Page 68 of Extraction Play
“Can we talk outside for a second?” he asked, grabbing his clipboard.
“Yeah, of course.”
She followed the doctor out to the hallway, relieved they were discussing in private.
“She got a mild concussion from the car accident,” the doctor said. “It got mistaken as more severe due to her mental state.”
“She’s got schizoaffective disorder, yes. Her mental health had been deteriorating for a spell, but I’m not sure for how long. She had a pretty good stretch before then.”
“Based on the testing we got back, she’s still taking her medication, so the current one might just not be as effective, which means—”
“A psych hold,” Pixie finished.
The doctor blinked as if surprised, but she’d been the point of contact for a long time. “Yes. Once we finish some more tests, we’ll be moving her there. Most likely in a few hours, so I’d suggest getting your visiting time in now.”
“Thanks,” Pixie said, her fingers trembling the slightest bit. Relief filtered through her veins in a slow, steady drip. Of all the worst-case scenarios her mind had spun through, this was downright tame. She’d been through psych holds before with Maisie, and coming out of a car crash with only a concussion was a blessing.
She walked back into the room. Maisie had a manic light in her eyes, a slight disconnect, but she seemed to recognize her, which was what mattered.
“Hey,” she said. “How’s your head feel?”
“Fuzzy,” Maisie admitted. She chewed on her lower lip. “I’m scared.”
The vulnerability in her voice struck Pixie right in the chest. She took her mother’s hand. “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”
For years, she’d told her mother this, comforted her when her mind got to be too much of a terrifying place. Even if she didn’t believe it for a moment. Life would be simpler if she could hate her. Truth be told, if Maisie hadn’t tried, if she’d continued to spiral, they might’ve gone down very different places. But Pixie saw how much Maisie fought the demons in her mind on a daily basis. The woman had not only carved out a home for herself but also had made friends and found a steady workplace. Everything they hadn’t experienced when Pixie was growing up.
“Where is she, Pixie?” Maisie asked, peering past her. “The girl who loves you.”
Pixie swallowed hard. What always fucked with her head was how much her mother actually saw despite her schizoaffective disorder.
She and Eva hadn’t exchanged those three little words, but they’d been on the tip of her tongue. And deep in her heart, she understood she’d fallen for this woman harder than she’d thought possible.
“She’s on her way,” Pixie said. “She’s coming for me.”
And that simple truth would see her through this.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
When Eva pulled into street parking near Anarchy Records, she was on edge.
For the past month, she’d been doing a solid job at shoving the situation with her parents to the back of her mind. Why waste time on them when they’d dropped her and Micah like hot garbage? And he hadn’t wanted to talk about their rejection either, since avoidance was their family credo.
Her father had looked at her as if he’d never seen her before, and her mother had narrowed her eyes with an uglier expression than she’dever witnessed.
However, Micah bolting resurrected those feelings of abandonment she’d ignored into oblivion. As if it could work that way. If Micah told her to leave too, fuck, she didn’t know what she’d do.
Her heart raced a million miles an hour as she stepped out of her car. She plucked at the tee she wore—Pixie’s. Fuck, she’d made a mess of all this. Not only had she pushed Micah away, but she should be there for Pixie right now. But if she lost her brother too, she wouldn’t be good for anyone.
The sign for Anarchy Records stood out at the end of the block, jagged white lettering against the black background. When the fuck had she and Micah become strangers? As kids, they’d been closer than anything: playing stupid games of hide and seek dressed as dragons, the Great Kitchen Blow-Up when they’d decided to bake fancy cupcakes, watchingPirates of the Caribbeanfive million times because Micah thirsted over Jack Sparrow. In retrospect, her obsession with Kiera Knightley should’ve been a tip-off she was bi.
Eva wiped her hands on her borrowed yoga pants. She’d need to wash these the second she got back to the condo. If she even could. Fuck.
One problem at a time. She needed to talk to her brother.
When she entered the record shop, the scent of must, a byproduct of all the old vinyl, trickled toward her. The place was dimmed lights and dark red walls, creating a cave-like ambiance. It fit the fast-paced punk music blaring through the speakers, which she was surprised was Micah’s vibe. Considering the spark of rebellion that had simmered inside him all those years, maybe she shouldn’t be.
The kid who’d been shaped by their parents was only a fraction of the adult he’d become, and thank fuck for that. She should know because she hadn’t turned out to their exacting specifications either.