Then—
BANG.
My body jolts. I gulp down air like I’m drowning. I’m not in Nan’s kitchen anymore. Not in that dark hallway. Not in that memory. I’m on a couch where my fists are clenched so tightly my nails bite half-moons into my palms.
“Alma,” a soft, feminine voice says. “Welcome back.”
I open my eyes slowly. The light is dim, but I make out my surroundings as my breathing steadies. There’s no Detective Johnson. No Efren or the clicking of a gun. Just the sound of a clock ticking and the gentle hum of the white noise machine by the bookshelf.
“You startled yourself,” Dr. Verduzco says calmly. “Was it the same memory?”
I nod my head, and she jots a note on the large legal pad resting on her lap.
“Tell me what you saw.”
“Detective Johnson. She told me I didn’t exist. That there was no record of me.” I shake my head. “I closed my eyes and woke up in Efren’s bed.”
“Esteban’s brother?”
I nod.
My heart drops at the memory.
The night I sought him out for comfort.
“Why do these two memories keep merging together?” I ask.
Dr. Verduzco examines me thoroughly. She’s never judged me. “There could be many reasons for them merging—a similar emotion or outcome. What are you feeling in those moments?”
“Confusion and shame.”
Afraid.
A small part of me felt afraid.
“And that’s when you get up and start running?” Dr. Verduzco’s brows lift slightly, but her expression stays unreadable.
She approaches my memories with cold logic, never wasting time on comfort. I value that. Again and again, she tears the bandaid away, dragging me closer to the black matter festering in my mind.
Dr. Verduzco studies me as I search for what I felt in the moment. The memory hovers just beyond my grasp, taunting me, playing on a loop through the last four sessions I’ve had. My brain dangles scraps of information, mocking me as I try to untangle what’s memory versus what I’ve invented to protect myself.
“How do I know what’s real? How do I tell what’s a memory and what’s made up?”
“You can’t,” Dr. Verduzco responds, her voice steady. “Memories don’t follow logic, Alma. They follow emotion. Memories anchor themselves in fear, guilt, and love. The mind hides what it can’t survive, but it never truly forgets.”
I nod, but something itches under my skin. I feel like I’m agreeing to end the session, just so I can crawl back into the false reality I’ve created for myself.
“Do you think I’ll ever remember everything that happened that night?”
“I think you’re telling me what your subconscious wants me to hear.” She pauses briefly and leans forward. “What you want to hear. And if you keep circling back to this memory, it’s because there’s something there you’re not ready to face. Something you buried to survive.”
When I first started seeing Doctor Verduzco, it was because of memory glitches. After the first month, she was able to recognize patterns of Dissociative Amnesia, which is trauma induced rather than injury related. My mind has created a secret place to hide all the trauma and protect myself from the overwhelming pain. But I need to find out what happened. I need to unlock the vault and see what other memories I’ve failed to process.
“And the brother?” Dr. Verduzco asks. “Have you heard anything else from the brother?”
“No. Not since he wrote me last summer.”
Found You Kitten.
