We ended the call and I sat staring out at the mountains. Tomorrow Elena would be here, observing my “functioning in my environment”—meeting with Alex to assess the damage I’d done to our relationship.
Clinical language didn’t make it sound any less like my life was spinning completely out of control.
The pressure behind my eyes was throbbing now. I checked my watch—another three hours until dinner with everyone expecting me to be functional enough for family time.
I shot off a quick text to Alex:Gonna lie down. Wake me when you get here so we can talk
I closed the curtains and laid down on our bed—the one I’d slept in alone last night. The pillows smelled like Alex’s shampoo mixed with the scent of my soap. Evidence of how tangled our lives had become in just a few weeks—how much damage I could do when my brain couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t.
I woke to the soft sound of our door opening, followed by Alex’s familiar footsteps crossing to the dresser. The curtains were still drawn, leaving the room in dim afternoon shadows that didn’t immediately assault my eyes when I turned toward her.
“Hey,” she said quietly, setting her bag down near my backpack. “How are you feeling?”
I sat up carefully, checking. The headache had backed off to a dull throb instead of the sharp pressure from earlier.
“Better. Head’s manageable,” I rubbed the back of my neck. “How did work go?”
“Good. Tabitha sent over some new documentation for the criminal charges against Jordan.” I made room as she sat down on the edge of the bed, her hip brushing my leg. “And we’re building a huge case against Titan that might turn into a class-action lawsuit.”
“Good. Bastards deserve it.”
She smiled at that. “Agreed.”
The space between us felt less fragile than I thought it would, but it was still uneasy—like we were both monitoring the conversation for signs of trouble or breakdown.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” I said at length. “About today. About what comes next.”
Her expression shifted, becoming more alert. “Okay.”
“I called Dr. Martinez this afternoon. Elena, my therapist,” the words came easier the second time. “Had to report what happened yesterday.”
Alex nodded, not looking at me—her hands resting in her lap as she waited for the rest.
“She’s flying out here,” I watched her face for signs of panic or withdrawal. “My episode was serious enough that she needs to assess me in person.”
Alex’s eyes met mine. “That’s good, right? Getting help right when you need it? It’s the least they can do after their fancy jet broke your brain and nearly killed you.”
That got a surprised laugh from me—the response catching me off guard—and her eyes brightened, her posture relaxing.
“You’re not bothered that my therapist is coming here because I fell apart?”
“I’m concerned about you, not about her response to helping you,” she lifted a shoulder. “I assume Elena’s a military trauma specialist, right? It makes sense that’s who you’d be assigned.”
“Yeah.” I loved my clever girlfriend.
“Then I trust her judgment. If she thinks you need immediate support, you should get it.” She paused. “What does this mean for the next little bit?”
Another question I’d been dreading. “She’ll want to meet with you. Observe how we interact, understand the family dynamics. Part of assessing my environment includes understanding my support system.”
“Makes sense,” she nodded. “What should I expect?”
I studied Alex’s face. She looked calm, thoughtful—same as every other time I’d told her some new way I was defective now.
“She’ll ask about what you witnessed yesterday, how it affected you, what you’ve observed about my functioning overall.” I pushed ahead with the harder part, “she’ll probably want to know about our relationship. What’s real, what started as pretense,where we stand now.”
“And what would you want me to tell her about that?”
“The truth,” I said finally. “Whatever that is for you.”
