Snared (Jaded Regret #1) (26 page)

What had April seen? A cold dread settled in my stomach at the thought. I needed to remember, and
now
.

“I tried to kill myself, didn’t I?” I stepped out of the bathroom feeling much more like myself in my regular clothes. My hands shook while I waited for the confirmation. I’d never tried to commit suicide before. What did that mean for me? I was worsening. I was my father. She’d been right all along.

Dr. Viola lifted his eyebrow and indicated for me to sit in the plush chair in the corner of the room. I did, and he sat across from me in a matching chair. How cute, you get locked up in a mental ward and get cushy chairs to talk to your psych in. The nurse exited the room at Dr. Viola’s indication. I guess he’d decided I wasn’t that dangerous after all. Just to myself, seemingly. “Why do you think that?”

“Just put some things together. Why I was bound to my bed and then why you wouldn’t let me go to the bathroom by myself or have a razor. You think I’m a threat to myself.”

He tapped his pen against his pad of paper. “You don’t remember why you’re here?”

“I have a few memories. I know I was with my girlfriend and a foster child. We had gone to a small amusement park and rode on go-karts. After that, everything gets fuzzy.” I realized I was talking a whole hell of a lot, way more than I ever would on a regular day.

They must have me on some good shit.

“What meds am I on?”

Dr. Viola paused and opened his chart. “We have you on a combination of quite a few things, Beau. We had you on a heavy dose of sedatives to let your brain and body rest. We have you on several anti-depressants and mood stabilizers. We will adjust and change as needed while you’re here and after.”

I nodded. What could I say to that? I hated every pill that had to work to keep my head straight, but learned long ago they were necessary evils.

“You have a history of this sort of thing, right?”

“What does ‘this sort of thing’ mean? I don’t remember what happened.”

“I got notes from your regular psychiatrist today. You’ve had episodes similar to these your entire life, right? Onset was about eight years old? She sent me your formal diagnosis.”

My ‘formal diagnosis.’ I hated those fucking words. The words that told everyone I was nothing but a fuck up of epic proportions.
If he knew so much about me, why was he asking? “Yes. Though I usually remember them, like I’m floating above myself while it happens.”

“And you remember nothing this time?”

I closed my eyes, fighting to remember what I’d thought of earlier today when I’d woken the first time. “I remember standing in traffic, and then I have the sensation of falling while looking at my girlfriend’s face. And I remember something about water. But nothing else.”

Dr. Viola wrote on his pad. “That’s a good start. Tell me about your girlfriend.”

“We haven’t been together long. I don’t know what she saw, so who knows if she’ll want to be with me anymore.”

“She’s been here around the clock with your sisters.”
Sisters
. That meant the whole band was here. And that despite whatever she saw, she cared.

“The band is here?”

He nodded. “You have a lot of people who care about you.”

“What did I do?”

“I want you to try to remember, Beau. If I tell you, your mind may not be ready for you to handle it and it might set you back. We don’t want that to happen.”

“Am I . . . in trouble with the law?”

“I don’t think so. I haven’t heard anything from the police that you are. Let’s go back to what you remember doing the day you ended up here.”

“I remember driving in the car on the way back to take Robbie to the group home. I was so happy; it had been a great day. There aren’t many days I feel like that. I’m almost always trying to battle my head. Until April, drumming had been the only thing that kept me sane.”

“So she helps you.”

“I feel like a different person around her.”

“So what about Robbie?”

“I met him a month or so ago when Jaded Regret came here to do a promotion for foster care. He was new to the group home and kind of freaked out. I . . . figured out a way to get to him.”

“How did you do that?”

A flash of Robbie and I sitting on his bed came into my mind. I closed my eyes, willing it to come closer so I could remember. Dr. Viola was quiet, waiting for me to remember. Robbie had been clutching the stuffed dog we got him and holding a square piece of paper out to me.

My eyes flew open as the vision of what was on the square paper burned in my memory. I clenched my good fist, and my chest heaved. Dr. Viola sat up straighter at my body language.

“What is it, Beau?”

My mind raced to try to understand what I was seeing. The faded, worn picture showed a young Robbie . . . and Robyn?

“Was your mom’s name Robyn?”

“Yes! How did you know that?”

He wasn’t. There was no way. It wasn’t possible. My mind was playing tricks on me. I didn’t remember something correctly. My insane brain was conjuring shit up.

“Talk to me,” Dr. Viola said. “What are you remembering?”

“I don’t know if it’s right.” I clenched my teeth at the memory. “I was talking to Robbie, and he showed me the picture he always carried. It was a picture of him and his mom. But his mom was . . . Robyn.”

“Who is Robyn?”

“The first girl I ever slept with.” My eyes met his, and my heart started pounding. Yes. That’s what it had been. Saying the words had solidified it in my mind. “Robbie is my son, and she never told me. He’s been in foster care most of his life.”

He nodded like he already knew this. Of course he did. April probably told him the whole thing. Where had she been, though? She hadn’t been in the room. Unless Robbie told her afterward.

My head pounded. “I can’t have a child.”

“Do you know he’s yours?”

“He . . . has issues like me. He told me he gets upset and can’t control it. I was just a little younger than him when my episodes started. He looks like me, too. I never saw the resemblance before then, but he does.”

“So what happened after that?” I heard his words, but my mind was racing. I expected the voices to begin like they already did, but they were eerily silent. “Beau, slow your mind down. Concentrate and push the rest aside.”

I closed my eyes, remembering the feeling of losing control after I realized Robbie was my son. I heard the honking of horns and the bright sunlight radiating on me as I stood in the middle of the road. April was screaming to get my attention, begging and crying for me to stop.

My heart clenched. Oh, God. “I went out of the house and ran into the road. I wanted to die. I wanted my poison to end. April followed me. She was yelling and begging me to stop. I couldn’t hear her words. I had no idea what she was doing or even who she was, until now. Now I can see it all clearly like I’m watching a movie of someone else’s life.”

I tapped my fingers against each other as my memory fought to form the rest. “Then I remember running. I saw a bridge nearby, and my feet propelled me there. I was no longer thinking about anything but stopping what was in my head. I remember turning and seeing April, but I didn’t register her. I wanted to be free of everything.”

“So what did you do?”

I closed my eyes, feeling the wind against my face as I stood at the edge of the bridge. I leaned backward and fell, the last thing I saw April’s wide eyes and open mouth as I went over. “I jumped.”

“You tried to commit suicide.”

“I decided to end the poison that I am like I should’ve years ago.”

I wanted to see my sister. I
had
to see her. I was going fucking crazy in here. And wasn’t that ironic since I was mental to begin with, that was why I was in this place. I’d been meeting with Dr. Viola or his partner, Dr. Grant, at least once a day for four days now. On top of that, at first, I was required to do group therapy with a few other patients and share personal shit with each other. However, after the first day when one of the patients in the group recognized me, that had been nixed. So I stared at the four walls of this goddamn room too many hours to count. I’d taken to recording my thoughts, writing music and my thoughts about my sessions on an old school recorder they’d given me since I couldn’t write. Both doctors were happy with that, yet never asked to hear it. I found it helped me work through the rampant thoughts that were always running through my head. I planned on burning the thing as soon as I could write down the music I’d written. I never wanted anyone to hear the thoughts in my head; hell, I didn’t want to hear them.

I wondered what had gotten out about what I had done. After all, I had made a complete and utter fool of myself for anyone to take video or pictures of. I’m sure I was the laughing stock of the rock community. I wondered if we’d have a band left after this. What record company wanted a wacko who’d tried to kill himself? But Jaded Regret could salvage their name if they replaced me. Many talented drummers would kill for that spot . . .

After four days of talking to these doctors and trying to analyze what I was going to do and what help I needed, I wasn’t any closer to understanding how I could attempt to take my life with little recollection of it. My memories of it were like I was a bystander watching it happen, not like I was doing it myself. I still felt like I was better off not being here, but I wasn’t going to hang myself from the rafters or anything.

Whatever cocktail of shit they had me on was good, because not only had I heard
no
voices, I hadn’t even flipped while talking about Robbie. My son. I had a child. I’d consented for a blood draw a few days ago, but the results didn’t need to come in for me to know he was mine. Robyn had gotten pregnant since my dumb ass hadn’t thought of protection. She had never told me. My son had lived a childhood much like mine—feeling unloved, unwanted, and suffering within his head. What would I have done if she would’ve come to me years ago? Would Robbie’s life had been different? She’d died from a drug overdose and left her child. She and I weren’t that different. She’d been unable to deal with life, just like me.

I couldn’t be a father. I wasn’t supposed to be on this earth, much less have someone else with my DNA. I’d never be what he deserved as a parent. What the hell did I know about being a father? My father had bowed out of life when I was five and Natalie was seven. So what was the alternative? I couldn’t leave Robbie in foster care and hope he had a good life. The thought of that had killed me
before
knowing he was mine. Now? There was no way I was okay with
choosing
to let my son live without me.

I’d done a lot of thinking while staring at these four walls, and I’d decided I couldn’t pursue anything with April. I needed to get my head right and figure out what to do with Robbie. As much as it broke my heart, I couldn’t ask her to not only take on my problems but the problems of my son, too. I had to get better first so I could get out of here. They were saying possibly another week or two of intensive therapy, then biweekly outside therapy once I got home.

Dr. Viola had said I could see Natalie today. I looked up at the clock and tapped my fingers on my legs. My casted hand made my tapping awkward, but thankfully I hadn’t done any serious damage that would keep me from drumming for longer than it would take to get this cast off. Several more weeks of this torture and I’d be good as new. God, I needed to play. That was our next negotiation. Drumming was as much of a part of me as breathing, and I felt suffocated without it.

The door swung open, and Dr. Viola stood there with Natalie beside him. Her face was etched with worry, dark circles pronounced on her pale face. Stressing her out seemed to be the main thing I did in life. I stood and crossed the room quickly, wrapping my arms around her without a second of hesitation. My clunky cast made it awkward to hold on to her, but I did it anyway.

“Beau.” She breathed into my chest, her body shaking with the tears I knew she would shed. I wanted to tell her I wasn’t worth her tears, but I knew she’d be mad if I said that. “Oh, my God. I’m so glad you’re okay.” She stepped back and examined me. “You look better.” I didn’t say that she hadn’t seen me messed up because she’d seen me in the throes of pain many times.

Dr. Viola shut the door behind him and stepped around us, moving to the chair to set up for our session. Part of seeing Natalie today was that she was going to be included in our session.

“I’m okay.” I gripped one of her hands in mine, trying to reassure her. “I’m sorry, Nat.”

She shook her head. “Don’t say sorry to me. Promise me you’ll get the help you need and work through it, so it doesn’t happen again. You scared the shit out of all of us.”

I nodded. “I am. I will.” April’s gorgeous face appeared in my head. My heart clenched at the thought of her seeing me in that state. “How’s April?” I knew I was going to have to break her heart as soon as I was allowed out of here, but that didn’t stop me from caring how she was doing.

Natalie walked over and sat in the chair across from Dr. Viola. “She’s scared. Worried about you, and misses you, Beau. That woman cares about you so much . . .”