.

“It’s nice to meet you, Quinn. I’m glad to see you’re feeling a little better.”

“Thank you, X. Harley said you helped save me. I’ll never be able to repay you.”

“Sure you will. Now, sit your ass down. I’ve made pancakes and crispy bacon—because there’s no other way to have it—and there's maple syrup, homemade whipped cream and some diced strawberries and bananas. Help yourself.”

“Are you trying to make me fatter?” she jokes. I elicit a growl from somewhere deep inside of me that makes it very clear how I feel about that statement. She pretends to be bashful.

“Your daily meds are there next to your glass. I had to be careful searching for your prescription, so I’ve only been able to find the basics, pain meds, etc. You can fill in the blanks for me later. It’s been a few hours since your first dose, so you’re safe to take these now.” There are holes in the medication she’s been prescribed that don’t make sense. While she was recovering, I took some blood and sent it off to be tested so I can correlate what’s in her system versus what should be. But I have questions that I have a feeling she won’t have the answers for.

“This is too much,” she says as she sits down. Lools and Rhiannon join her, X conveniently placing himself next to Rhiannon before loading her plate up with food. “Eat, Little One,” he says. Quinn looks over at me curiously.

“Eat, and then we talk.”

I wanted to give her time after breakfast to get to know the guys and process everything she needed to be told. We filled her in about Trident and everything we found in our research, and I told her about Stephanie. She said she needed some time to process the information and has been in the garden with Ted for the last couple of hours reading a book she took off the shelves. Of course she would find something to read. Another thing we have in common, because no matter where I am, I manage to do the same.

I open the sliding glass doors to step out.

“Magpie? You awake?”

She stirs. “Hmm? Yeah, sorry, I must have dozed off.”

“That’s to be expected.” I walk over to sit next to her, scratching Ted in his favourite spot behind his ears. "You've been given a lot of information over the last few hours. Your brain will get tired as you try to process.”

“They’ll be looking for us by now.” She worries her lip.

“They can look, but they’ll never find. Not until you’re ready to show yourself.”

“I feel like I’ll never be ready. I want to hide away from the world and never be seen again.”

“That’s normal. Life is scary for a ‘normal’ person. Let alone someone dealing with the levels of trauma you are. But I think it’s time we talk about some treatment moving forward.”

She nods and sits up. Pulling a blanket over her legs and curling herself up into a ball as if protecting herself. Ted snuggles in closer to her, and she mindlessly strokes his head.

“So, we have a couple of options,” I say. “We can either go down the traditional route of talking therapy and try to recover your memories and fill in the blanks that way…”

She nods again. “Or?” she asks.

“Or, we can go the intensive route. I know talking hasn’t really worked for you, and neither has the traditional treatment of antidepressants. I’m qualified in something called ketamine therapy. It’s a process where I would administer ketamine to you, either via a nasal spray or IV drip, and then we do a psychotherapy session to help reprocess your traumas and try to get the PTSD symptoms under control.”

“You think I have PTSD?” She looks surprised.

“I actually think you have something called CPTSD; it’s basically a complex version of it. Why do you seem surprised?”

“Because Dr Stephanie told me it was all in my head. She told me I had Munchausen’s and that I was just manipulating.”

I ponder my response. “What do you think about what she said?”