All the Shattered Pieces Page 4

When I close myself in mine, I dig out the hydrocodone, take two, and crawl back into bed.

  Reality can go fuck itself.

  At least for a little while.

  Chapter Eight

  I groan when something jabs at my chest. Curse when it starts poking my cheek. I go to reach for whatever it is when I hear, “Sophia, what are you doing in here?”

  My eyes peel open to see a set of light brownish-green ones staring at me eye level from beside the mattress. Blinking away the exhaustion, I slowly pick my head up to check the time on the old alarm clock I left behind when I moved.

  “Fuck,” I say aloud, head weighing me down until I have to drop it back into the pillow.

  “Kai said a bad word!” my sister exclaims in a loud shriek that makes me bend the pillow in half so it’s covering both my ears.

  Mom sighs. “Trust me. I heard.”

  Little feet get ushered away until they run down the hallway.

  My blankets start to move. “It’s after one in the afternoon, Kaiden. You should get up and eat something. There’s leftovers in the fridge you can have for lunch.”

  I make no effort to move even when she yanks the comforter off me. “I’m tired.”

  “Are you sick?”

  “Only mentally, apparently.”

  She’s silent for a second. “Get up.”

  I don’t.

  “Kaiden!”

  I groan into the pillow before dropping it, arms like lead as they drop to the mattress. “I said I’m tired. Jesus Christ.”

  Mom mumbles something under her breath before backing up. In the process, she knocks my bag over onto the floor, and that’s when I hear the pill bottle rattle and roll.

  Eyes opening as Mom bends down to pick it up, I watch as she examines the label. Her eyes flick over to me. “What is this?”

  I don’t make a smartass remark like I’m tempted to. It’d be misplaced. I can tell by the panicked look on her face as she scans the black ink across the sticker on the front.

  “Kaiden Monroe, are you taking these?”

  I close my eyes again.

  Now she’s angry. “I swear to God, if you don’t answer me—”

  “Yes,” I groan, scrubbing my face. I sit up slowly, using the headboard to keep me upright. My body is groggy and dragging from the aftereffects of the medicine. “They help me sleep, okay?”

  “No. That’s not ‘okay.’ These are not meant for sleeping. They’re addictive.” She grips the bottle and starts looking at me like I’m a stranger. “Are you doing drugs?”

  “What the fuck? No.”

  “Well, you’re misusing these,” she points out coldly, ripping the comforter completely off the bed as if she’s searching for something. Grabbing my bag and dumping it out onto the mattress, she begins rummaging through the contents. “How am I supposed to know what else you’re using. If you’re using.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like? I’m making sure there isn’t anything else in here you haven’t told me about.” When she sees there isn’t, she holds up the bottle. “These are expired. I can’t believe you’d be dumb enough to use them at all, least of all for something like this.”

  My jaw ticks. “Don’t call me that.”

  “I call it like I see it, just like somebody else I know.” She walks out of the room and into the bathroom.

  I bolt out of bed and follow her, stumbling over the shit on the floor, just in time to see her dump the pills down the toilet and flush. I grip the doorjamb, staying silent as she tosses the empty bottle into the garbage can.

  When she turns to me, her eyes are glazed with tears. “Tell me why you’re using them. And be honest. No more lying.”

  “Mom—”

  “There are other ways. You can see a doctor. A specialist. There are medicines you can try at any store, Kaiden. This—” She points toward the trash. “—is not the answer. How long have you been taking them?”

  My nostrils twitch.

  “How long?”

  Fingers raking through my hair, I squeeze the strands and admit, “About a month. I don’t take them every day. Just when I need to get some sleep. They knock me out for a little while.”

  She shakes her head in disbelief. “I’m calling Dr. Brown.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Don’t you dare argue with me. You should have never stopped seeing him, but I let it slide. I didn’t want to push you. I wanted to believe you were fine. But this? This is the final straw. You’re going to see him or else.”

  I scoff. “Or else what?”

  She eyes me, something dark in her eyes that I’ve never seen before. “I’ll call your new boss and tell him what you’ve been doing. We’ll see if they’re still interested in giving you the position when he finds out you’ve been self-medicating instead of handling your problems the right way.”

  Shock straightens my spine.

  She jabs her finger in my direction, rage seeping into her features. “Do not test me. I will not watch you do this to yourself. I shouldn’t have let you get away with it for so long. This is dangerous. First it’s hydrocodone to help you sleep. Then it’s pot to calm your nerves. Maybe you already do that. But what then? Coke to get you through the day? Heroine for energy? What, Kaiden? When does it stop?”

  “You’re overreact—”

  “One call, Kaiden. It will take one phone call to ensure you’re stuck right here with me and Henry. I’ve been understanding, but this is where I stop. You need help. Serious help. Help that I can’t give you. Help that you’d never in a million years let Henry give you even if he can understand your situation better than anyone. I’m calling Dr. Brown and you’re going to see him as soon as he can fit you in.”

  I’m smart this time and remain silent.

  Sophia comes up behind me a few tense moments later, tugging on the pantleg of my pajama pants. “Kai, why does Mommy look so sad?”

  I don’t look down at her. Instead, my gaze trails over to the large mirror hanging above the vanity. I don’t recognize the man in the reflection staring back at me. The bags under my eyes are deep and dark. The color of my brown orbs are glazed and bloodshot. I’m a walking corpse. “I did something stupid, kid.”

  “And she’s mad at you?”

  My eyes catch Mom’s wavering lips.

  “She’s worried.”

  “’Cause she loves you?”

  I pause. “Yeah. Because she loves me.”

  Sophia hugs my leg. “I love you too.”

  My hand falls to her shoulders in silence.

  When my eyes meet Mom’s again, I simply nod once.

  That’s all she needs before she pulls out her cell phone and walks past me, dialing a number I hoped I’d never need to use again.

  You need help.

  You need help.

  You need help.

  Chapter Nine

  The clock on the wall has no numbers. I don’t know why it pisses me off so much, but it does. I hear the ticking. See the hands move. The seconds pass. But they point to nothing.

  No direction.

  No certainty.

  Mom is sitting with a book in her lap, reading silently beside me. As if she senses me staring in her direction, her gaze lifts. “How are you doing?”

  It’s been two days since she found the pills. In those forty-eight hours I’ve been under surveillance, and she’s played dirty every second of it. If she’s not in the room, it’s Henry. And if they’re both busy doing something, they employ Sophia to hang around me because they know I’d never do anything sketchy around her.

  Smart.

  Tactful.

  She hasn’t forgiven me for my recklessness. I can tell by the glint in her eye that she watches me with. I know skepticism when I see it, and she’s full of it. Not that I can really blame her.

  Not knowing what to say, I simply shrug.

  I didn’t fight when she told me about the appointment, and I didn’t argue when she said she
was coming with me so I wouldn’t bail.

  She doesn’t trust me.

  Probably smart.

  Sometimes, I don’t trust myself.

  My eyes go back to the clock.

  Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

  Mom and I sit in silence until I’m called back by the receptionist. An older woman with a soft smile. She’s wasting her comfort on me, though. I don’t deserve it, and I’m sure Mom would agree. My guard dog gives my arm a gentle squeeze as I pass by her and says she’ll be right there when I’m done.

  One hour.

  That’s all I need to sit through.

  When I enter Dr. Brown’s office, I realize time hasn’t changed him one bit. He’s still got the same short silver hair, trimmed beard, and thick glasses. Stereotypical therapist as far as I’m concerned. Button down shirt. Slacks. Polished dress shoes. Put together. Proper. Professional.

  “Kaiden,” he greets, holding out his hand.

  I take it, shaking firmly once and walking over to the chair I know all too well and dropping into it.

  The layout of the office is the same too. Small desk. Large bookcases. Long couch. Two armchairs. It smells like summertime and lavender. He says it’s calming.

  “Before you start in on me,” I tell him, draping an ankle over my knee. “I’m not addicted to anything. Mom freaked out.”

  Dr. Brown sits across from me, an unreadable expression on his face. “I’d hardly say her reaction was unjustified from what she told me. I’ve seen a lot of cases like yours. Some people get in too deep before anybody steps in like she did.”

  Pressing my lips together, I glance out the window. “The clock in the waiting room is fucked up.”

  An amused sound rises from him. “Is it?”

  “There aren’t any numbers.”

  “I’m told it’s stylistic.”

  “It’s ugly.”

  A soft chuckle comes from him. “I don’t want to talk about the clock for the next fifty-eight minutes.”

  My leg starts bouncing anxiously. “Last time I was here you told me we could talk about anything. I could say as much or as little as I wanted.”

  “That was before you were abusing medication. Last time you were here, it’d taken me weeks before I convinced you to even try antidepressants. Clearly, now is different. We’re starting over. New. That means new conditions to the visits.”

  “Visit. Not plural.”

  He simply stares at me.

  I cross my arms on my chest. “I didn’t take the hydrocodone for long. And the last time you gave me the antidepressants, I didn’t start taking them right away. When I finally did, I didn’t like how they made me feel.”

  “And how was that?”

  I roll my eyes. “Tired. Draggy. I didn’t feel right. It was hard to get up and go to class and do what I needed to do.”

  A noise of contemplation rises from his throat. “And how did the hydrocodone make you feel?”

  “That’s different.”

  “How so?”

  “I wanted them to make me feel that way,” I inform him. “Listen, doc. I’m not going to sit here and tell you that what I did was smart. I know it wasn’t. But after I ran out of the medicine you prescribed me, I didn’t want to call and ask for a refill after I used up the others. I didn’t want to do this.”

  “Talk?”

  I nod, evading my eyes.

  “Talking helps. I thought we agreed on that last time. You told me about school. About your mother. You had big aspirations you were planning on achieving in the coming years. Then you started canceling your appointments.”

  What does he want from me? “You just said this was starting over. Bringing up last time seems pointless if we’re playing by your rules.” When he doesn’t say anything, my eye twitches. “You’re right. College got busy because I decided to focus on my future. The future you told me to strive for.”

  “Something changed,” he notes.

  My eyes narrow.

  “You just said that you didn’t take the medication right away. Clearly you did eventually if you ran out of refills and had to start using something else to get by. So, what changed?”

  I did.

  The answer comes silently, quickly.

  I dissect it. Evaluate it.

  Dr. Brown watches as I tense up in the armchair, my arms falling to the sides until my fingers grip the ends. “What are you thinking? I have a feeling you can’t walk out of this session, or your mother would storm right back in here with you. So, you might as well tell me what’s on your mind.”

  Considering she’s been wearing her war face all day, I’d say he’s probably right. And because I don’t feel like sitting in silence, I decide to enlighten him.

  “I graduated.”

  His eyebrows raise in curiosity.

  My palm scrapes down my face as I sit up straight, shoulders tensing as I draw them back in a guarded stance. “I graduated college and stopped having the distraction of school. I couldn’t focus on schoolwork and studying. I didn’t have lacrosse. No real job prospects besides part time bullshit that barely paid. My college buddies moved elsewhere. My family wasn’t around. You want to know what changed? I did. Plain and simple.”

  “You didn’t have anybody or anything else to fall back on,” he remarks, nodding as if he understands.

  One of my shoulders lifts. Maybe the moment things really changed was when I started taking job hunting seriously—when I had to accept that my biggest opportunity would mean moving back to New York and facing the demons I was running from.

  My mother.

  My father.

  Emery.

  The life I had in Exeter was going to hit me in full force the second I settled back into my old role. Except what role was that? I wasn’t the man of the high school. I wasn’t some great lacrosse player. I didn’t have Emery. Never stayed in touch with anybody I graduated with from my hometown.

  I had nothing.

  Nobody.

  Mom didn’t count.

  Henry sure as hell didn’t.

  Sophia was too young to be saddled with the weight of my baggage.

  Who else was there?

  What else?

  I click my tongue. “I’m moving back. Closer to Bridgeport. I found a job that I can use my degree for. Mom threatened to tattle to my boss about the medicine if I didn’t come here.”

  “Physical therapy, correct?” he asks.

  I nod.

  “So, you graduated and got a job.” I’m glad he doesn’t say anything about Mom’s threats. Knowing him, he’s probably happy she made them.

  “I haven’t started yet. Haven’t moved.”

  “When do you plan on doing that?”

  “I don’t know. I just found out. Then…” I gesture around us. “Mom found my pills and dragged me here.”

  Dr. Brown leans forward, grabbing a mug that I know has tea in it. Probably green. He always loved that shit. “I’m glad she did. I could never force any of my patients to continue sessions, but I wanted to with you. When you cancelled on me the first time, I was optimistic. When you continued to do so, I knew you weren’t coming back.”

  “I had it handled.”

  His brows raise again, this time in doubt.

  Reluctantly, I grumble, “I thought I had it handled. When I had school and sports, it didn’t seem so bad. I had other things to think about.”

  He hums inconspicuously. “You need a clear plan if you truly want to handle your future the right way. A game plan if you will.”

  “I don’t play sports anymore, so you can quit it with the cliché sports lines.”

  “Maybe you should,” he offers.

  I stare.

  “There are teams you could join. I’m sure Bridgeport has some leagues you could look into. Physical activity is a great way to let your mind rest and get out frustrations. Football. Baseball. Lacrosse. Anything you’re interested in. Sports can be used as distraction method. A chance to breathe and think about somethin
g focused instead of whatever going on in your life. You said it yourself, Kaiden. Things weren’t so bad then.”

  “But that shit is always going to be there,” I point out gingerly. “What am I supposed to do then when I’m done playing? When I’m home from work?”

  “You face it.”

  The scoff that comes from me is dry as I level him an unamused look. “How the hell am I supposed to do that?”

  This time, it’s him who shrugs. “You tell me. You can’t run from it anymore. And I’d prefer not prescribing you anymore medication right away either. Not until I know you’ve tried other methods. Meditation. Distraction. Acknowledging what it is that’s causing you distress.”

  He’s got to be fucking with me. “You know what that is already. This isn’t our first rodeo. Fresh start or not. My problems are rooted, remember? Dead dad. Dead stepsister. Trust issues. The whole nine yards of fuckery.”

  Brown shakes his head thoughtfully. “It’s not our first rodeo. However, it is the first time you’re here telling me you have a problem.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “The second you admitted your issues would always be within you is the very moment you admitted you have a problem. It’s that simple. What’s not is how to deal with it.”

  My leg stops bouncing. “What do you propose, doc? If you’re not going to offer me the magic pill, what is that scheming mind of yours coming up with?”

  He chuckles lightly. “You need to accept help from your mother and stepfather. That’s the first step. Then you need to stop fighting me. I’ve got a lot of years of experience dealing with grief, Mr. Monroe. Which means I know how to get people past the darkest part of it.”

  I want to make a quip about how he failed the first time, but I know he’d point out the reason for that is because I never gave him a real chance.

  I pick at the lint on the denim covering my thigh. “What am I supposed to do? Let Mom help me find an apartment? Let them help me move? That doesn’t seem like enough.”

  “For who?”

  “Do you always have to answer a question with another question?” I counter, eyeing him in annoyance.

  Instead of giving me another one, he lifts a shoulder and waits for me to answer.