This Is Love, Baby (War & Peace #2)(58)
“Of course I do. And you know this too.”
I do know this.
A rush of relieved breath escapes me as I feel my shoulders relax.
“Those thoughts,” he assures me, “will eventually fade.” He breaks eye contact and pats my shin. “You were getting better, weren’t you? I’ve read your history and talked with your father,” he says and lifts his gaze to regard me. “Miss Winston was helping you, right?”
I nod without hesitation. “She cures me, Doc.”
He smiles. “She’s definitely been instrumental. With my help, I think we can continue to get you on a path to a healthier life. You’ve already come leaps and bounds. With some talk therapy on a weekly basis and the proper dosage of anti-anxiety medication, you can live a normal life, War. I know you want that for yourself.”
“I want this for her,” I tell him with conviction.
I cringe at the idea of spilling all my problems to this guy. But then again, he doesn’t seem judgmental. He actually seems like he wants to help me.
“The medications I’ve taken in the past seem to mess my head up even more though,” I admit and pinch the bridge of my nose to ward off a headache that’s forming. “I want my head clear for her.”
He knits his brows together in a thoughtful manner and nods. “I agree. In the past you weren’t getting the proper help you needed. But that’s why we’ll work through this together. This has to be a team effort, War. I don’t need you seeing me as the bad guy. I was just in there with Miss Winston, and she needs you. She needs for you to be the strong one. That poor girl has been through so much. I believe you can do what it takes to get better for you and your family. We can talk about whatever bothers you and we can get you on a medicated regime that actually works. What do you say?”
I close my eyes and try to imagine a life where I walk through a store, hand in hand with Baylee, as we shop for baby furniture and then eat at a restaurant overlooking the ocean. One where I’m not continually assaulted with what ifs, gory imageries, and microbes by the millions. The idea is so fantastical, so out there, that I actually laugh. When I open my eyes, Dr. Daniels isn’t amused. But he’s not annoyed either. He’s calm and simply waiting for my answer. With a sigh, I tell him the only answer that matters now that Baylee is a part of my dark, twisted world.
“Yeah, of course. Help me get this sick shit out of my head.”
A week of psychotherapies and medicinal cocktails for my mental health, and pulmonary therapies for my physical health, and I’m finally ready to go home. And boy am I ready to get back to reality. A few days ago, Dad took Baylee back to Oakland for her father’s proper burial beside her mother. Stark, as promised, has had uniforms following them around just in case Gabe tries to show back up.
Fortunately for us, he hasn’t. The medical examiner claims that Gabe’s blood loss would have been too much to survive without receiving immediate medical attention. And since the blood trailed all the way to the ocean, they’re convinced that he likely drowned.
I’m glad the f*cker’s survival rate wasn’t viable after what Baylee did to him. It was a small price to pay for all the heartache and pain he put her through. She still won’t speak of what he did to her after I was shot. Nor do I press her. My Baylee’s different. Vacant and quiet. She forces smiles for Dad and me, but as soon as no one’s watching, she’s back to picking lint off her pants or gnawing on her fingernails.
She’s stressed the f*ck out.
I can see the worry in her eyes. That he’ll show back up and take her again. I wish I could find a way to make her relax and trust that he got what he deserved.
Once we’re back home, together, I’ll find a way to bring her back to me.
I’m not giving up on her now. Not after everything.
“You all ready?” Nurse Cathy questions when she comes into the room pushing a wheelchair. Baylee trails in behind her with her arms folded across her chest. I wish she would come over to me and crawl into my bed. I crave to press my lips to hers and kiss away all her worries. Unfortunately, she doesn’t show me her familiar spark and I don’t push to see it. Not yet. So instead, I press gently whenever and wherever I can. Eventually, I’ll push through the wall she’s forming around herself. I’ll get to her like she got to me.
We’ll fix this.
“I’m ready for things to go back to normal,” I tell the nurse but my gaze drifts to Baylee. She fidgets uncomfortably in her chair but doesn’t make eye contact. My heart squeezes in my chest. Each day, the distance between us grows wider and wider. I’m afraid any farther and she’ll disconnect from me altogether. I’ll die before I let that happen. When we get back to the house, things will fall back into place like they once were.
My head is clearer with the newest concoction of antidepressants and anxiety meds. The blood and germs and toxins are dulled in my mind and my skin no longer crawls when people come too close. I can’t help the way my mind obsesses over exactness, though. Perfection. Details. It’s as if my OCD has worsened in some ways. I knew it was getting bad when I tried to count each tiny square between the woven threads that the hospital blanket was made up of. Dr. Daniels told me he was seeing progress on my end though, and I wasn’t going to ask for another medication to thrust me into oblivion.