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"I heard you. I just can't believe you would speak to me as if I’m a child. I’m an adult. I don't care what youthink."
"Mr. Brant, you've been declared incompetent. For the moment, I am your personal physician, unless Jillian appoints another one. And Jillian is your personal representative."
Oh my God. I'm going to break again. I can feel the creep, can see dots in my vision, and I struggle to stay grounded. "I can't have been declared incompetent. There is a process involved. Probate court. A psychological examination by a medical practitioner.” I know because decades ago, when I was just a teenager, the conversation was had. I’d listened, my ear to the door of my room, as Jillian and my parents had discussed what would happen to my fortune if I ever lost my mind or melted down.
“Well, as you know, I’m a medical practitioner. And Jillian got some strings pulled. We have a provisional application in process, which has been approved by a local judge. It will stand until the courts open on Monday. Look, Brant. All you have to do is relax and let us help you to get back on your feet."
My brain tries to grab at straws it can't reach, and I don’t know if the issue is what they injected me with or if this is what a mental breakdown feels like. I just want my normality back, the righting of this topsy-turvy ship. "I need my medicine," I gasp. "Please."
“We're going to hold off on any medication until we see the frequency of your switches."
We. The word grates on me and as frustrating as it is to have one person controlling my life, the idea of aweis even more infuriating.
"My switches?" My chest hurts, and the weight of the stress feels like it will break right through my sternum.
"Your switches into other personalities. We can't understand them until we observe them. This controlled environment is my first opportunity to do a proper job of that.”
"Other personalities?" Dammit, I need Layana. If this is true, which Dr. F seems to be implying, then I need to talk this through with—
BLACK.
Chapter 67 - Lee
I wake up in an old lady’s bed, complete with floral sheets and a canopy top. Shifting against the stiff mattress, I stare at a fancy gold-print wallpaper and try to place where I am. I had to have been shit-faced drunk to go home with a senior citizen and end up in her bed. Moving my head slowly to the left, I come face to face with an old bald man. I flinch, and the dude is staring at me like he’s about to cut me open for surgery. Shit. I try to sit up but my hands won’t move, my wrists pinned to the sides of the bed with handcuffs. Double shit. I jerk hard at the restraints and my arms feel like I spent the whole day doing curls.
I twist to look at the old man. "Who the fuck are you?" I spit out.
The man smiles as if he has all the time in the fucking world. "Let's get your name first. Then I'll tell you mine."
Screw that. I press my lips together, not wanting to yield the power of answering first. Then again, I'm handcuffed to a fucking bed, so maybe the power struggle is already lost. "Lee."
"Lee what?"
I frown, not sure what he's getting at. "Lee Let-Me-The-Fuck-Up-Before-I-Kick-Your-Ass."
Baldy has the guts to laugh. "Oh,thatLee. Nice to meet you. I'm Dr. Finzlesk."
"Am I under arrest?" Wouldn't be the first time I've woken up in a jail cell, but it would be the first cell with hardwood floors, twelve-foot ceilings, and framed art.
"No. I'd just like to ask you some questions."
"How'd I get here?” I'm used to waking up in odd locations, but this shit takes the fucking cake.
"Is that something you often ask yourself?"
“Just answer the fucking question."
"You grew violent; you were sedated. We restrained you so that you wouldn't hurt anyone else."
"I hurt someone?"
"Not too badly." The man smiles, and it’s an odd response, like there’s a joke he's keeping from me.
Not too badly. What the fuck's that mean? Irritation blooms, but my head fucking hurts, like someone’s clamped a vice to my temples. I close my eyes against the pain and that asshole’s smile. "Whose house is this?” he grits out.
"A woman named Jillian Sharp. Do you recognize that name?"
"No." I straighten at the familiar last name. "Is she related to Brant Sharp?"
