He Sends Me to the Madhouse

My fingers went white clutching the divorce papers before I suddenly slammed them into Terry Gabriel's face. The paper scraped across his skin with a sharp sound, like the resentment I'd held in for three years finally breaking free. "Hannah, don't get a divorce," Terry Gabriel knelt down with a thud, clutching my thigh, his voice deliberately trembling, "Where did I mess up? If the medicine tastes too bitter, I'll change it. Just don't leave me." I stared at his left leg, wrapped in plaster, remembering how he said he broke it to pay for my anti-mental illness meds. All that was left inside me was a cold sneer as I raised my foot and kicked his injured leg hard. "Ah!" Terry Gabriel cried out in pain, cold sweat instantly breaking out on his forehead. The people around immediately crowded in, their eyes full of disapproval, looking at him like a clueless lunatic. "Hannah Scott, you've gone too far!" Ruby rushed over and grabbed my arm, her voice full of heartbreak. "Terry took care of you for three years, even broke his leg—how could you treat him like this?" I swung my hand back and slapped her, the palm slicing through the air to land on her face. "Smack!" The sharp sound instantly silenced everyone around. "Are you crazy?" Ruby covered her face, her eyes wide with disbelief. I pulled out a handkerchief to wipe my hands, a cold smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. "Weren't you the ones who drove me crazy?" Everyone stared at me like I was some kind of monster, even my own parents. Dad's hands were shaking with anger. He raised his hand and slapped me. "Ungrateful!" His voice dripped with disappointment. "What has Terry Gabriel ever done to wrong you? For three years, he's never left your side, taking care of you. What more do you want?" Mom slapped me too, tears streaming down: "Terry is such a good guy. You are ungrateful." I covered my burning cheek, then turned to look at Terry Gabriel lying on the ground. The plaster on his left leg was already cracked, dark red blood seeping through—a horrifying sight. But he was still begging for me, struggling to get up: "Mr. and Mrs. Scott, don't scold Hannah. She's just sick, it wasn't intentional." He reached out to hug me, but I caught that familiar Gardenia scent on him—Ruby's favorite perfume. I shoved him away sharply, my voice dripping with disgust: "Get lost, just get the hell out!" Terry Gabriel crashed hard onto the floor, the plaster cracks widening, blood seeping faster. Mom was too furious to speak, pointing at me for what felt like forever, finally managing a stuttered, "You..." Watching that scene, I felt so sick I wanted to vomit. At three in the morning, I jolted awake from a nightmare and headed to the living room for a glass of water. When I passed the guest room, the door was left slightly open, and through the crack, I saw Terry Gabriel and Ruby entwined together. Their ragged breaths came in fits and starts, stabbing into my ears like needles. Ruby's voice was laced with teasing irritation, "When do you think she'll finally lose it for good? Once that happens, all the Scott Family's antiques and cross-border shipping rights will be ours." Terry Gabriel's laugh was low, "Soon. Nobody believes her anymore. Just a few more doses of meds, and even if she talks back, they'll just write it off as a relapse." I gripped the door handle so tight my nails dug into my palms, holding back the urge to vomit. Since being 'diagnosed' with a mental illness, my friends have gradually pulled away—only Ruby stayed by my side. So, it was all a lie. I took a deep breath, pushed the door open, and stepped inside, my voice cold as ice: "I'll say it again—divorce." Terry Gabriel and Ruby quickly pulled apart, Terry's face instantly showing panic: "Hannah, why are you awake? Are you feeling unwell again?" "Somebody help! Hannah's having an episode!" he suddenly yelled outside, his voice booming. A few servants rushed in and, without a word, pinned me down and dragged me toward the bedroom. I struggled desperately but couldn't overpower them. Terry followed behind, reaching out to gently stroke my cheek, his eyes full of tenderness. "Hannah, don't be afraid. I'll take you home to rest." He even put scratch-resistant gloves on me; the warmth from his fingertips through the fabric sent chills all over me. I knew he wasn't afraid I'd hurt myself — he was afraid I'd hurt him again. Once the servants were gone, the tenderness in Terry's eyes vanished instantly, replaced only by cold impatience. He pulled out a pill bottle from the drawer and poured out a few white pills. "Hannah, you've been really bad today. Time to take your medicine." I looked at those pills, my stomach twisting with unease. For the past three years, I've taken these pills every day. Each time, I'd feel dizzy and my mind kept slipping further away. It wasn't medicine to cure any illness at all. "You know clearly whether I am sick or not." I stared into his eyes, a bitter, mocking smile playing at my lips. Terry Gabriel stiffened for a second, then reached out and gripped my chin hard, like he wanted to crush it: "Looks like Hannah's found out everything." "Then you'll have to pay the price." He tossed a few more pills into the glass, his voice cold as ice, "Take these."