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IT’S BEEN TWO WEEKS. Fourteen days of early wake-ups, group therapy, individual sessions, scheduled meals, and the constant thrum of withdrawal beneath my skin like static.
It still hurts. The cravings come and go, like waves that sneak up and crash hard. But I’m not drowning as much anymore. And maybe-just maybe-I’m starting to like Dr. Adesina.
She doesn’t push too hard. She doesn’t look at me with pity or judgment. Just patience. Understanding. And somehow, she’s the one who made me see it. That what I was doing-what I’ve been doing for over a year now-wasn’t coping. It was addiction.
The pills—the drugs—weren’t helping. They were numbing me. Hiding me from a life I didn’t know how to survive in.
And it’s not my fault.
That truth didn’t come easy. But Dr. Adesina said it enough times, said it with enough certainty, that I started to believe her. My parents’ neglect, the way they poured every ounce of attention into Felix and left me scraping for whatever was left-it wasn’t because I was unlovable. It was just because… they didn’t see me. We’ve talked about that.
We’ve even talked about my friends-how I pulled away from them, how they didn’t know. But I haven’t talked about Aaron. I can’t. Not yet.
Today, though, something’s different. I can tell from the moment I sit down in Dr. Adesina’s office. She’s already waiting, her hands folded gently in her lap.
“Carmen,” she says softly, “your family is visiting today.”
My stomach drops.”What?” I choke.
“You’ve been doing well so far. The next step is to start making amends with your family.”
“No,” I whisper, already shaking my head. “I’m not ready.”
She watches me carefully. “If you want to get better, you need to do this, Carmen.”
My throat feels tight. My palms go cold. I don’t want to see them. I don’t want to see their disappointment, their judgment, their shame. I already feel enough of that on my own.
“I’ll be right here, okay?” she adds gently.
I manage a shallow nod. “Okay.”
A knock sounds at the door. My body goes rigid. Dr. Adesina rises and opens it. My parents walk in first, followed by Felix.
They all wear the same expression. That carefully composed face people make when they’re visiting someone in the hospital. Sad eyes. Tight smiles. Pity.
Except Felix. His eyes are different. Guilt. Pain. Regret.
I dart my gaze away. I can’t look at him. I can’t look at any of them.
“Hola, mija,” my mum says softly.
I glance at Dr. Adesina, not knowing what to do, but she sends me a reassuring nod. So I stand up and hug my mum for the first time in a while. The scent of her perfume wraps around me, familiar and jarring all at once. I swallow the lump in my throat as I meet my dad’s eyes.
Then I pull away and force a small smile and we all sit. This is already awkward.
“So how’s Carmen doing?” my dad asks Dr. Adesina.
I’m right here. Right in front of him and he’s still ignoring me.
“How about you ask her?” Dr. Adesina replies calmly. Thank you.
He turns to me with a small smile. “I’m doing well, Dad.”
“That’s good, sweetheart.” He says it like it’s automatic. Like it doesn’t mean anything.
Then they start talking, all of them. Dr. Adesina gently leads the conversation, trying to guide my parents and Felix into understanding-trying to piece something together that resembles a family.
It starts off light. Polite. Dr. Adesina talks about my progress, how I’ve been engaging in sessions and working through difficult emotions. My mum nods along, her eyes glossy. My dad listens with his arms crossed, asking questions that sound more like statements. And Felix, he just keeps glancing at me, like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how.
At first, I try to believe it’s helping. That maybe they’re hearing her. That maybe they’re hearing me.
But then my dad says something like, “We’re proud of how far you’ve come,” and it hits me all wrong. Pride? Now? Where was that pride before?
I let out a quiet laugh. “That’s funny coming from you.”
My dad frowns. “What do you mean?”
“Forget it,” I mutter, shaking my head, but it’s too late. The tension’s there. The wall is cracking.
Dr. Adesina clears her throat gently. “Carmen, if there’s something you’d like to express, this is a safe space.”
I suck in a breath, trying to keep it together. My voice wavers. “It’s just funny, that’s all. How now you want to say nice things. Now that I’m here. In this place.”
“I’ve always been proud of your achievements,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
Oh, pack it in, I want to scream. Now, he’s just lying. “No,” I scoff. “They didn’t matter to you since I didn’t matter to you as much as Felix.”
“We love you both just as much,” my mum says quickly, her voice soft. Trying to smooth it all over.
“You know that’s not true,” I laugh dryly.
“Carmen,” my dad cuts in sharply, “don’t talk to your mother like that.”
A huff escapes me. “Here we go again.”
“What?”
“This is what I mean,” I say, turning to Dr. Adesina with my arms crossed. “This is what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
My parents look confused, offended.
Dr. Adesina sighs gently. “After talking to Carmen, the main issue here is that you don’t just ignore her—you ignore her feelings as well.”
My dad turns to me, eyes narrowed. “Is that what you’ve been telling them?”
His tone slices through me. Not concern. Not care. Just… blame. “You wanted me to talk to a therapist,” I say, my voice shaking, “and now I am.”
“I don’t ignore you, Carmen. I have to work. Your mum has to work. How do you think we afford the school you go to? The house? This place?”
Tears prick at my eyes. Really? That’s his excuse? “Oh, so does ‘work’ include going to restaurants together while leaving me at home? Getting Felix a birthday cake, but not me? Celebrating his achievements but forgetting mine?”
“When has that—”
“It’s been happening for years!” I cry out, frustration building inside of me. My dad looks at Felix, like he needs backup.
“Do you think she took drugs for no reason? She’s telling the truth, Dad.”
My lips part in shock. I was expecting him to defend our dad—but no. He’s defending me.
“We’re so sorry, mija,” my mum says, tears in her eyes now.
“Scouts and managers want to know more about Felix,” my dad tries, “I wasn’t trying to ignore you but-“
“But he’s just more important, huh?” I cut in, voice sharp and bitter. “You’re not even trying to understand, are you?”
“Yes, I am.” He shakes his head, letting out a light scoff. “I want you to get better, Carmen.”
“You guys just sent me off the moment you found out about the addiction!”
Something in my mum’s expression changes. Breaks. “We didn’t know how to help other than this.”
“You needed the right resources,” my dad adds.
“All I needed was you two!” My voice raises. But not from anger. From the need to be heard. “And when I needed you most, you sent me away! I saw the disappointment in your eyes at the hospital. The same disappointed look you always have when you look at me.”
I let out a deep breath. “Maybe you guys would’ve been happier if I died that day.” The words just slipped out without a thought and now the whole room is silent, it’s deafening.
“Carmen-” Dr. Adesina tries but gets cut off by my brother.
“Don’t say that,” Felix whispers.
My parents are speechless. Stunned.
Tears are pouring down my face now. I stand up, wiping at them with trembling hands.
“Get out,” I mutter.
“We’re sorry-” my dad begins but I’ve had enough for today.
“Get them out now!” I shout.
Dr. Adesina gently steps forward. “I think it’s best if we end this session now.”
I stay still, facing away from them. I don’t move until I hear the door close. And then I fall apart.
Sobs rip out of my chest. My knees buckle slightly, and I grip the side of the couch to stay upright.
“It’s okay,” Dr. Adesina says softly, walking over to me.
“I knew it was a bad idea,” I choke. Not bad. Terrible.
“Today wasn’t for nothing, Carmen. It’ll help them understand, even if it didn’t feel like it.”
“I don’t want to see them again.” My voice cracks. “I just… I want Aaron.”
I need to see him. To look into his green eyes and have them look back at me like I’m the only girl in the world. To hear his stupid but funny jokes. To sit in the passenger seat of his car as we listen to music. To see his smile.
Dr. Adesina’s eyes soften, her brow furrow-and that’s when I realise what I’ve said, who I’ve just mentioned.
“I can’t do this,” I whisper. And before she can say anything else, I bolt. Out the door. Down the hallway.
This was a mistake.
All of it.
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