Chapter 58 Deep-Rooted Trauma

Chapter 58 Deep-Rooted Trauma
Sloane’s POV

Brenda: Get here in two hours, pls.

Sent a live location.

While I was cleaning the blood off Malik’s knuckles in the bathroom, my phone pinged with a notification. I wanted to take my time with him because I was dealing with a man who had just had a manic episode—we were taught in school never to hurry them for any reason.

After I read the text, I myself started to spiral. It felt like I had lost control of my mind. I hated when I was given a tight deadline in a situation I could not control.

How I was able to clean him up really quickly, get him to put on a fresh set of clothes while I cleaned up myself was something I could not explain. A miracle, might I add.

We got into the car for the second time today, and this time around, instead of calling a driver, I decided to take the bull by the horn and drive. Mind you, my driving was very rusty. I hadn’t driven a car in a very long time. I shut my eyes, praying a silent prayer to the Creator that the car did not crash.

All through the drive, Malik did say a word. He just kept looking around as though something random was going to pop out of the blue and hurt him. I felt so bad. All the years of trauma and it was escalating in real time. I hated that I had to be here to witness it. 

Worse off, I hated myself for not speaking up when I found antidepressants in his possession during the early days of this relationship.

I should have cried for help and reached out to the team. I hoped to God that it wasn’t too late.

The map said to stop in front of a building I was unfamiliar with. This was not the clinic he frequented and it sure as hell was not the Lakers complex.

I put the car in park and it was as though Brenda’s mind connected with mine because she was out of the building before I knew it, running to me with tears falling down her eyes.

As soon as I stepped out of the car, she hugged me and it was then it dawned on me that this woman had genuine love for Malik.

I went to pull open the door for Malik. Brenda stood there observing him, her jaw almost hit the floor because she could not believe the man she was looking at.

“What happened to him?” 

“Brenda, let’s just go inside and deal with whatever this is.” She nodded, turned around and led the way. I let Malik walk right in front of me. He remained mute. Hopefully, he didn’t have another manic episode today again. Or ever.


“It is a general rule in the game of basketball that players are not permitted to use any form of performance inducing substances including drugs to suppress or uplift one’s mood. If there has been a case of a mental diagnosis, the team ought to know and the records of all medication the patient takes should be submitted to the test. So, I will ask you again, Mr. Cross, is there anything you’ll like to tell any of us here before the issue is escalated?” One of the doctors asked. 

Malik stood there, speechless and looking around.

My heart was hurting. I hated what depression and bipolar disorder did to people. The case was clear here.

The man had been living his life, undiagnosed for years. He most likely thought he had only depression and so, he went and purchased some antidepressants that ended up showing up as toxins in his blood. He was basically self medicating.

“Mr. Cross, your manager here pleaded with us not to let the team know of this development before contacting you. We are giving you the grace to come clean.”

God, I couldn’t watch this. This was a grown man they were talking to like a little child.

“If you do not speak up, we will hand the report to the team and it could lead to a suspension.”

The word ‘suspension’ had me jumping up from my seat and raising my hand. If the team heard about this, they might drop him. The way those cut throat Executives acted in the board room still played in my mind even though it had been hours. They were looking for a way to get rid of him.

“Please, take it easy on my boyfriend. As a couple, we are actually going through some things. We are going through a rough patch, actually.” I faked a smile, looking around at everyone.

“What rough patch?” A doctor said,

“I don’t know if it’s common knowledge, but Malik had parental issues growing up. It led to it messing up his mental health. He’s a big star now with a million and one people watching him, he might feel weak for walking into a therapist’s office for an official diagnosis, hence he self diagnosed himself and began to take some antidepressants. My boyfriend here does not take any form of drugs harmful to the body.” I said in defense of him. Whether I was telling the truth or not didn’t matter. I just wanted these people to believe me.

“Is there any evidence backing up the claim?” A doctor asked. 

What I was about to do was stupid. It would most likely shoot us in the leg, but it was better than letting him get suspended.

I walked up to the middle of the room where Malik was standing, held up his hand and showed them his busted up knuckles.

“My boyfriend wouldn’t harm anyone, but when he gets in episodes like this, he isolates himself completely and gets a bit violent.” I said and my goodness, the result of this was not going to be good. I knew it and hated myself for speaking already. Should I have let him get suspended?

The room was quiet for a while and it was in that moment I knew I had fucked up. As soon as Malik’s mind returned to normal, he would hate me for outing his dirty laundry. 

I was only trying to save his career.

“Thank you, Ms. Murphy and Mr. Cross, we will get back to you in due time.”


“Why didn’t I know any of this was going on? I have been his manager for three years and he never mentioned that he always took antidepressants.” Brenda angrily asked as we walked back to the car. Malik had still not said a word. 

For now, all he needed was a nice dinner and some sleep and by tomorrow, he would wake up like nothing ever happened. His knuckles would still hurt like crazy, though.

“Malik is a man who hides so many things. Brenda, he needs therapy. He had a manic episode today and he didn’t look the same.”

“Whenever I did a mental health check, he always said all he needed was some alcohol and a blonde bitch with big tits, he never told me he was going through all of this.”

“Did he ever mention his mother?” I asked.

“He said his past was bad. Said she’s one of the main reasons why he’s playing basketball. He’s been very vague about his past.”

“It’s a whole lot to unpack.” I muttered.

“Tell me about the article. What’s happening?”

How do I even start telling her that the man I thought I loved with my whole heart was the one responsible for almost sabotaging Malik’s career?