“Two?” I think . . .
Her eyes narrow. “The bottle says one is your dose. Do you realize what happens when you don’t follow medicine the way it’s prescribed, Saige?”
I try not to roll my eyes. “Evelyn, it’s a sleeping pill. I took two. Not eight. I want to fucking sleep for an entire night. No dreams. I want to wake up refreshed for just one morning,” I yell at her.
She cuts me off and throws the bottle at me. They bounce off my crisscrossed legs and roll across the bathroom floor. “Therapy, Saige. You need to talk to someone, not medicate yourself. I love you more than I love my own family, but this shit has been going on too long.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m tired too,” she admits, her voice breaking.
Guilt overcomes me when I see how my life is affecting hers. Evelyn has always been the one to pick up the pieces of broken Saige. “I’m sorry,” I manage to say before tears begin to fall.
“I’m so worried about you,” she admits, kneeling down next to me. I nod and try to choke down the giant lump in my throat. “And so is he.” She reaches out and pulls my hand into hers.
“Why is he here?” I’m embarrassed that Holt saw me like this.
“He was standing out in the hallway when I got home from work looking pathetic. He told me he dropped you off earlier and that you didn’t look well. He said he tried calling, and from the eighty-seven missed calls on your cell, he wasn’t lying. I let him in. We both checked on you and you were sleeping. He told me he was staying. As much as controlling men annoy the hell out of me, I wasn’t about to tell him no.” She chuckles.
My head drops into my hands. I’m mortified. “He hasn’t seen one of my nightmares before.”
“You scared him,” she admits. “Maybe now would be a really good time for you to look into that therapy I keep telling you to get.” She raises her eyebrows at me.
“I’ve had therapy,” I argue. “That’s where I got the Ambien.”
She sighs loudly. “Saige. You’ve been in Chicago for almost three months. You need a therapist here.”
I can’t argue with her because she’s right. She’s always right.
“And you need water. A shitload of it. We need to flush some of that Ambien out of your system. What time did you take them?”
“Eleven thirty.”
“Shit,” she says. “You’re going to feel like hell tomorrow.”
I nod my head knowingly. “I’m going to go lie down.” I push myself up from the floor, and Evelyn stands up at the same time. She fills a glass with water from the bathroom faucet and hands it to me. I take a deep breath before tossing back the entire glassful. Setting it on the counter, she takes it and refills it following me to the bed and placing it on the nightstand.
“You need to talk to him,” she says with a sympathetic look on her face. “If you care about him, he deserves to know why this happens to you. Don’t push him away.”
“I don’t care about him,” I lie. I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince, Evelyn or myself.
She sighs. “Keep telling yourself lies, Saige, but you’re not fooling me.” She shakes her head, leaving me alone.
I wake to sounds of pots and pans clanging together and glance at the clock. Nine o’clock. “Fuck!” I yell, jumping from the bed. Yanking open my bedroom door, I run to the kitchen and find Evelyn standing at the stove, stirring something in a small pan. “Ev! It’s nine! Why didn’t you wake me up?”
She turns to look at me, but it’s not her that answers. It’s Holt. He’s behind me, sitting on the couch in a pair of black track pants and a gray t-shirt. “Because you’re not going to work today, sweetheart,” he says, not even bothering to look up at me. “You’ve officially called in sick.”
“What?” I answer him, my tone snarky.
“You’re sick. You’re taking today off, end of discussion, Saige.”
“Says who?” I prop my hands on my hips, feeling my blood pressure rising.
“Says me.” His voice is equally snarky. He folds the newspaper he was reading and sets it on the coffee table, cocking his head to the side.
“I’m going to make a quick phone call,” Evelyn says, skirting past us and jogging down the opposite hallway to her room.
I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re not my doctor, or me. I’m not sick.”
His eyes hold mine in a standoff. “You need rest.”
“Holt, give it up.”
“Give what up, Saige?” He stands up quickly and walks toward me. “The fact that I care about you and want to make sure you’re happy, and healthy, and sleeping well? I won’t give that up.” He grips my shoulders, forcing me to look at him. I turn my head away from him and roll my eyes in annoyance.
He goes on, “Or the fact that you won’t talk to me about what’s bothering you and causing this. I won’t give that up either.”
“It’s none of your business,” I sneer.
“You’re my business,” he says quietly. “Personally and professionally.”
I snap my head back to him. “Professionally, I’m your employee . . .” I pause.