Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 146477 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 732(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 146477 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 732(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
“Oh,” I say, my eyes widening. “Don’t give me Dr. Manning. He’s a pretentious, cocky prick with an ego problem. Dr. Preston would be alright, I suppose. I don’t know much about her, but she’s always smiling. Actually, that might be an issue. Nobody is that happy.”
Dr. Carzy laughs and jots down a note. “Okay, I’ll reach out to Dr. Preston and see what her schedule is like. I don’t foresee any issues though.”
“Great.”
“Alright, I’ll leave you to your drawing,” she says, getting up from the chair and striding to the end of the bed before offering me one last smile. “You don’t need to be scared, Harper. You’re in good hands here. However, if you’re feeling anxious or have any questions, I’m only one call away. You’ll have another psych assessment at the end of your seventy-two-hour hold, and following that, you’ll be free to go home.”
“Thank you,” I say, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders at finally getting some answers. Having the head of the psych ward confirm that you’re actually mentally unstable isn’t exactly the best news, but knowing for sure that the masked stalker never existed and that all that fear and grief he put me through wasn’t real is a relief.
Nobody died because of me. Nobody was hurt. No lives ruined at my expense. Only my own, but with the right medication and therapy, I should be okay. It didn’t go unnoticed that she never mentioned anything about how soon I can get back to normal life. Is this like when you’re recovering from surgery and you’re stuck on the couch for six to eight weeks? Or is it more like fill me up with meds and send me straight on my way with a smack to my ass?
Not wanting to dwell, I drop my attention to the notebook in my hands before turning to a new page. I’m really not an artist. My drawing skills peaked in kindergarten, but nonetheless, I grip the pencil and bring it to the paper and start putting down on paper every line of his mask, every slight detail, the depth of his eyes beneath and hauntingly terrifying vampire fangs that would stare back at me.
Chills sail down my spine, and yet as I pluck the details straight out of my brain, peace settles over me. He’s no longer just a figment of my imagination, he’s a shitty drawing in a random page of a notebook. He’s nothing. He holds no weight. No purpose, and more than that, he will never be able to hurt me again.
40
HARPER-RAYN
Laith stares at me from the foot of my hospital bed, and all I can do is gawk back at him. It’s strange seeing his face after everything, even though I know it was in my head. It’s humiliating to let my friends see me at my lowest.
“How’re you doing, tiger?” he asks, his blue stare taking me in as though I’m about to break, and honestly, I can’t blame him. The last time I saw him, I was barely a shell of my normal self. I was well and truly losing my mind. Hell, I was fucking crazy, screaming about him being dead while he stood in my doorway. “You good?”
“Better now,” I say, my cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “I’m sorry you had to see me like that. Apparently I’ve been going through some things, and my mind has been distorting the truth. It really wasn’t my intention to scare you like that.”
“Yeah . . . about that,” he says, striding around the side of the bed and dropping down into the seat that Knight usually occupies. “You wanna tell me what the fuck you thought was going on? Because I’m confused. Did you think I was dead?”
I cringe as I nod. Laith and I have always been honest with each other, but that doesn’t mean that telling him about all of this doesn’t make me want to slam my face against a broken mirror. However, I probably shouldn’t mention that to Dr. Carzy. She might have me locked up for good.
“I’ve, ahhh . . . kinda been having psychotic episodes where I’ve hallucinated a masked stalker, and every time this stalker has appeared, his intentions have escalated and become more sinister.”
His gaze narrows as he leans forward, his elbows braced on his knees. “Like?” he questions.
“Like . . . I believed he was going to kill me,” I explain. “At first, it was this twisted game of hide and seek, and he would just show up—well, I would hallucinate him showing up. Like the night Izzy and I went to that club. One minute I was dancing, the next, he was there watching me. But it grew from that. At work, bodies were showing up on my table that I thought were messages from him, warnings, but it was all in my head. They were just regular bodies. Car crash victims, stuff like that.”