Page 110 of Liam

Can I be deranged if IknowI’m deranged?

I should note that down, ask my fake therapist.

I’ve lost my mind.

And I wish I knew exactly when it was that I lost it. Itdefinitelywasn’t getting the so-called “bad” news about my parents, because fuck them. Maybe it was the accident. Maybe it re-arranged my brain somehow, disconnected some wires or something. Is that how it works? I should take some biology classes. Anatomy? Wait. Am I even going back to school?

Maybe it happened before I even knew what was happening.

Maybe my parents doped me up with drugs when I was a kid and?—

No.

They wouldn’t.

I laugh at the thought.

Theycouldn’t.

They were far too selfish to share.

The fragmented memories keep flashing in my mind. Appearing and disappearing. Like those old movie reels that flicker, flicker, flicker, flick?—

“Addie,” Liam says, and I jolt at the sound of his voice. “We’re here.”

I’d been so deep in my own insanity that I’d forgotten where I was—and worse, who I was with. I turn to him, sitting behind the steering wheel. His hair is a mess, sticking up in all directions, and his eyes… his eyes look as tired as I feel. And yet, his eyes alone make me feel more alive than I have in days.

Days.

It’s only been days since multiple grenades fell on my lap, and I feel like I’m still grasping on to the safety pins just to be sure they were real.

They were.

Yesterday, when Liam brought me home after the ballpark, he asked if I was okay. I told him I was good. I lied. I think he knew I lied, but he didn’t call me out on it.

Just like this morning—when I called him to ask for a ride. He was there within minutes. And when he asked where to take me, I told him I’d booked a therapy session. Another lie. Another non-call out.

I think he’s scared of me, and, after my not-so-little trauma dump, I don’t blame him.

I’mscared of me.

I look toward the old brick building and blink my fatigue away. I’d mapped out exactly which of the ground-level offices I needed to go to, and even though it was an outdated image, not a lot has changed. “I wish there were more windows,” I murmur and immediately regret it. It’s such a stupid thing to think, let alone say out loud.

“They probably don’t want people seeing who’s inside,” Liam says.

I turn to him, his eyes gentle when they meet mine. I think it’s his eyes I’m drawn to the most. Not just kind, but warm, patient, older than their years.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” he asks, and I tear my gaze away from his and back to the building. He knows exactly why I’m here, but he won’t force me to admit it, and for that, I’m grateful.

So.

Am I ready for this?

The answer is a solid no. It has been since the accident. And unless I do something about it, that’s never going to change.

“I think it’s time,” I say, my voice cracking with emotion. I face him before adding, “I can’t keep putting it off the way I have.” That last part is more for me than him, because here’s another secret I’ve never told—I didn’t just come back here for Roman. I came here for redemption. Becausethe pursuit of perfection includes redemption… and redemption is realizing you’re imperfect.

Liam nods, as if understanding, and then takes my hand in his, squeezes once. “I’m going to find a spot to park, and I’ll stay in the car for your entire session,” he says, playing along with my lie. “I won’t leave.” He glances at the building before meeting my eyes again. “That way, if you need me…” he trails off. Then he kisses the inside of my wrist, his eyes never leaving mine. “You got this, Addie, and if not, then I’m right here.”

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