Under My Skin by Laura Diamond Page B

prescribed.”
    “Thanks for talking to me about it.”
    She places her red bag on the plastic chair for visitors and strides to my bed, heels clicking on the tile floor. Her tight bun, crisp white shirt, and black skirt contrast starkly with the mint green walls and pastel flower wall border. “We’ve got a lot to talk about.”
    Dread scrapes its dirty nails down my back. I glance at the door. My legs twitch, ready to launch me out of the room.
    “Have you had more suicidal thoughts since you texted?”
    “No.” I curl my fingers around my toes.
    Shaw eases onto the bed so close that her hip touches my arm. I drag my gaze up to meet her dark eyes. She arches a brow. “Uh-hmm. Considering what your mom said about you minimizing things and your uneducated assumption that I purposefully prescribed you a medication that will make you sicker, how can I trust you?”
    Anger burns through my entire body. “Trust me ? How can I trust you ? That medicine could’ve killed me.”
    “I thought you wanted to die.”
    My whole body tenses. I can’t even blink. Inside, my heart withers, as unsettled as I am about what she’s said.
    “It’s hard to have a conversation when only one person is talking.” She shifts closer.
    “Adam, are you in there?” There’s a silvery tinkle to her voice. She’s playing with me. This whole thing, it’s all a game. Mum is duped, Dad is oblivious, and I’m stuck in a room alone with a viper. I’m just not sure if she wants to poison me with her venom or simply mess with my head.
    “Um … ” I’m disarmed. The argument I was so prepared for before her arrival demolished. My trippy heart leaps into a faster—and wobblier—pitter-patter. I try to keep my breathing steady. The room is so stifling that my throat screams for water.
    She taps a finger against my temple. “You’re such a bright, insightful, and pensive boy with so much potential. Don’t shut me out. I can help you.”
    I pinch my eyes shut. “No.”
    Her fingers press lightly on the inside of my wrist.
    I hold my breath.
    After a few seconds, she sighs. “Your heart isn’t regular now and the medicine isn’t in your system anymore. Do you need more proof that it wasn’t the ziprasidone, or are you satisfied?” Her weight leaves the mattress. After a few clicks of her heels on the floor, the plastic chair creaks.
    I chance taking a breath and open my eyes.
    “Shall we start our session?” Shaw sits with her hands laced in her lap.
    “I don’t have anything to say,” I whisper.
    “Your mother is terrified you’ll die before you get a transplant.”
    “I might.”
    “Do you want that to happen?” Her voice is smooth like her serene expression, as if I’d never accused her of anything. As if she hadn’t just played with my emotions.
    I shake my head, hoping it’ll clear the confusion from my mind. It doesn’t. “No.”
    “Then why do you spend so much time thinking about suicide?”
    “I don’t want to kill myself.”
    “But you’re thinking about death. Fantasizing about it. Desiring it.” The quicksilver in her tone cuts me.
    It also severs the noose she’s tied around my neck. “That’s not true.”
    “But it is. Would you like to review the texts you sent me?” She unclips her phone from her belt and holds it up. A new rope binds itself around my psyche.
    “You’re twisting things around.”
    “I’m challenging your thoughts so you can see how illogical they are.” She tightens her hold.
    I struggle against her. “What happened to insightful?”
    Her eyes spark with friction. “You seem more agitated today. I understand you’re angry with me, but really, would you have even tried the medicine had you known about the very rare and unlikely effect it has on cardiac conduction?”
    “No.”
    “Exactly. So let’s move beyond this … hiccup … and focus on you. What’s been on your mind?”
    I’d known for a long time my life expectancy is a fraction of everyone else’s. I’m