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“We’ll start with that. Do you trust me as your psychologist?”
Caera’s eyes flicked over, assessing the wet couple who stumbled inside, then dismissing them as her attention returned to Connie. “As far as I trust anyone, I guess.”
“How about as a friend?”
Trick question much? Caera did not have friends, plural. In fact, the one person in Phoenix, Arizona, whom she did consider a friend was probably the woman sitting opposite her. It was demoralizing to admit, particularly since they’d only known each other three months, and not even in a social setting.
“I’m…” She might as well say it aloud. “You’re the only one I’ve got. If I can’t trust you, who else is there?”
Connie’s features softened with sympathy. Reaching out, she laid her hand on top of Caera’s jittery one, but she couldn’t stand the contact. Sometimes when the lack of sleep and an overload of caffeine crashed together, her skin became so sensitive, she couldn’t bear to be touched. Simply moving could turn into a study of pain. “Sweetheart, this is not good for you. You must realize that, yes? We can’t get you through this if you don’t have a support system in place.”
Anxious now, Caera made an almost animalistic noise in her throat, wondering how quickly she could sneak away and go home to her cold, empty life. The idea of stepping outside the boundaries her insomnia outlined like prison walls was terrifying.
“A friend of mine has a cabin in Saguaro National Park. I spent a few weeks there not long ago, and it’s beautiful. It’s isolated, it’s quiet, it’s peaceful. I think it would help you to get away from the restrictions of the city for a while, Caera.” Voice gentle, Connie tapped her hand on the table twice to get her attention. “Communing with nature, returning back to our roots, can sometimes be extremely beneficial.”
Horrified by the notion of breaking from her carefully-constructed routines, Caera gaped at her friend. “I…what? I can’t just pack up my stuff and vacate to Tucson, Connie. I have—”
“You have what? Sweetie, you’re dying here. Admit it, you can’t sleep, you barely eat, and you down caffeine like it’s going to be illegal. Between that and the stress, you’re at the risk of gastric ulcers, hallucinations, malnutrition…and that’s not even half of what your body is facing.” Tone firm, Connie shook her head slowly. “I care for you, and it hurts to see you destroying yourself through no fault of your own. Bit by bit, day by day. Take this chance, Caera. Take it and make the most of it, or by God, I will drag you into the doctor’s office myself.”
Sickness and fury, a familiar cocktail of stress, roiled heavily in her belly. Caera pressed a hand to the hollow in her stomach. “Please don’t threaten me, Connie. I can’t…I don’t like change.”
The psychologist leaned forward, her eyes compassionate but authoritative. “I don’t like watching a sweet, wonderful young woman waste away. I can see you’ve abandoned any hope of getting better, Caera. It reflects in your eyes.”
She wanted desperately to throw something, to display some form of physical violence that mirrored what simmered inside her. Hands trembling viciously, she pulled them into her lap and tried to keep herself under control. “Sending me into the middle of nowhere isn’t going to stop the nightmares! I’ve tried everything. Do you think I want to be like this? I have no life, no prospects, and to cap it all off, I’m slowly losing my mind.”
“Caera—”
“My father told me that if I wasn’t prepared to lock myself away in a psychiatric hospital, then I wasn’t worth the trouble of staying in their lives, and my mother agreed with him. I’ve lost every job I’ve ever had. If it wasn’t for the college trust fund my grandfather started in my name, I’d be just another crazy homeless person on the street.”
“Caera,” Connie said again.
“No, don’t Caera me, Connie. I don’t know much about your personal life, but it doesn’t seem like it’s turned around and bitten you on the ass. A job you’re good at, nice clothes, a decent car. Friends. Don’t tell me you don’t have the unwavering love of that gorgeous guy who hangs around your office sometimes—the one who thinks the world revolves in your eyes. I’ve seen him. How you look at him, and he looks at you. No doubt a very cute bouncing baby will be on the way soon.” It was hard to keep the bitterness from her voice, but she couldn’t stop it any more than she could stop ranting. “Best of all, you don’t have a fucking clue what it’s like to not be able to close your eyes in case you fall asleep. You’ve never gone a week surviving on as much caffeine as you could stomach, your nervous system crashing, your body vibrating so hard, all because the thought of sleep makes your skin crawl and sweat pour from everywhere you didn’t think possible.”
Caera sucked in a breath, cursing herself for the wounded look in Connie’s eyes that came and went. “You can’t fix me, Connie. I promise you that. There is nothing money can buy, or that wishful thinking, praying, and sacrificing a small goat can do for me. My options are narrowing to a select few, and I’m heading down a one-way road. There’s no going back.”
Her friend exhaled slowly. “Are you suicidal, Caera?”
Caera considered the question—one Connie had asked her before, not so long ago. Exhausted, she rubbed her hands over her face, scrubbing the heels against her burning eyes. “No. But I can think like a realist, and I think, so can you. You already said it—I’m dying, Connie.”
“So, what? Just roll over and give the Grim Reaper an all-access pass? That’s your ideal of realism?” Connie leaned forward, her eyes boring into Caera’s with fervor. “That’s defeatism, plain and simple. I went through some shit a few months back, stuff that almost…almost came close to breaking me. You’re right, I have a good life, an amazing guy, and friends. They nearly weren’t enough to stop me from falling into the abyss. I had to be strong enough to get through every day and I came close to failing. How do you feel, Caera, right here and now?”
She didn’t know how to explain how she felt. It wasn’t enough to say she was tired down to the bone, that her body felt old and frail. How could she admit that her memory had started to cut out for short periods of time? That, more than once, she found herself swinging between a quivering mess and a tempestuous bitch, never knowing which side of her would stick.
The waitress saved her from having to respond, giving her a few more minutes to mull things over as the pretty server slid a mug and two plates from her tray onto the table. The muffins looked delicious, the scent enough to force Caera’s stomach into making feral sounds of need.
Food didn’t matter when her world was folding in on her, inch by precious inch. It wouldn’t stop the decline of her mental and physical functions. Caera wondered if one day—probably sooner than she liked—she’d find herself locked inside the prison of her own mind with no way out. Trapped in an endless cycle of nightmares and waking in a body too weak, too far gone, sunk too deep, to take her own life and end the misery.
God, she hoped it wouldn’t come to that. She wanted to leave this plane of existence long before her marbles rolled away.
“I’m twenty-one going on fifty, a virgin, and sick of life,” Caera said wearily once the waitress was out of earshot. She sighed heavily and looked at Connie, fatigue dragging at her, making her limbs weighty and numb. “I’ve accepted the fact I won’t grow old. I’m sick of tests and pills, psychiatrists and evaluations. Whatever is up here,” she tapped a finger against her temple, “is like a tumor. It’s big and black and ugly as hell. There’s no respite, and the symptoms are getting worse every damn day.”
“Maybe a break away from it all will help.” Hope stained Connie’s words and only made Caera feel sadder. Her friend’s hand closed over her cold fingers, squeezing gently for the briefest second. “You’ll love it out there. The cabin is set in a little thicket of oak trees, and there are creeks that go for miles. Enough cacti to bore you for a decade. The deer come out first thing in the morning and just as the sun sets. The wildlife is unbelievable. And it’s quiet. Peaceful.”
Caera turned her gaze back to the window. Sad, exhausted eyes stared back at her from the glass with an expression she recognized all too well. It reflected her submission, her resignation, at being made to do something she didn’t want to.
“What am I supposed to do out in the middle of nowhere?”
Connie pushed one of the muffins toward her, then claimed her own. “Relax. Go walking, hiking if you feel up to it. Dip your feet in the stream, read a damn book. Put some weight on before you float away.”
