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