Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 97525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
It feels like there is, like a monster is taking control of me—because this violence, this eruption of control is not like me. I watch, in slow motion, the snap of her chin, its wild jerk as I shake her shoulders and I should stop, should release her, should step away, but I don't. This feeling, an overwhelming hatred of the unknown, shatters every tie of self-control that I had in place, and I notice, for the first time in decades, the fracturing of my world into pieces. A dark sweep of oblivion takes my anger and dissolves it into a sea of black.
Black.
Nothing.
Maybe it is another personality taking over. Or maybe it’s the injection stabbed into my back, Jillian's eyes leaving mine for a brief second to look over my shoulder and nod her approval.
Chapter 66 - Brant
I wake up restrained. Testing my movement, my wrists and ankles have only a few inches of give. I jerk hard but the action is useless. I lift my head and can see a man in my peripheral, moving toward me. His features come into view, and despite the muddy waters of my mind, recognition immediately dawns.
"Dr. F." I let my head fall back on the pillow as he reaches forward, resting his hand on my chest, his face pinched with concern. "Where am I?"
"You're at Jillian's home. She thought this would be a better place to keep you, away from the press or public eye."
"Untie me." I try to ask with as much civility as possible but am certain he hears the anger behind my tone.
"Not yet. Jillian told me what happened... and for our safety we need to keep you restrained a little longer." He pats my arm as if he is turning down a request for a popsicle, not my right to freedom.
"Let me the fuck up. I'm not going to hurt you. I've done nothing to allow you to restrain me like an animal." I yank with all my might at the restraints, and a wave of claustrophobia swells through me.
"Brant, forget the restraints for a moment. We need to talk." He pulls up a chair and sits, withdrawing a small notepad and a pen.
I close my eyes and will my muscles to relax, to ease the friction against the restraints. I envision the motherboard of Laya, the components that connect to make it run. The pieces of nonsense that communicate to breathe life into an inanimate object. Peace. With my claustrophobia under control, I open my eyes. “What do you want to know?”
"What happened when you blacked out?"
"When?"
"Yesterday. You blacked out in Jillian's den."
That was yesterday? I realize there is sunlight streaming through the windows and wonder how long I was out for. “I didn’t blackout. I was drugged. “Where's Layana? I want to see her." I need to see her. I owe her an explanation, though I don’t have one yet.
"We don't think you should have any visitors until we figure this out."
"Excuse me?” I glare at him but it’s hard to be imposing when you’re tied to a bed and can only move your head.
"We don't think—"
"I heard you. I just can't believe you would speak to me as if I’m a child. I’m an adult. I don't care what you think."
"Mr. Brant, you've been declared incompetent. For the moment, I am your personal physician, unless Jillian appoints another one. And Jillian is your personal representative."
Oh my God. I'm going to break again. I can feel the creep, can see dots in my vision, and I struggle to stay grounded. "I can't have been declared incompetent. There is a process involved. Probate court. A psychological examination by a medical practitioner.” I know because decades ago, when I was just a teenager, the conversation was had. I’d listened, my ear to the door of my room, as Jillian and my parents had discussed what would happen to my fortune if I ever lost my mind or melted down.
“Well, as you know, I’m a medical practitioner. And Jillian got some strings pulled. We have a provisional application in process, which has been approved by a local judge. It will stand until the courts open on Monday. Look, Brant. All you have to do is relax and let us help you to get back on your feet."
My brain tries to grab at straws it can't reach, and I don’t know if the issue is what they injected me with or if this is what a mental breakdown feels like. I just want my normality back, the righting of this topsy-turvy ship. "I need my medicine," I gasp. "Please."
“We're going to hold off on any medication until we see the frequency of your switches."
We. The word grates on me and as frustrating as it is to have one person controlling my life, the idea of a we is even more infuriating.