My Soul to Lose (5 page)

stare, which was obviously all some of the residents

were capable of. Lydia actually seemed to be

observing me, like she was looking for something in

particular. What, I had no idea.

“Weird, isn’t it?” Mandy dropped into the chair on

my left, and air whooshed from the cushion. “The way

she stares.”

I glanced up to find her looking across the room at

Lydia. “No weirder than anything else here.” And

frankly, I wasn’t looking to make conversation—or

friends—with someone who stuffed forks down her

pants.

“She’s a ward of the court.” Mandy bit into a halfeaten chocolate bar, then continued with her mouth

full. “Never talks. You ask me, she’s the strangest one

here.”

I had serious doubts about that.

36 / My Soul to Lose

“What’re you here for?” Her gaze traveled south of

my face, then back up. “Let me guess. You’re either

manic depressive, or anorexic.”

Inside, my temper boiled, but I was proud by how

calm my reply sounded. “I don’t talk either.”

She stared at me for a second, then burst into a

harsh, barking laugh.

“Mandy, why don’t you find something

constructive to do?” A familiar voice said, and I

glanced up to find Paul standing in the wide doorway,

holding…

My suitcase!

I sprang from the couch, and he held the rolling bag

out to me. “I thought that might make you smile.”

In fact, I was oddly excited and relieved. If I had to

be locked up, at least I could be miserable in my own

clothes. But then my enthusiasm flashed out like a

burned-up bulb when I realized what that suitcase

meant. Aunt Val had dropped off my clothes without

coming in to see me.

She’d left me again.

I took the bag and headed back to my room, where

I dropped the suitcase on the floor beside the bed,

unopened. Paul followed me, but stopped in the

doorway. I sank onto the bed, battling tears, my

suitcase forgotten in spite of the rough scrub bottoms

chaffing me in all the wrong places.

“She couldn’t stay,” Paul said. Apparently my

emotions were as transparent as the tempered glass

Rachel Vincent / 37

windows. Wouldn’t my therapist be pleased? “Visiting

hours don’t start until seven.”

“Whatever.” If she’d wanted to see me, she would

have, even if it was just for a few minutes. My aunt’s

tenacity was a thing of legends.

“Hey, don’t let this place get to you, okay? I’ve

seen a lot of kids lose their souls in here, and I’d hate

to see that happen to you.” He ducked his head, trying

to draw eye contact, but I only nodded, staring at the

floor. “Your aunt and uncle will be back tonight.”

Yeah, but that didn’t mean they’d take me home. It

didn’t mean anything at all.

***

When Paul left, I heaved my suitcase onto the bed and

unzipped it, eager to wear, see, and smell something

familiar. After just a few hours at Lakeside, I was

already terrified of losing myself. Of fading into the

glazed eyes, slow steps, and empty stares all around

me. I needed something from real life—from my

world outside this room—that would help me hold on

to
me.
So I was completely unprepared for the contents

of my bag.

Nothing in it was mine. The clothes still had price

tags dangling from waistbands and collars.

Fighting back fresh tears, I lifted the first piece

from the suitcase: a pair of soft pink jogging pants

with a wide, gathered waistband and a complicated

arrangement of flowers embroidered over one hip. At

38 / My Soul to Lose

the front were two holes where the drawstring should

have been. It’d been snipped and removed so I

couldn’t hang myself with it. The suitcase held a

matching top, along with an entire collection of clothes

I’d never even seen. They were all expensive, and

comfortable, and perfectly coordinated.

What is this, psycho chic?
What was wrong with

my own jeans and tees?

The truth was that, in her own twisted way, Aunt

Val was probably trying to cheer me up with new

clothes. That might have worked for Sophie, but how

could she not understand that it wouldn’t work for me?

Suddenly pissed beyond words, I stripped and

tossed the borrowed scrubs into a pile in the corner of

the room, then ripped open a five-pack of underwear

and stepped into the first pair. Then I dug through my

bag for anything that didn’t look like something

Martha Stewart would wear on house arrest. The best I

found was a plainish purple jogging suit at the bottom

of the pile. Only once I had it on did I realize the fabric

glittered
beneath the light over my bed.

Great. I’m psychotic
and
sparkly.
And there was

nothing else in the bag. No books, and no puzzles. Not

even any of Sophie’s useless fashion magazines. With

an angry sigh, I stomped down the hall in search of

reading material and a quiet corner, silently daring

Paul or any of the aides to comment on my epic

wardrobe disaster.

***

Rachel Vincent / 39

After supper, Aunt Val and Uncle Brendon walked

through the door next to the nurses’ station, both

empty-handed; they’d had to empty their pockets and

turn over Aunt Val’s purse to the security guard. That

way, I wouldn’t be tempted to try to kill anyone with

her lip gloss and travel-size pack of tissues.

Seeing them standing there was like seeing my dad

every time he came home for Christmas. Part of me

was so mad at them both for leaving me there that I

wanted to shout until I went hoarse, or ignore them

completely. Whichever would come closest to hurting

them like they’d hurt me. I wanted them to feel scared,

and alone, and without even basic comforts like their

own clothing.

But the other part of me wanted a hug so bad I

could practically feel arms around me already. I

wanted to smell the outside world on them both. Soap

that didn’t come in tiny, unscented, paper-wrapped

packets. Food that didn’t come on labeled, hard plastic

trays. Shampoo that didn’t have to be checked out

from the nurses’ station, then turned in along with my

dignity.

In the end, I could only stand there staring, waiting

for them to make the first move.

Uncle Brendon came first. Maybe he couldn’t resist

our actual blood bond; my bond to Aunt Val was by

virtue of her wedding vows. Either way, Uncle

Brendon hugged me like he might never see me again,

and my heart raced a bit in panic at that thought. Then

40 / My Soul to Lose

I pushed it aside and buried my face in his shirt,

smelling his aftershave, and Aunt Val’s favorite

spring-scented dryer sheets.

“How you holding up, hon?” he asked, when I

finally pulled back far enough to see his face, rough

with evening stubble.

“If I’m not crazy yet, I will be after one more day

in this place. You have to take me home. Please.”

My aunt and uncle exchanged a dark glance, and

my stomach seemed to settle somewhere around my

knees. “What?”

“Let’s sit.” Aunt Val’s heels clacked all the way

into the common area, where she glanced around and

looked like she wanted to take her suggestion back.

Several other patients sat staring up at the TV, most

with glazed looks of half-comprehension. Two more

worked on puzzles, and one thin boy I’d hardly seen

was arguing with his parents in the far corner.

“Come on.” I turned toward the girls’ hall, leaving

them to follow. “I don’t have a roommate.” In my

room, I sank onto my bed with my feet tucked beneath

me, and Uncle Brendon sat next to me. Aunt Val

perched stiffly on the edge of the only chair. “What’s

wrong?” I demanded, when all eyes turned toward me.

“Other than the obvious.”

Uncle Brendon spoke first. “Kaylee, you haven’t

been released. We can’t take you home before the

doctor has even seen you.”

“Why not?” My jaws were clenched so hard they

ached. My hands curled around fistfuls of the blanket.

Rachel Vincent / 41

I felt freedom slipping away like water through my

fingers.

“Because you tried to rip your own throat out in the

middle of Sears.” Aunt Val frowned, like it should

have been obvious.

“That’s not…” I stopped, swallowing back tears. “I

didn’t know what I was doing. I was just trying to

make the screaming stop.”

“I know, honey.” She leaned forward, frowning in

serious concern. “That’s the problem. You could have

seriously hurt yourself without meaning to. Without

any idea what you were doing.”

“No, I…” But I couldn’t really argue with that. If I

could have stopped it, I would have. But a stint in

Lakeside wasn’t going to make that any better.

My uncle sighed. “I know this is…unpleasant, but

you need help.”

“Unpleasant?” That sounded like a direct quote

from Aunt Val. I gripped the footboard of the bed so

hard my fingers ached. “I’m not crazy. I’m not.” And

maybe if I kept saying it, one of us would actually

believe it.

“I know,” my uncle said softly, and I glanced at

him in surprise. His eyes were closed and he took

several deep breaths, like he was preparing himself for

something he didn’t want to do. He looked ready to

cry. Or to beat the crap out of something. I was voting

for the latter.

42 / My Soul to Lose

Aunt Val stiffened in her chair, watching her

husband carefully, as if silently willing him to do

something. Or maybe not to do it.

When Uncle Brendon finally opened his eyes, his

gaze was steady. Intense. “Kaylee, I know you didn’t

mean to hurt yourself, and I know you’re not crazy.”

He seemed so sure of it, I almost believed him.

Relief washed over me, like that first air-conditioned

breeze on a hot summer day. But it was quickly

swallowed by doubt. Would he be so sure if he knew

what I’d seen?

“We need you to give this a shot, okay?” His eyes

pleaded with me. Desperately. “They can teach you

how to deal with it here. How to calm yourself down

and…hold it back. Val and I… We don’t know how to

help with that.”

No!
I blinked away unshed tears, refusing to let

them fall. They were going to leave me locked up in

here!

Uncle Brendon took my hand and squeezed it.

“And if you have another panic attack, I want you to

go to your room and concentrate on not screaming. Do

whatever you have to do to resist it, okay?”

Stunned, I could only stare for a long moment. It

took all of my remaining focus to breathe. They really

weren’t going to take me home!

“Kaylee?” my uncle asked, and I hated how

concerned he looked. How fragile he obviously

considered me now.

“I’ll try.”

Rachel Vincent / 43

My aunt and uncle knew that my panic attacks

always seemed to be triggered by someone else. So

far, always someone I’d never met. But they didn’t

know about the morbid certainty that came with the

panic. Or the weird hallucinations I’d had at the mall. I

was afraid that if I told them those parts, they’d agree

with Dr. Nelson, and the three of them might put me

back in that restraint bed and weld the buckles shut.

“Try hard.” Uncle Brendon eyed me intently, his

green eyes somehow shining, even in the dim

overhead light. “Because if you start screaming again,

they’ll pump you so full of antidepressants and

antipsychotics you won’t even remember your own

name.”

Antipsychotics?
They really thought I was

psychotic?

“And Kaylee…”

I looked up at Aunt Val and was surprised to see

visible dents in her armor of relentless optimism. She

looked pale, and stressed, and the frown lines in her

forehead were more pronounced than I’d ever seen

them. If someone had shown her a mirror at that

moment, she might easily have wound up my

roommate in the loony bin.

“If you even look like you’re going to hurt yourself

again—” her gaze strayed to the scabbed-over

scratches on my neck, and my hand immediately flew

to cover them “—you’ll wind up strapped to that table

again.” Her voice broke, and she pulled a tissue from

her purse to blot tears before they smudged her

44 / My Soul to Lose

mascara. “And I don’t think either one of us can

handle seeing you like that again.”

***

I woke up at four in the morning and couldn’t go back

to sleep. After an hour and a half of staring up at the

ceiling, ignoring the aide who came to check on me

every fifteen minutes, I got dressed and headed down

the hall in search of a magazine I’d started the day

before. To my surprise, Lydia sat on a couch in the

living-room half of the common area.

“You’re up early.” I sat next to her, uninvited. The