Reaper's Lily

5 (part 2)

Liliana's P.O.V (continued):

It was about nine in the morning when I had arrived with my middle brother and his fiancée at the hospital. I swore to then I was fine when I woke up an hour ago, but they weren't having it. I hated coming here. The doctors were always annoying, and the nurses were just as equally irritating. If I wasn't getting asked about my love life, I was getting asked about my mental health. Yes, I understood it was important to talk about to a medical professional if you were suffering in any compacity, but I didn't want to speak about it. My mind had been set on dealing with is all alone. It was my problem, so I had to fix it myself. No amount of medication or therapy was going to help me.

I sat in the small room, waiting for the doctor to come, and I sighed heavily. When was this doctor coming so I could go home and sleep before my shift tonight?!

The doctor walked in with a clipboard and a pen as she was rubbing the back of her neck. She sat down, writing on the clipboard as she asked me the basic questions, then looked over the paper. She set the clipboard down, looking at me, and waited for me to speak. As if I were going to say something first.

After a few minutes of waiting, she asked, "Are you taking your medication for your PTSD and depression?"

"No," I stared at the boring beige wall.

"Why are you not taking them?" She asked.

I looked at her, "Because I don't want to."

"It is my medical recommendation that you take your medication and go seek therapy. Isn't it coming on a year and a half since you were diagnosed with PTSD, insomnia, depression, and some symptoms of haphephobia?" She asked, and I thought about it.

It was about to be a year and a half tomorrow. I diagnosed with PTSD from my ex. Insomnia which caused me to have night terrors almost every time I went to sleep. Depression from being the only that survived that hell hole. Lastly, were the symptoms of haphephobia. I didn't truly have it, but the signs of it were there. Haphephobia meant that I felt intensely uncomfortable when I was touched by anyone that I didn't know closely like my family. I had learned how to block the feeling out when I defended myself in a physical fight, but I'd end up spending an hour or two in the shower at home literally exfoliating my skin raw at times.

I only sighed, getting off the small bed, and said, "And? I'll learn to cope with it my own way."

"Liliana, are you scared you'll become dependent on your medication? Your brother, Daniel, has said that your mother—"

"Is a pill popping drunk that loves only her sons and hates her only daughter," I interrupted the doctor. I ran a hand through my hair as I added, "I know I won't become her, but I can't have that shit in my house whenever she decides to pop by looking for some of my things to steal and pawn off for her next fix."

"Liliana, please at least consider going to therapy," the doctor sounded like she was begging me.

I only rolled my eyes, "I don't need a therapist telling me what I already know. I understand that my problems come from being in that hell hole for a year and I have major parental issues. So, tell me doctor, what else can a therapist possibly say to me that I don't know my fucking self?"

I had no idea why I was getting so aggressive to the doctor, but I was willing to chalk it up to the four hours of sleep I had. That's what insomnia does to me, unfortunately. I became an intolerable down right bitch when I didn't get my usual five to four and half hours of sleep. Maybe I just needed to lay off the coffee for once, but I'd never admit that out loud.

I didn't listen to the doctor's nagging as I walked to the door and left the room. I stormed passed my brother and his fiancée, hearing him yell at me to wait up. I found myself in the front of the building, then my brother, Daniel, whipped me around to look at him.

His eyes were full of that brotherly concern I hated in his eyes as he asked with his hand still on my elbow, "What did the doctor tell you?"

"To take the fucking pills and get my ass in therapy," I ripped my elbow out of his grip, and ran both hands through my hair as I looked at the ground.

"You're not taking your pills?! Liliana, you have to—"

I snapped my head to look at him as I growled, "I don't need the fucking pills, Daniel! Do you want me to become our mother and drown myself in medication?"

"Lily, you aren't going to become her by taking medication that you need to function," Dan tried to comfort me.

"I can function just fine without them. I've been surviving this long, haven't I?" I reminded him.

Dan put his hands on his hips as he said, "So far, yes you have. I'm still scared of one day you just getting rushed to the ER for an overdose when your insomnia streak starts up again. It happened—"

"Once," I stopped him from going any further. I glared at my brother, pissed that he was bringing this shit up again, and vowed, "It was a moment of weakness when I'd been out the hospital for a few days. I hadn't slept that entire week so forgive me yet again, brother, if I wanted to end the night terror, I was trapped in. I haven't tried to kill myself since, despite me wanting to every single minute I'm awake!"

"Lil," Dan could only say, and I got on my phone as I walked through the parking lot to get away from him.

I got an uber ride to Daniel's house to get my car and drive my ass home. I knew it was a mistake to let my brother drive me to the fucking doctor's appointment. Why did I fight my gut against coming alone? My God, I was such a dumbass! I knew Daniel meant well, but I didn't want his concern on my conscious. I only wanted him to worry about finally setting a date with his bride-to-be. I just wanted Daniel to keep his focus on his career as a lawyer and being a good fiancé to my future sister-in-law. He wasn't supposed to worry about me. This was supposed to be the time of his life where he lived in pure bliss and absolute joy.

By the time I got to my car, I noticed Dan's SUV speeding down the road. I slid in my car, turning it on, and backed out before he could corner. I didn't care if one of my eldest brother's poor excuses called police officers pulled me over. I wanted to go home and lay in bed before I had to torture myself by going into work.

Maybe, deep down, some part of me was still wishing that my ex had finished me off. I would've been with my departed great grandmother and Daniel wouldn't be so worried about me. I probably would never know peace and I figured that was my ex's endgame. To torture me mentally since he had broken me in that prison physically and emotionally. How I wished he was dead at this moment. I wanted him to be dead, so I knew some kind of closure on that part.

God, please tell me that I was going through torture from a truly dead monster, and he wasn't alive out there somewhere.