Between the Lives - By Jessica Shirvington Page 0,35

of myself I usually had control over had been stolen from me.

I threw up again.

Finally, determined not to Shift back to Wellesley tomorrow night to find myself mid-vomit and over the toilet, I forced myself to my feet and shuffled back to bed. I slid between the sheets just in time to take a series of shaky breaths before midnight struck and I Shifted.

As soon as I was back in my Roxbury body I felt the dead weight. It was like being paralysed while sinking in water. I couldn’t move.

I. Couldn’t. Move.

My eyes were shut and I couldn’t access the muscles in my body that would open them. I wanted to thrash around, shake myself, slap myself. I wanted to scream. But my mind, completely alert, was imprisoned in an inert, silent chamber of a body. And then, whatever it was that was coursing through my system, the drug that had originally put me under started to catch up with me. No, chase me.

I don’t know how long it took from when I Shifted. Even though it felt like a lifetime, it was probably only seconds before the drug with its cotton wool–like suffocation stole my conscious mind, melting it back into a sedated state.

Just before my mind slipped into oblivion, I thought I felt a pressure on my hand, as if … as if someone was holding it, squeezing tight.

A noise woke me. First my eyes fluttered, then my fingers twitched lethargically. I heard the noise again, and realised it was voices. Slowly my mind cleared. I was in Roxbury, in the clinic. My parents had had me admitted. I’d been sedated. By Ethan.

I opened my eyes to a slit. Everything was blurry, but I could recognise my parents. As my vision sharpened I saw they were talking to two men: Dr Meadows and a man I didn’t know. Then I saw another figure beyond them, leaning against the doorframe. I almost started when I realised it was Ethan. Slumped against the door jamb in his dark jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt, his hair as wayward as ever, he didn’t look like he belonged.

‘It’s up to you, John,’ Dr Meadows said, addressing my father. ‘If you want her transferred to another facility that’s better equipped for this type of thing, I totally understand. Otherwise, she can stay here. Dr Levi has offered his services and he’s one of the best. He stops by on a daily basis to tend to some of the other in-patients – he’s offered to add Sabine to his rounds,’ he explained.

I stayed silent; I knew if they realised I was awake they would take this discussion elsewhere and I needed to hear it.

‘Dr Levi, what do you think we’re dealing with here?’ my father said, as if asking a mechanic about a busted car.

‘I’ll need to spend some time with her to make any formal diagnosis. She’s obviously experienced some kind of mental breakdown. She could be suffering from a number of things: hallucinations, substance abuse, compulsive lying, a personality disorder –’

‘Schizophrenia?’ my father interrupted.

‘It’s possible. We’ve sent her bloods off to be tested. The easiest thing to identify or rule out is a drug problem. We’ll start there.’

‘Christ.’

‘I assure you we’ll take good care of her. The main thing at the moment is to ensure that she doesn’t make another attempt on her life.’

Someone cleared his throat. I opened my eyes a fraction again just as Ethan pushed off the wall. ‘Ah, Dr Levi, I … I’m not so sure that’s what she was doing. She appears to know full well the injuries inflicted were not life threatening. I dressed the wounds myself. They’re nasty, but for someone who is currently on SW she was incredibly careful to avoid major arteries.’

‘She broke her own arm!’ my father roared.

Ethan didn’t seem bothered, which almost made me smile. ‘Again, I’m not sure that’s true.’

I wanted to applaud Ethan and give my father the finger.

Dr Levi chose this moment to intervene. ‘Do you have a suggestion for what we should be looking for, Ethan? Clearly you’ve managed to draw some information from her.’

Ethan was silent for a moment and then he sighed. ‘I don’t know. Like you said, she’s clearly going through some kind of psychological trauma. She was petrified about being restrained last night, with a particular fear of midnight.’

Something inside me sank to hear him analysing me in such a detached way.

‘What I want to know is when she became so disturbed she created an