Free Only Between Us by Mila Ferrera Page B

took her back to the psychiatrist on Friday morning, and he added a peachy pink one to the roster. Seroquel. He said it would help. I’m not sure yet. She seems even loopier than usual.
    She shrugs, slow and heavy. “I can’t remember. I think I got up, but …”
    I set down my toast and walk over to the box to peek inside the “Sunday AM” compartment. I draw in a slow breath and keep my voice low and quiet. “You didn’t take them at all.” And the clock on the microwave tells me it’s nearly noon. I should have gotten up and made sure she took these. “I don’t know if you should take them now, or—”
    “God, you never say exactly what you’re thinking, do you? You’re broken , Katie. Drug yourself up , Katie. You’re not good enough , Katie.” She stomps over to the box and snatches it from my hand. The pills for this morning bounce out of their little compartment and scatter across the counter. She picks one of them up and jams it into her mouth, tears glittering at the corners of her eyes.
    I want to argue. You’re beautiful, Katie. I love you, Katie. I’m sorry sorry sorry that I was so weak. I wanted to save you, Katie.
    But even ten years ago, it was too little, too late.
    Nothing I say now is going to change that, and right now, she needs to burn off the anger. So, while she continues to snap and curse at me, I fill a plastic cup with water—a glass would be too dangerous, so they’ve long since been packed up and stored—and I set it on the counter for her before walking away. “I’ll be in the truck.”
    I close my eyes as the cup hits my back and splashes water across my shoulder blades. My jaw is clenched so tightly that my teeth hurt. I run my hand through my dripping hair, but I don’t turn around.
    “I took them!” she screams at my back. “Happy now?”
    “We’ll go when you’re ready.” I walk out the door but hover in the hallway to make sure she’s coming. I don’t want her to decide to do something crazy. I’ve locked up all the knives and scissors, so there’s nothing within easy reach, but you never know. There’s a black, burned spot on the ceiling of the kitchen that tells me I need to pay attention.
    She comes out a minute later, tears dry, still seething but no longer out of control. She’s quiet until we reach my truck, and then she says, “You’re a dick.”
    “No argument there.” I open the door for her and watch her put on her seatbelt.
    We drive to Amy’s in silence. I want to say the right thing, but I know it doesn’t exist. I’ve been trying for the last few years. At first, I was sure I could get the old Katie back. I was sure she’d understand that I’ve always been there for her, no matter how far apart we were. I even invited her to live with me as soon as she got out of the foster care system. I figured she’d never want to live with Mom and Phil, not after what he did to her. And I don’t care what anyone—including Katie—says. I know what he did. I thought all those years of therapy would have helped her come to grips with that.
    I was wrong.
    I have no idea if Phil started up on her again when she went back there. Shortly after she turned eighteen and moved back in with them, I got drunk enough one night to go over to their house. I backed Phil into a corner and told him I’d kill him if he laid a finger on her. I wasn’t a little boy anymore and he couldn’t slap me around like he used to. I practically begged him to try, just so I could kick his ass. He was shaking. He knew I was serious. He might have fooled my mom, but he couldn’t fool me.
    My mom threatened to call the police if I didn’t leave.
    Katie stood next to her as they watched me go. She looked triumphant. That hurt worse than anything else.
    But I have to wonder if Phil couldn’t help himself. Once a perv, always a perv, and Katie decided not to go to California with Mom and Phil when they moved last May. She showed up at my doorstep instead. I thought that