My Soul to Lose (7 page)

even severe anxiety…”

But there was something he wasn’t saying. I could

see it in his eyes, and my stomach started pitching.

“What else?”

54 / My Soul to Lose

“It could be some form of schizophrenia, but that’s

really jumping the gun. We need to run more tests

and—”

But I didn’t hear anything after that. He’d brought

my life to a grinding halt with that one word, and

hurtled my entire future into a bleak storm of

uncertainty. Of impossibility. If I was crazy, how

could I possibly be anything else? Ever.

“When can I go home?” That dark, sick feeling in

my stomach was churning out of control, and all I

wanted in that moment was to curl up in my own bed

and go to sleep. For a very long time.

“Once we get a definite diagnosis and get your

meds balanced…”

“How long?”

“Two weeks, at least.”

I stood and was almost bowled over by the

hopelessness crashing over me. Would I have any

friends left, if this got out? Would I be that crazy girl

at school now? The one everyone whispered about?

Would I even go back to school?

If I was really crazy, did it even matter?

***

My next four days at Lakeside made the phrase
bored

to death
seem like a distinct possibility. If not for the

note from Emma that Uncle Brendon brought, I might

have given up entirely. But hearing from her, knowing

that she hadn’t forgotten about me—or told anyone

Rachel Vincent / 55

else where I was—brought relevance back to my life

outside Lakeside. Made things matter again.

Em was still planning to humiliate Toby that

weekend, and crossing her fingers that I’d be back at

school in time to see it happen. And in case I wasn’t,

she’d made plans to broadcast his downfall on

YouTube, just for me.

That became my new goal. Doing and saying

whatever it took to get out. To get back to school, and

back to my life.

Nurse Nancy started each morning with the same

two questions and faithfully recorded my responses on

a clipboard. I saw Dr. Nelson for a few minutes every

day, but he seemed more concerned with the side

effects of the medication he’d prescribed than with

whether or not it was actually working. In my opinion,

the fact that I hadn’t had any more screaming fits was

total coincidence, and not the result of any of the pills

they made me take.

And the pills…

I decided early on not to ask what they were. I

didn’t want to know. But I couldn’t ignore the side

effects. I was groggy all the time, and spent half of the

first two days sleeping.

The next time my aunt and uncle came, they

brought two pairs of my own jeans and
Brave New

World,
and I spent the next day reading it between

naps. That night, Paul gave me a ballpoint pen and a

legal pad, and I started writing my paper longhand,

56 / My Soul to Lose

desperately missing the laptop my father had sent for

my last birthday.

On my fifth night in La La Land, my aunt, uncle,

and I sat on a couch in the common area. Aunt Val

prattled endlessly about Sophie’s dance-team routine,

and the many rounds of debate with the team’s faculty

sponsor over the new uniforms: unitards or separate

tops with hot pants.

I personally didn’t care if Sophie danced in the

nude. In fact, the life experience might open up some

interesting career opportunities for her some day. But I

listened because as dull as Aunt Val’s story was, it had

happened out in the real world, and I missed the real

world more than I’d ever missed anything in my life.

Then, in the middle of a detailed description of the

unitard in question, several simultaneous bursts of

static caught my attention from the nurses’ station. I

couldn’t make out the actual words coming over the

two-way radios, but something unusual was obviously

going down.

Moments later, shouting shattered the

overmedicated hush from somewhere beyond the

nurses’ station, and the main entrance buzzed. Then

the door to the unit flew open, and two large men in

scrubs came in carrying a guy about my age, with a

firm grip on each of his arms. He refused to walk, so

his bare feet trailed on the floor behind him.

The new boy was thin and lanky, and yelling his

head off, though I couldn’t understand a word he said.

Rachel Vincent / 57

He was also completely nude, and trying to toss off the

blanket someone had draped over his shoulders.

Aunt Val leaped to her high-heeled feet,

predictably shocked. Her mouth hung open, her arms

limp at her sides. Uncle Brendon’s scowl could have

paralyzed anyone who saw it. And all over the unit,

patients poured from their rooms to investigate the

commotion.

I stayed on the couch, paralyzed with horror not

only for what I saw, but for what I remembered. Had I

looked like that when the aides had buckled me to the

restraint bed? Had my eyes been so bright and distantlooking? My limbs so out of control?

I’d been dressed, of course, but I wouldn’t be if my

next panic attack struck while I was in the shower.

Would they haul me out naked and dripping to strap

me to another bed?

While I watched, spellbound and horrified as the

aides half pulled the newcomer through the unit, Uncle

Brendon tugged Aunt Val to one corner of the now

nearly empty common room. He glanced at me once,

but I pretended not to notice, knowing he wouldn’t

want me to hear whatever he was about to say.

“We’re handling this all wrong, Val. She shouldn’t

be here,” he whispered fiercely, and inside I cheered.

Schizophrenic or not—and no diagnosis had been

confirmed yet—I didn’t belong at Lakeside. I had no

doubt of that.

58 / My Soul to Lose

On the edge of my vision, my aunt crossed her

arms over her narrow chest. “Dr. Nelson won’t let her

out until…”

“I can change his mind.”

If anyone could, it would be Uncle Brendon. He

could sell water to a fish.

One of the aides let go of his charge’s arm to

reposition the blanket, and the new guy shoved him

backward, then tried to pull free of the other aide, now

shouting a random stream of curses.

“He’s not on call tonight,” Aunt Val whispered,

still staring nervously at the scuffle. “You won’t be

able to reach him until tomorrow.”

My uncle’s scowl deepened. “I’ll call first thing in

the morning. This will be her last night here, if I have

to break her out myself.”

If I weren’t afraid of drawing attention to my

eavesdropping, I would have jumped up and cheered.

“Assuming she doesn’t have another…episode

between now and then,” Aunt Val said, effectively

raining all over my parade.

And that’s when I noticed Lydia curled up in a

chair at the back of the room, face scrunched up in

pain, watching all three of us rather than the scuffle up

front. She made no effort to hide her eavesdropping,

and even gave me a thin, sad little smile when she saw

that I’d noticed her.

When the staff had the new guy under control and

safely sedated in the closed restraint room, my aunt

and uncle said a quick goodbye. And this time, when

Rachel Vincent / 59

the unit door closed behind them, my usual bitter wash

of loneliness and despair was flavored with a thin,

sweet ribbon of hope.

Freedom was eight hours and a phone call away. I

would celebrate with a designer jogging suit bonfire.

***

The next morning marked my seventh day at Lakeside,

and my first waking thought was that I’d officially

missed the homecoming dance. But it was hard to be

too upset about that, because my second thought was

that I would sleep in my own bed that night. Just

knowing I was getting out made everything else look a

little brighter.

Maybe I wasn’t crazy, after all. Maybe I was just

prone to anxiety attacks, and the pills the doc

prescribed could keep that under control. Maybe I

could
have a normal life—once I’d put Lakeside

behind me.

I woke up before dawn and had half finished a fivehundred-piece jigsaw puzzle by the time Nurse Nancy

came into the common room to ask about my

gastrointestinal health and my suicidal impulses. I

even smiled while I bit back a suggestion about where

she could shove her clipboard.

The rest of the staff seemed to find my sudden

good cheer alarming, and I swear they checked on me

more often than usual. Which was pointless, because

all I did was work on puzzles and stare out the

60 / My Soul to Lose

window, aching for fresh air. And a doughnut. I had

the worst craving for doughnuts, just because I

couldn’t get one.

After breakfast, I packed all my stuff. Every stupid

sparkly jogging suit and every fluffy pair of socks. My

copy of
Brave New World,
and my handwritten,

fifteen-hundred-and-twenty-two-word essay, each

word counted, just to make sure. Three times.

I was ready to go.

Nurse Nancy noted my packed bag and my neatly

made bed with a single raised eyebrow, but said

nothing as she checked me off on her clipboard.

By lunchtime, I was fidgeting uncontrollably. I

tapped my fork on the table and stared out the window,

watching the visible portion of the parking lot for my

uncle’s car. Or my aunt’s. Every time I glanced up, I

found Lydia watching me, a silent frown painted on

her face, along with a now constant grimace of pain.

Whatever was wrong with her was getting worse; she

had my sympathy. And I couldn’t help wondering why

they didn’t give her stronger pain pills. Or if they were

giving her any at all.

I’d been working on the puzzle for nearly an hour

after lunch when a loud crash echoed from the boys’

hall, and startled aides took off in that direction. As

they ran, that familiar grim panic grabbed me like a

fist around my chest, squeezing so hard I couldn’t

breathe.

Despair settled through me, bitter and sobering.
No!

Not again! I’m getting out today…

Rachel Vincent / 61

But not if I started screaming again. Not if they had

to strap me to another bed. Not if they had to shoot me

so full of drugs I slept through the next fifteen hours.

My heart pumped blood through me so fast my

head spun. I stayed in my seat while the other patients

stood, edging eagerly to the broad doorway. The

screaming hadn’t started yet. Maybe if I stayed

completely still, it wouldn’t. Maybe I could control it

this time. Maybe the pills would work.

Down the hall, something heavy thudded against

the walls, and dark panic bloomed inside me, leaving

my heart swollen and heavy with a grief I didn’t

understand.

Lydia rose from her chair with her back to the

boys’ hall. Her eyes closed, and she flinched. As I

watched, frozen, she fell forward, bent at the waist.

Her knees slammed into the vinyl tile. She held herself

off the floor with one hand—the other pressed to her

gut in obvious pain—and cried out softly. But no one

heard her over the splinter of wood from down the

hall. No one but me.

I wanted to help her but I was afraid to move. The

shriek was building inside me now, fighting its way

up. My throat tightened. I gripped the arms of my

chair, my knuckles white with tension. The pills

weren’t working. Did that mean my panic attacks were

neither schizophrenia nor anxiety?

Wide-eyed, I watched as Lydia hauled herself up,

using an end table for balance. One arm wrapped

around her stomach, she held her free hand out to me,

62 / My Soul to Lose

tears standing in her eyes. “Come on,” she whispered,

then swallowed thickly. “If you want out, come with

me now.”

If I weren’t busy holding back my scream, I might

have choked on surprise. She could talk?

I sucked in a deep breath through my nose, then let

go of the chair and slid my hand into hers. Lydia

pulled me up with surprising strength, and I followed

her across the room, through a gap in the cluster of

patients, and down the girls’ hall, while everyone else

stared in the opposite direction. She stopped once,

halfway down, bent over in pain again as a horrifying

screech ripped through the air from the other side of

the unit.

“It’s Tyler,” she gasped as I pulled her up and

pressed my free fist against my sealed lips, physically

holding back my screams. “The new guy. He hurts so

bad, but I can only take so much…”

I had no idea what she was talking about, and I

couldn’t ask. I could only pull her forward, moving as

much for her benefit now as for mine. Whatever was

wrong with her was somehow connected to Tyler, so

surely distance from the commotion would be as good