"To get help, but—"
"Why do you need help?"
Why is he asking me these questions?
Frustration boils over, and I answer without thinking.
"Because Ifucking panicfrom the..."
It's like a switch is turned on in my brain.
"...the nightmares."
Nightmare. Just a nightmare.
Dr. Mason nods.
"Nightmares of what?"
I flinch. "My wife dying."
"What would happen if your wife were hurt?"
"What?"
Dr. Mason repeats patiently. "What would happen if your wife were hurt?"
I blink, trying to focus. "They... they would call me."
"Who would call you?"
"My parents..." I whisper, rubbing my eyes, feeling the thick fog clear. "My parents would call me."
"Would they wait?"
I shake my head. "No."
"Would they tell you immediately?"
"Yes."
"And did we come get you for a phone call?"
"...no."
"Exactly," Dr. Mason smiles. "Because wewouldcome get you. No matter what. If Wendy were hurt, we would come get you. So what does that tell you?"
I take a deep breath and close my eyes, and I... I focus on Wendy.
I think of her face, her green eyes, her freckles like constellations that I love to pattern when she thinks I'm not looking or when she's asleep, her plush, soft lips, and her bright smile.
I think of her soft hair, vibrant against the white of our sheets, my hands tangled in it as I kiss her.
I think of her voice, of her laugh, of her.
I just think of her.
And I feel my heart rate slow.
