Wait for Me by Sara Shepard

Author:Sara Shepard [Shepard, Sara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Union Square & Co.
Published: 2022-11-02T00:00:00+00:00

“Checkmate,” I say, moving my pawn one square up the board.

My opponent, Charlie, groans. “Tell me again. You really never played chess until you came here?”

“Never interested me.”

“You could’ve been the captain of your school’s team.”

Charlie rubs his temples, his chestnut hair falling over his forehead. Despite being pale, despite the circles under his eyes, and despite the fact that he’s usually wearing the same Columbia hoodie and plaid pajama pants, Charlie is attractive and really smart. He’s been a good friend to me since I’ve come to Chadwick Pond.

“Another game?” Charlie asks.

I shake my head. “I think I need to get my thoughts together before my session.”

“Gotcha,” Charlie says.

His gaze wanders around the room, searching for someone else he can play with. Charlie’s the first person who will tell you that chess is one of the few things that calms him down. He has an agitated mind, and though he’s trying to work through it, he knows his limitations.

I guess we all do here.

It’s a new disguise I’m wearing: the disguise of the patient of Chadwick Pond, a residency program for teens and young adults struggling with mental illnesses or behavioral issues. Or maybe it’s not a disguise at all. It’s what I’m realizing—all those disguises I wore before, all those different versions of myself, alters maybe, coping mechanisms.

And this Casey, it’s just me. Stripped down. Vulnerable.

A little sad. Actually, a lot sad.

I’m not sad that I’m getting help. I mean, okay, at first I was angry. Really angry. I didn’t want to give up my life. I had exams—and I’d studied so hard. I had my job at Pet Planet. I had Pippa—though, admittedly, I was furious with her.

But then, poof, none of that mattered. I was excused from school. A moving company was hired to pack up my things from my dorm. Excuses were made to my boss at the pet store. The world just . . . stopped.

For the first week, I was still sure everyone was lying. It just didn’t seem possible. Not that I had a mental illness—I staunchly believe that mental illness is no different than childhood leukemia, or diabetes, or a brain tumor. It’s something we can’t control. Even if my mother hadn’t been in that car accident, I likely still might be this way, as my father says Becky has been around since I was very young. I’m not a bad person for retreating into safe corners in my mind and even making things up to comfort myself.

But I couldn’t believe that my mental illness is this. Becky. She seemed so . . . separate from me. Nor did I want to think that Becky made me do irrational things, even dangerous things. Take trips I don’t remember. Wrench a steering wheel, sending my mom’s car into incoming traffic.

Killing my mother.

It destroyed me. I didn’t want to believe my mind had tricked me so viciously. It astonishes me that my brain just wiped out the moments where I’d stepped into Becky’s shoes, where my personality shifted into her personality, where we bled into each other.

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