Deception. Betrayal. Mistrust.
It seems the closer Rayne gets to the truth, the more she finds herself wanting to run away from it. It's complex and terrifying-more than she ever fathomed.
New family members, good and bad, pop out at her like a br...
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SIX MONTHS LATER
"𝗣lease tell me this is the last box."
Rueben grunted, dropping the last cardboard box filled to the brim with his fiancé's belongings into the open trunk of his BMW. He glanced to the left, seeing all of the boxes he'd already packed in her small Audi, wiped the sweat from his hairline, and questioned if he was going to marry a hoarder.
"There's one more," Rayne sang from the porch.
He whined under his breath and hung his tired arms limply from his shoulders as he moved away from the car and headed up the worn stairs of his beach house. He was going to miss it—going to miss the memories he'd created with his friends and former comrades over the years.
But they were getting older—starting families.
He knew it was time to say goodbye.
Rueben's foot hit the top step, seeing his beautiful future wife come into view. He went to give her a kiss, but she put her hand to his chest and shook her head of auburn waves. He tried to see the box that Rayne had summoned him for, but all he could see was the orange pill bottle in her hand.
He understood as she shook it and went to open it.
"That is not a box," he mulled, frowning.
"No, but it's important, and you've been dodging them."
"Love, they make me feel like shit."
Rayne ran a reassuring hand up his bicep, "It's a learning process. You've only been doing this for a little while. Of course, you're going to hit some bumps before you figure out what works for you."
Rueben sighed and ran a hand down his face.
Eight months ago, just after Mason and Kai finalized Milo's adoption, Rueben took the first step in taking care of himself and began to see a therapist. His therapist then recommended him to a renowned psychiatrist, who, after months of seeing him, officially diagnosed him with borderline personality disorder and suggested he go on medication.
His psychiatrist started him on anti-depressants, but after months of being quiet and reserved, a shell of himself that only furthered his BPD rage, they realized they weren't working for him. Now, he was starting his first strand of antipsychotics, but the word psychotic ticked him off, and he'd been starting to skip taking them whenever Rayne wasn't looking.
He hated the way they made him feel.
He wanted to be himself, not the person the medication made him.
But Rayne was always there to remind him that he was the same Rueben she'd met and fallen in love with over a year ago. She was always there to catch him when he fell—always there to tell him that his medication was not a crutch but something to help ease his mind.
