uncontrollably at the vision of all these powerful, intelligent people standing in my hall nervously and helplessly as if I’m some dangerous predator. They all stare at me, their eyes widening.
“Olivia, look at me, please,” pleads Preston. “This is really serious now. I’ve done everything I possibly can to help you, but you’ve been sentenced to sixty days in rehab by Judge Werner.”
“Sure, he’s your friend. Like you couldn’t get me out of it over a game of golf?”
The doctor edges forward. “We’re not going to get far with this. It’ll be best if we just take her with us now. The sooner we can start treatment the better.”
“What? Take me where? What treatment?” I manage to stutter.
Tweedledee and Tweedledum in the matching outfits make their way towards me, catching me as I fall and trip in an effort to run. My arms hurt where they are holding me as I try to wrestle and writhe my way out of their tight grips.
“You can’t do this. Let go of me. Uncle Preston, please, I beg you. I’ll do whatever you want. Please let go of me, you’re hurting me. I don’t want to go anywhere.” Large pearls of tears mixed with black kohl drip from my eyes and run down my face making me look like some kind of menacing clown.
“Olivia, my darling, dear child. I love you with all my heart, but I’ve failed you. I promised your mother I would take care of you, but I’m way out of my depth here. One day I know you will forgive me, but I need to hand you over to Dr. Carmichael now who is going to take you to his rehab clinic in Utah. It’s all going to get better. I promise.”
Preston Carter looks like a broken man, pain etched all over his face. He looks rough, like he hasn’t had a decent nights sleep or peace of mind for days.
“You can’t force me to do anything or go anywhere I don’t want. It’s illegal. This is kidnapping and I’ll call the police.”
“Olivia, you’re not 18 yet and so we can do what we feel is in your best interests. It will be much easier and more beneficial to you if you decide to help yourself and not put up a fight. What we are doing is called crisis intervention,” says Dr. Carmichael, matter of factly.
Where did they pull this idiot quack from? “But I’m 18 in two months. Please.” My sobs are unstoppable.
“Well, Olivia, if you decide to leave at that time that’s your decision but your court order is for sixty days. It’s been decided.” Go away, you freak doctor.
“Please just talk to me. I’ve written you a letter, which I hope you’ll read when you feel better,” Uncle Preston begs.
Talk to you?? About how your great friend’s son Lucien Borgia killed my soul in his bedroom six months ago??? The accompanying physical pain with this thought brings forth such anger as I scream at him, lunging forward, “I hate you, Preston Carter, I will never forgive you. You are not my father. You took me away from my real family.”
As I am dragged through the hall, the last things I hear before the big door closes, locking me out, are Aunt Victoria sobbing and Preston saying, “Oh God …”
Sobbing and gasping with a mixture of humiliation and fear, the assholes in chinos gently put me in one of the black sedans that was parked in the driveway with one of the twits beside me. He hands me some wipes but I just throw them back at him. Fine. I’ll do what they want. Sixty days isn’t long and then I’ll fucking show them.
Chapter Twelve
Olivia Carter
The car pulls into the private runway that the Carters use for their flights at JFK. I knew that Preston must be desperate because his blood-red Bombardier CL-600 was sitting there waiting for us. He is very particular about that toy. I think about how I could stick something into the leather seats and rip them.
A wave of nausea overwhelms me and before I know it I’ve gone from throwing up at the side of the plane to being belted in, ready for take off. The matching bodyguards keep their distance
“Olivia, look at me, please,” pleads Preston. “This is really serious now. I’ve done everything I possibly can to help you, but you’ve been sentenced to sixty days in rehab by Judge Werner.”
“Sure, he’s your friend. Like you couldn’t get me out of it over a game of golf?”
The doctor edges forward. “We’re not going to get far with this. It’ll be best if we just take her with us now. The sooner we can start treatment the better.”
“What? Take me where? What treatment?” I manage to stutter.
Tweedledee and Tweedledum in the matching outfits make their way towards me, catching me as I fall and trip in an effort to run. My arms hurt where they are holding me as I try to wrestle and writhe my way out of their tight grips.
“You can’t do this. Let go of me. Uncle Preston, please, I beg you. I’ll do whatever you want. Please let go of me, you’re hurting me. I don’t want to go anywhere.” Large pearls of tears mixed with black kohl drip from my eyes and run down my face making me look like some kind of menacing clown.
“Olivia, my darling, dear child. I love you with all my heart, but I’ve failed you. I promised your mother I would take care of you, but I’m way out of my depth here. One day I know you will forgive me, but I need to hand you over to Dr. Carmichael now who is going to take you to his rehab clinic in Utah. It’s all going to get better. I promise.”
Preston Carter looks like a broken man, pain etched all over his face. He looks rough, like he hasn’t had a decent nights sleep or peace of mind for days.
“You can’t force me to do anything or go anywhere I don’t want. It’s illegal. This is kidnapping and I’ll call the police.”
“Olivia, you’re not 18 yet and so we can do what we feel is in your best interests. It will be much easier and more beneficial to you if you decide to help yourself and not put up a fight. What we are doing is called crisis intervention,” says Dr. Carmichael, matter of factly.
Where did they pull this idiot quack from? “But I’m 18 in two months. Please.” My sobs are unstoppable.
“Well, Olivia, if you decide to leave at that time that’s your decision but your court order is for sixty days. It’s been decided.” Go away, you freak doctor.
“Please just talk to me. I’ve written you a letter, which I hope you’ll read when you feel better,” Uncle Preston begs.
Talk to you?? About how your great friend’s son Lucien Borgia killed my soul in his bedroom six months ago??? The accompanying physical pain with this thought brings forth such anger as I scream at him, lunging forward, “I hate you, Preston Carter, I will never forgive you. You are not my father. You took me away from my real family.”
As I am dragged through the hall, the last things I hear before the big door closes, locking me out, are Aunt Victoria sobbing and Preston saying, “Oh God …”
Sobbing and gasping with a mixture of humiliation and fear, the assholes in chinos gently put me in one of the black sedans that was parked in the driveway with one of the twits beside me. He hands me some wipes but I just throw them back at him. Fine. I’ll do what they want. Sixty days isn’t long and then I’ll fucking show them.
Chapter Twelve
Olivia Carter
The car pulls into the private runway that the Carters use for their flights at JFK. I knew that Preston must be desperate because his blood-red Bombardier CL-600 was sitting there waiting for us. He is very particular about that toy. I think about how I could stick something into the leather seats and rip them.
A wave of nausea overwhelms me and before I know it I’ve gone from throwing up at the side of the plane to being belted in, ready for take off. The matching bodyguards keep their distance
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