Saugatuck Summer (Saugatuck, #1)(78)

Blowing out a breath, I reached for my phone and sent Jace a text.

Hope you’re sleeping like a sane person. Just thinking about you. Talk to you tomorrow.

A moment later, my phone rang. I smiled and answered it.

“Hey, did my text wake you?”

“No.” His voice sounded tired, but alert. “I’ve been awake a couple hours. Went to bed early because I was exhausted and now my body thinks it’s time to get up and start the day. I’ll try to go back to sleep in another hour or so.”

I nodded even though he couldn’t see it, stretching out on Ling’s ridiculously comfortable memory-foam mattress. “Okay. I’d ask you how your day went or something, but I think we already covered that when we spoke before bed.”

“So what are you doing awake?”

“I dunno. Just thinking, I guess. Restless.” I didn’t even know why I lied and didn’t tell him about the nightmare.

Luckily, Jace didn’t press for more. “Okay. Hey, can I pry a bit? Feel free to tell me to mind my own business.”

“Sure, go ahead.”

“When you were here, I noticed your prescription bottles were almost empty. Those are antidepressants you’re on, right? How long have you been taking them?” I heard a sigh, as if Jace were settling back in bed. There seemed to be an edge to his voice, though I couldn’t figure out what it might be for.

“Since my senior year in high school, when it became apparent that talk therapy wasn’t going to be enough to make me right in the head.” I laughed, trying to make a joke of it. “You got a bit of a basket case on your hands here. Sorry.”

“That’s three years.” The edge grew sharper, and I could practically hear Jace frown. “Isn’t there usually a time frame for getting off those things?”

I shrugged. “Yeah, for most people.”

“So when are you going to be getting off them?”

“Probably never.” Something about his tone was making my hackles rise defensively, and I could hear irritation creeping into my own voice. “Why?”

“I just don’t like the idea that they’ve got you on drugs with no cutoff date. It’s not good to use that shit as a crutch indefinitely. If your doctor isn’t taking steps to wean you off them, then you need to find out why.”

I pulled the phone away from my ear and blinked at it as though I could see Jace on the other end. “Excuse me?”

“What?”

“A crutch? Did you just actually say I’m using my meds as a crutch?” I scoffed. “Pardon me, Mr. Judgmental Asshole, can I please speak to the guy I just spent the last week with?”

“Hey, I’m not judging, I just know doctors can be—”

“Yeah, you are judging. ‘Crutch’ is one of those judge-y words. And I’m telling you to step back and rethink your tone right the hell now.” I sat up in the bed and drew my knees to my chest, which was suddenly tight and aching at the thought of fighting with Jace. But I was damned if I was going to let that shit pass.

“Fine,” he snapped. “Then tell me why you don’t have any plans to wean yourself off them, if your doctor is being negligent and leaving you on them indefinitely.”

“You know what? I don’t have to explain shit to you, *.” My heart was racing and I could barely draw a breath, my chest was so tight with anxiety. Panicking and unable to find any more words, I disconnected the call without even thinking about it.

Goddamn it. I’d already put up with that bullshit from my family, thinking I was just lazy and self-indulgent when I sank to a level where I could barely function. I didn’t need Jace doing it, too.

My hand shook as it clutched my cell phone, regret for hanging up on him immediately assailing me. I shouldn’t have done that, though in the moment, getting myself out of that conversation was the only possible option.

Fuck, what had I done?

The phone rang in my hand, and I stared at it a moment, my eyes burning. Wincing, I answered.

“Yeah?”

“You’re right. I’m being an *.”

The knot of tension in the center of my chest loosened a little. “Yeah, you are.”

“Those drugs are a sore spot with me. I don’t trust them. I really don’t like seeing people on them.”

“Yeah, well, too bad for you, because my meds aren’t going anywhere.”

He sighed, and I heard a rhythmic tapping that sounded like he was drumming his fingers on something. “Okay. Fine. I’d like to understand because it’s sending up big red flags the way it looks from this end. I’ve got my reasons for being worried about that sort of shit, angel.”

I fell silent, trying to wrestle down the sense of defensiveness and give him the benefit of the doubt that he actually did mean well. That he wasn’t just being dismissive, like my family.

“Okay. You’re right, antidepressants are meant to be temporary. Usually. But here’s the thing: It’s stress hormones that cause depression. They screw up your brain chemistry. And I was pretty much flooded with stress hormones my whole childhood. Ever since I was a baby. My brain chemistry is basically permanently f*cked. I’m never going to be ‘better.’ The most I can hope for is to be functional, as opposed to being unable to drag my ass out of bed.”