Keeper of Crows (Keeper of Crows #1)(6)

It was easy to be angry with her. I’d learned from Mom to hate her. Mom poured all of her energy into hating Bianca, but she never once faulted Father for being so willing to throw the years of their marriage away for each younger, more plastic piece of ass who looked his way.

The doctor, a middle-aged man wearing royal blue scrubs, a stethoscope, and a frown stepped into the room. He pumped the hand sanitizer and rubbed it in, staring at me as if I were a waste of his time. He was none too gentle about poking and prodding me.

“We can remove your tube, but you’ll be here for another day or so. Have the police been in to talk with you yet?”

I shook my head, tears welling up again.

“You’ll be remanded to their custody because of the circumstances surrounding the accident you caused. You aren’t a juvenile anymore, so you need to stop acting like the world and everyone in it owes you a favor. I don’t care who your father is. Your car was the only one involved, but you easily could have killed someone. You have a drug problem. The level of cocaine in your system should have killed you. If you were looking for a wake-up call, this is it. If you were crying out for help, you’ve got it.”

He typed a few things into the rolling computer and then motioned for the nurse to help him. As the intubation was removed, I gagged on plastic and bitter truth.

It was easier to lie to Doc. “I don’t remember much about that night.”

He nodded and made a note on the white paper; black ink marring the pristine.

“You could have gone to jail. You’re lucky your father has connections, money, and an impressive team of attorneys that got you into this rehab facility instead.”

Yeah. I was lucky. That’s exactly the adjective I’d use to describe myself.

Doc used his pinky to itch the inside of his ear, bringing me back to dismal reality. I looked at Doc Coleman. His cheeks were ruddy and his glasses sat askew on his nose, crooked but somehow fitting him, their silver wire frames ten years too old for today’s styles. Even his beard was salt and pepper. His eyes flicked to the clock and I finally told him, “I need a cigarette, Doc.”

“Will a cigarette help calm you down?” He looked to my bouncing foot. I stopped moving it.

“Couldn’t hurt.”

“No.” He sat his clipboard and pen down.

“Why the hell not? I can smell smoke on your clothes. Just give me one.”

He shook his head. “I’m not here to replace one bad habit with another, or to foster any of yours. And I won’t discuss my own habits with you.”

I stared him down, but he didn’t give in. “You aren’t leaving this afternoon until you talk to me. We’ve been going around and around and getting nowhere fast.”

I smiled, thinking of hamsters. They were fat, happy little rats, just running on the wheel all day long. Dig. Spin. Eat. Spin. Around and around and around.

“What made you smile just then?”

“Hamsters.”

His wiry eyebrows threaded together. “Care to explain?” He brought his pen and clipboard back to his lap and proceeded to tap the end of it repetitively. Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Would you care to stop tapping that pen like you’d rather be anywhere but here? And for the love of all things holy, stop looking at the fucking clock. I don’t want to be here either.” It would have stung anyone else. Unfortunately, it seemed that the good doctor had heard all kinds of bullshit before. Mine didn’t faze him at all. He did stop tapping the pen, though. I grabbed the small victory and held tight.

“I think you’re depressed, Carmen.”

“You’re brilliant. How many years did it take you to earn your degree?”

He ignored the insult and barreled forward. “I’m prescribing an antidepressant for you that’s just been approved by the FDA. While there are some side effects, I think the reward outweighs the risk in your case. Do you know if your mother was on any similar medication?”

What was this bullshit? “I am not my mother, Doctor Coleman.”

“Are you angry at her?” he asked. “Or me?”

“Yes.”

Doc put the pen down. “Because she took the pills, or because of her alcohol addiction?”

“Both. I should have been reason enough for her to want to live. She should have been a mother. She should have flipped the middle finger to my father the second she heard of his first affair and walked out the door. She should have lived the way she fucking wanted to, but instead, she just existed. My mom gave up, and that’s what makes me madder than anything in the world.”

Doc smiled slightly. “There’s still some fight in you.”

“There isn’t; I just feel gray. All the time, Doc. Like there’s nothing in me here.” I tapped my chest. “Like my soul’s gone.” Maybe Mom felt the same way. Maybe that was why she gave up. She never took sleeping pills before, which meant she knew what she was doing. Mom wanted to end it.

Swallowing thickly, Doc eased his chair back. “Were you raised to be religious?”

“No.”

“But you believe in souls?”

My foot began to bounce my leg up and down. “I believe there’s something missing in me. That’s all I know. You can call it whatever you want.”

“You called it a soul, Carmen. I don’t think that was a slip. You believe in something. But do you know what I believe?”