It's a form of mental illness, and yes, it can be cured, or at least regulated.

It doesn't happen overnight, though.

It takes years of treatment, and the guts to dig down and extract the truth.

Guts? Do I have the guts? I smile.

"Guts? Is that a clinical term?"

534.

That's All I'm Ready to Give Today She provided a lot of answers, though, and I'm more grounded.

So I get a jolt when she says, **

Kaeleigh, if we've been talking about you, I want to get you the help you need. The nearest residential treatment center is in Ventura....

Residential treatment center?

"No. I don't want to go there.

I mean I... why can't I stay here?

Why can't you be my therapist?"

This is a regular hospital. There are no beds available for psychiatric patients. I could treat you, but only on an outpatient basis. You'll have to go home, and all things considered...

"When? When are they going to release me?" How long do I have to make up my mind?

Your withdrawal symptoms have mostly subsided and your vitals are good. Probably tomorrow.

535.

Tomorrow Isn't Far Enough Away "Have you talked to my mother?

Does she know what happened?"

Why haven't I heard from her?

Your father said he'd take care of it. Hasn't she called you?

Well, of course he'd say that.

"My father is a liar." Whoa.

"I'll call her. Where's my cell?"

She goes to the closet, digs through my things.

Um, it doesn't seem to be here.

You can use mine if you want.

It was in my pocket when all this shit went down. Where is it?

One answer: Daddy. No wonder I haven't heard from anyone.

Carol brings me her cell. I start to dial and suddenly remember Mom's I don't see a thing.

"Will you talk to her? Please?"

Of course.

Carol waits, and when Mom answers, the good doctor pulls no punches.

536.

Mom Promises To get on a plane as soon as she can. I don't know whether to feel relieved or not. Totally weird to think this, but I've never been so fucking scared in my life.

I've always believed, of the two of my parents, she was the one I could count on. But I had completely forgotten that bath scene. Who is my mother? Who the fuck am I?

Am I one person? Two?

Maybe even more? Oh, great. Maybe there are a dozen of me, doing drugs and sleeping around all up and down the state.

Speaking of drugs, I could use a big fatty right about now.

How will I ever score after I get out of here? And which one of me is the loadie, anyway?

I'm sure getting high isn't good for my "condition," but how can I not, if I have to go home? I can't imagine living there any other way.

537.

I Suppose I Got the Addictive Gene From my wonderful father. Something else to thank him for. Bastard.

"Thank him for giving you life."

Fuck that. All he did was have sex with Mom. Probably just one time.

"Have you noticed you're cussing?"

Now that you mention it, yeah.

That, I'm pretty sure, I got from you.

"That, and a great sex education."

Sex is disgusting. And I really, really wish you'd quit talking to me.

"No can do. You need to hear me."

Well, if you're so smart, what do I do about Daddy? I need to tell.

"He'll go to prison for a long time."

So what? He deserves it. Daddies shouldn't touch their daughters.

"Not totally his fault. Remember...

538.

Yeah, yeah. So what, am I supposed to just say okay, it's not your fault?

"You could have a little sympathy."

So I just go on home, wait for him to go on a bender, drop in for a little?

"Maybe you should confront him.

Confront him? You mean like tell him to his face that he's a sick man?

"The direct approach might work."

No damn way. He'd deny. He'd blow up. He'd blame me.

"Face it. You're a chickenshit."

Damn straight. But I can't take this any longer. And I can't rely on you.