Of course, she belongs in there. She’s a nutcase. She needs help, Mr. Pierce.”
My lips thin into a grim line. “She’s the nutcase?” Making a point to glance around and point out the obvious—they’ve wiped away her existence here. “You have your deceased daughter’s pictures hanging everywhere like this is a shrine.”
Michael glares. “It’s easier that way. Mackenzie was never her own person; she looked up to Madison in ways that were almost obsessive. There’s nothing hanging of her because she was never her own person. And how we choose to celebrate the life of our daughter is our right.”
“Release her. She’s obviously better off in my hands anyway.” Michael opens his mouth to say something, but I cut him off. “I wasn’t finished.” His eyes narrow, but he remains silent, allowing me to go on. “Once you let her out of there, because you will, both you and your wife, you’re going to pass over guardianship of your daughter to me. Her next of kin will be me. Her life will be in my hands, not yours.”
If his eyes pinch any farther, he won’t be able to see a damn thing. “What did she do to you? Why would you want that burden?”
Burden?
Having conservatorship over his daughter is suddenly a burden?
With each word out of Michael’s mouth, I’m beginning to like him less and less. I’m also starting to put the puzzle pieces of Mackenzie Wright together in ways I wasn’t before.
“I have the paperwork here with me,” I say, ignoring all his questions. “All you need to do is sign.”
Uncertainty flits across his face, but he nods slowly after a few minutes of silence. I watch with rapt attention as he signs Mackenzie’s entire life over to me without so much as a speck of remorse on his face.
I shouldn’t be all that surprised. No parent who cared about their child would abandon them like they did to Mackenzie.
Once I’m back in my car, I give good old Dr. Aster a call and break the devastating news to her. Not only is Mackenzie under my care, but she’s free to go. She’ll no longer need to be a patient there or a sitting duck for Zach and whatever he has planned.
I wake up in a panicked sweat again, my gaze darting around the quiet, still room. Once my breathing evens out, and I realize where I am, the loneliness climbs back inside me. I don’t want to be here. I don’t deserve to be here.
As per usual, I go through the motions of feeling sorry for myself. It’s something that’s become second nature while I’ve been here. Alongside my physical therapy, my meals, and my psychoanalyzing with the doctors, feeling sorry for myself is just another part of my sentencing.
That is one of the things about being locked away, kept away from everyone else, supposedly for your own good. You start to go crazy. You start to wonder how you landed here in the first place. I’m questioning my life choices, questioning my sanity and everything that’s led me here.
It feels like it’s been so long since I’ve had contact with anyone who isn’t a doctor. I don’t expect Baz to come back anytime soon, especially not with how we left things. That was just a few days ago, and somehow, I think his visit has made things worse here. It’s made me crave freedom even more.
I hate him.
I love him.
And I know I shouldn’t. He’s the one man in this world I know I shouldn’t love, but fate, life, God, whoever controls this bullshit, they’re playing with me. Toying with my emotions for kicks.
Sometimes, the two people who should be apart are the ones who find their way to each other. They’re the ones who end up in relationships, and that is Baz and I in a nutshell. We are bad for each other. We’ll never last, but that doesn’t stop me from thinking about him. Does any of that make me love him less?
God no.
I love him with my entire heart.
I hate him with every facet of my soul.
We are entwined. Our pasts colliding with our present, quite possibly even ruining our future.
Pushing out of bed, I reach for the crutches propped next to the rails and use them to pad toward the window, pushing past the curtains. I revel in the feel of the cool linoleum beneath my feet. The silvery light from the moon brightens the room, just a sliver from the curtain. The