Finding Forever (18 page)

No TV.

No computer.

No phone.

No Simone.

Taylor imagined that life inside Kensington roughly resembled life in the 1800s—no fun in any way, shape, or form.

That is, except for the food and the exercise program. Taylor did a Bikram yoga session with helper Lily in the super-heated fitness room. And she had been fed like a natural foods princess. Gluten-free toast with almond butter for breakfast. Albacore sashimi and miso soup for lunch. Free-range chicken and jasmine brown rice for dinner. The nurse—the same one who delivered the rehab news—also delivered the meals to her room, calling them the “detox diet.” As frighteningly isolated as Taylor was, she saw a silver lining in knowing that at least she wouldn't be getting fat.

The nurse entered her room, this time accompanied by George. She pushed a wheeled cart, from which dangled a clear plastic bag filled with fluid. A narrow plastic tube about three feet long swung from the bottom of the bag.

“According to our research here at Kensington, our organ functions' decline is due in large part to our body's inability to absorb the necessary levels of nutrients as we age. Intravenous entry is the most efficient way of getting high-dose nutrients into your blood stream. It boosts your immune system, reduces inflammation, increases your energy levels. This weekly IV nutrient therapy is essential to the Program and will commence today,” George said.

The nurse positioned the IV pole beside Taylor's left arm
and pulled a five-inch-long needle from her pocket. “Why not just let me swallow vitamins?” Taylor asked.

“Oral ingestion has its limits and complications,” George replied. “Not only will the nutrients be more quickly absorbed this way, but at this high dosage you can have gastrointestinal issues such as bowel blockages and the like.”

“Lovely,” Taylor said.

The nurse straightened Taylor's arm flat on the bed and swabbed the area around her arm bend with an alcohol wipe. She tied a rubber band around Taylor's bicep and pressed her thumb onto the surface above a vein. Then she brought the catheter needle to the skin and poked through. Taylor winced. The nurse connected the IV tube to the catheter and opened the valve, letting the clear fluid drip into her arm.

George held up his phone in camera position. “Give me a thumbs-up!” he said.

Taylor flashed a faux smile and a set of cheesy thumb pistols. George snapped a photo. “We document everything,” he explained.

“You said I need to do this weekly?” Taylor asked.

“That's correct.”

“But if I got here early Sunday, then my 5150 hold should expire right about now. Or at least very soon.”

Which meant, she hoped, that Kensington could no longer legally hold her against her will. She had certainly proven she was not a threat to herself or to others, and, in fact, was starting to feel downright pure and rejuvenated!

“Of course, yes,” George said. “But it's all pending the results of your intake evaluation.”

Taylor had already fantasized about what she would do immediately upon her release. She would call her mom and explain everything so she wouldn't worry. Then she would call Simone, have her come pick her up, go home and pack, and
then head off to Mexico for that weeklong sixteenth birthday vacation they had been planning for the last two months.

The room door buzzed open and in walked one of the three steroidal-looking security guards Taylor had seen roaming the halls and grounds of the clinic over the last day.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Prince,” said the guard.

“Greetings!” she replied with a sunny smile.

The guard handed George a printout, and George read it intently.

“We have some good news and we have some bad news,” George said, standing just in front of the security guard at the foot of her bed.

Taylor swallowed what little saliva was left in her mouth.

“The good news is that your family and your professional management team—including your agent, publicist, and manager—have been made aware of your personal situation. And they are one hundred percent supportive of you and send their love.” He glanced down at the paper on his clipboard. “As for the bad news . . .”

Taylor propped herself straight up with her hands on the mattress.

“We have the results of your toxicology test.”

Swim class (aka an hour of hell she was only withstanding to appease her mother). Since swim class was co-ed, Brooklyn took solace in having Holden participate in her misery, not to mention slather sunscreen all over her skin in preparation. You know, as any “friend” might.

But then her walk home with Holden became anything but heartening.

“No way.” Brooklyn's eyes stayed glued to her phone. “No way.”

“What?” Holden asked.

“No freaking way. Holy crap. Oh my god. I can't believe—”

Brooklyn kicked off her flip-flops and clutched them tightly in one hand. Taking off down the sidewalk, Brooklyn was ten yards ahead of Holden before he even noticed.

“Where are you going?” he shouted.

“Home!” she shouted back without stopping. “Check out
STARSTALK
!”

As much as Brooklyn despised
STARSTALK
's “checkbook” journalism—not to mention their atrocious track record of misinformation and fake stories—they could not be ignored. Especially with their current headline:

TAYLOR PRINCE REHAB SHOCKER: SEX, DRUGS, AND SUICIDE?!?! CLICK
HERE
FOR THE EXCLUSIVE PIC!!!