Page 12 of Noctis

“I don’t want to stay.”

“Just give it a few days. See how you do. Maybe talk to someone about everything that’s been going on with you over the past few months.”

“You sound like him.”

“Well, if two people are equally concerned about you, then maybe they’re right and you’re wrong. Have you considered that?”

I rubbed my temple with my free hand, trying to ease the headache beginning to pulse behind it. Truth be told, I hadn’t felt great since waking up, but I refused to contemplate that it might be because of withdrawal. That would make Tyler and Remy right, and I wasn’t desperate enough to leave that I’d concede the point. Yet.

“Is it really such a terrible place?” Remy asked, genuine concern softening his voice.

I looked around the room again. The card players had switched from poker to snap, presumably because a nurse had entered the room. She was deep in conversation with a waif-like girl who barely looked eighteen.

“No, it’s not that bad.”

“Then give it a few days.”

“You don’t understand. Tyler told them something that isn’t true.”

“What?”

I lowered my voice. “That I was thinking about killing myself. I don’t know why he’d say that when it’s utter bullshit, but he did.”

“I’m sure there’s a perfectly rational explanation.”

“Like what?”

“Maybe he said something, and they misunderstood him. Or maybe there was a long waiting list, and he figured it would move you to the front of the queue.”

I wasn’t sure the first option held up.

Hey, my boyfriend has been having a hard time. What’s that you say? He tried to kill himself.

But there was a certain twisted logic to the second. Tyler was good at getting what he wanted. We’d been turned away from restaurants before, only to end up seated at the best table in the house ten minutes later after he turned on the charm.

“Maybe,” I admitted grudgingly. “If he picked up his damn phone, I could ask him, but he isn’t.”

“He’s probably working.”

“Probably.” I replayed the last few minutes of the conversation. Remy had accepted the news of my sudden incarceration with remarkable ease, which made me think that part of the conversation Tyler had admitted to in the car had included his intention to bring me here. “I just don’t like them thinking I tried to kill myself and that I’m now lying about it.”

“That’s understandable,” Remy said soothingly. “No one would like that. But after a few conversations, they’ll realize you’re telling the truth, so I wouldn’t worry about it too much.”

“Easy for you to say.”

Remy laughed. “Yeah. I really do think this could be good for you. You can talk to them about—”

I knew what was coming next. Everyone wanted to talk about my mother’s tragic death. Everyone that was, except me. “Listen, I’ve got to go. Someone else wants to use the phone. I don’t want them hunting me down after lights out to teach me a lesson I won’t forget in a hurry.”

“You’re in rehab, not prison. No one’s making you their bitch.”

“Why do you have to disappoint me like that? What did I ever do to you?”

Knowing I was joking, Remy laughed. “Take care of yourself, Rowan. Pretend it’s a spa.”

“Sure. I’ll let you know how it goes when I demand a massage from a nurse.” Although the person administering it in my imagination wasn’t a nurse but a certain broad-shouldered doctor.

We ended the call after that. The conversation hadn’t gone remotely as planned, and I was no closer to getting to go home than before.