Page 108 of Play Room Actor

I turned to Dominic for help, but he stood there like a traitor.

“You knew. You knew what would happen if you dropped me off here,” I accused him. “And you still did it!”

As I lunged at him, my father grabbed me from behind and dragged me away. Dominic’s pained expression tore my heart apart. “No! You can’t let this happen! I don’t want to go! This is coercion! You can’t do this!”

“I’m not letting you get violent,” my father said. “Or do you want to be taken away by the police?”

My heart was racing. A siren screamed in my head. Get out of here! With every fiber of my being, I knew I had to get out. The time on Valium was already a distant fog, and I was so wired that I broke free from my father and paced nervously.

“Please, Kilian,” Dominic pleaded, coming closer. “Let us help you. And when you feel better …”

“I’m fine!” I snapped at him. “I don’t need help.”

Dominic’s eyes turned glassy, which infuriated me. When Yaël placed a comforting hand on his arm, I lost control.

“Keep your hands off him!” I yelled, charging toward her.

Yaël didn’t react quickly enough and screamed when I ripped her hand away from Dominic and shoved her so hard that she stumbled backward. Dominic caught her just in time, preventing her from falling.

Seeing that made me hesitate for a moment. Dominic caught my sister, as if she were his damn bride! I felt betrayed and didn’t understand anything anymore.

My father placed a hand on my shoulder from behind. “Please, Kilian. Don’t make this worse than it already is. Everything will be okay, but let us help you.”

I don’t know what made me get into the car. It must have had something to do with Dominic.

The tears in his eyes?

Or maybe the pleading look?

I just couldn’t take his presence anymore. My feelings for him were too strong for me to think clearly. The past years had taught me that whenever I became violent, it meant I had hit rock bottom. A storm of thoughts raged in my mind, making it impossible to think straight. The fact that I had attacked my sister was something my mind couldn’t ignore.

I sat silently in the passenger seat, saying nothing as my father drove me to the clinic. He spoke to me, but I didn’t hear what he said. I was surrounded by a dark fog that prevented me from connecting with the outside world.

Following that intense high, it was no surprise that I soon fell into a deep depression. It felt as though no blood flowed through my veins—only black ink. My body felt like a lump of lead, and I sank into depths I hadn’t experienced in a long time.

The weight of the world crammed down on me from all sides. I could barely breathe, let alone eat. For the first five days, I was considered suicidal, and my doctor threatened to feed me artificially, though all I wanted was to sleep through the depression.

I took medication that didn’t work at first. When the dose was adjusted, I felt nauseous for two days and had terrible headaches, which only worsened the depressive phase.

A week had passed before I started feeling better, like a worn-out bear emerging from hibernation. I could eat again and complained about having to use plastic utensils.

It took a few more days until I regained some strength, overcame the apathy, and didn’t feel like a zombie anymore. In my sessions with my therapist, I gradually reconnected with myself.

I spent two weeks at the clinic, cut off from the rest of the world, without a phone or computer.

On Tuesday morning, my father came to pick me up and took me home.

“I’m sorry,” I said as I peered out the window, watching the city pass by.

“I’m just glad you’re doing better. That’s all that matters.”

“I yelled at you guys.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t fun,” he smiled, turning right at the intersection. “But you did say you had everything under control.”

“Clearly, I didn’t.”

“It’s good you’re back on the meds. That puts my mind at ease—and your mom’s too.”