𝐁𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐀 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝

XXIX

Janes pov
I'm not a monster, but I fear I'm becoming one.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, there is an imbalance. A chemical one. Walking through the mazes of my mind is like walking through a grave of time capsules. I don't know which memories are real, which I've made up to comfort myself. It's as if every comfort I've been deprived of, every emotion I was told I couldn't feel, every scenario I've imagined to help me sleep better at night—all in the phantom touch of a boy.  I don't like being inside my own head, I don't trust it anymore. But Mattheo seems to enjoy being in mine more than his own. As if taking sanctuary in the neurons of my thoughts to hide from his own, drowning himself in the bloodstream of every cell. Drowning in my head, while I try to survive the tidal waves of every voice coursing through it.

He's so adamant on understanding it–understanding me—that he's taken a step back on the examination. He wants to start from the beginning, starting with medication, drugs. He's changed them out, and with Maxim gone for business, Mattheo is in charge so Dr. Martinez has no choice but to listen. I don't bother mentioning they aren't working as well as he thinks they are.

"It's like–" Dr. Martinez curses under her breath as she takes a few millimeters of medicine."It's like he's trying to take you away from me."

I swallow, frowning. Dr. Martinez has always been the one treating me. "They can't do that, right?" I ask, my voice hoarse. Except for the sessions me and Henry—Mattheo have—I hardly talk. If it weren't for him being so persistent on talking to me, trying to figure me out, I probably would've forgotten how to.

She sighs, running her fingers down my hair. "It's happened before." She plays with it, brushing out my brow locks before moving some strands out of my face. The act reminds me of something a mother would do to her child, and it reminds me of all the times as a child I've had her fill out that role in my life. The one who gave me advice, studied with me, helped me get dressed, drugged me. "Jamie."

I furrow my brows. "Was he taken from you?"

She shrugs, finger brushing the other sides of my hair. "Sort of. Death took him from me."

I prop myself up. "What do you mean?"

"It's just, I don't know." She starts to braid my hair, playing with the strands. "I tried, I tried so hard to save him, Jane. Please know that I was only trying to help him be normal. I didn't mean to–" She moves my hair to the side, her fingers lingering on my collarbone, my shoulders. Both turned thin with the time I've spent here. "I've always wanted another kid. Another chance."

I raise my green eyes to meet hers. "I'm not your shot at redemption. I'm not Jamie."

"No," She sighs, almost caressing my cheek. "You aren't, and you never will be."

We sit in awkward silence for a while, and I can see the way she looks at me–like she's fantasizing an entirely different person in the body. I know the feeling. A little too well. "You killed him." I suddenly remind her

"No." She stiffens. her hands frozen. "I was just trying to help him like I'm trying to help you.  I didn't kill him–"

"You spent so much of your time trying to fix him that you broke him in the process." I hope she can hear what I'm trying to tell her. I hope she hears my scream for help.

"I just wanted to save him the way I've been saved." She reasons.  "I never wanted to hurt him. It wasn't my intention. I wasn't killing him." She tells me this, but it sounds like she's trying to convince herself, too.

"Yes, you were" I point out. "All the experiments, all the tests—you were draining him. Like you're draining me." Don't make the same mistake twice, I try to tell her.