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I shook my head. “I’m not taking any pills.”
“I see. Well, if you refuse the medication, it’s important to be aware of the consequences.”
“What consequences? Are you threatening me?”
“It’s nothing to do with me. I’m talking about your husband. How do you think Gabriel feels about what he went through, last time you were unwell?”
I pictured Gabriel downstairs, waiting in the living room with the barking dog. “I don’t know. Why don’t you ask him?”
“Do you want him to have to go through it all again? Do you perhaps think there’s a limit to how much he can take?”
“What are you saying? I’ll lose Gabriel? That’s what you think?”
Even saying it made me feel sick. The thought of losing him, I couldn’t bear it. I’d do anything to keep him—even pretend I’m crazy when I know I’m not. So I gave in. I agreed to be “honest’ with Dr. West about what I was thinking and feeling and tell him if I heard any voices. I promised to take the pills he gave me, and to come back in two weeks, for a checkup.
Dr. West looked pleased. He said we could go downstairs now and rejoin Gabriel. As he went downstairs in front of me, I thought about reaching forward and shoving him down the stairs. I wish I had.
Gabriel seemed much happier on the way home. He kept glancing at me as he was driving and smiling. “Well done. I’m proud of you. We’re going to get through this, you’ll see.”
I nodded but didn’t say anything. Because of course it’s bullshit—“we” aren’t going to get through this.
I’m going to have to deal with it alone.
It was a mistake telling anyone. Tomorrow I’m going to tell Barbie to forget all about it—I’ll say I’ve put it behind me and I don’t want to talk about it again. She’ll think I’m odd and she’ll be annoyed because I’ll be denying her the drama, but if I act normally, she’ll soon forget all about it. As for Gabriel, I’m going to put his mind at rest. I’m going to act like everything is back to normal. I’ll give a brilliant performance. I won’t let my guard slip for a second.
We went to the pharmacy on the way back, and Gabriel got my prescription. Once we were home again, we went into the kitchen.
He gave me the yellow pills with a glass of water. “Take them.”
“I’m not a child. You don’t need to hand them to me.”
“I know you’re not a child. I just want to make sure you’ll take them—and not throw them away.” “I’ll take them.”
“Go on, then.”