I pitched Sally’s age at somewhere between mine and Haze’s. Sally had blond hair and a hardened face that was difficult to age. My best guess being she was maybe a couple of years younger than me. She wore large tortoiseshell glasses that I had a strong feeling were just for appearance.
“No, not at all. I understand it could’ve happened anywhere. My only worry now would be traveling with two young children instead of one.”
Sally nodded. I didn’t know if she had children. Haze had often complained about sitting next to a man at a neighborhood dinner who only talked about himself and never asked questions. It had made me extra vigilant in my social interactions, which meant that only talking about myself with Sally had taken a little adjusting to. Now that I had got used to it, there was no denying that it was also quite enjoyable.
“Your second child is only a few months old. It can’t be easy handling a toddler and a newborn. How are you coping with that pressure?”
“It’s not been easy. Juggling it all with work.”
“But you’re managing?”
“Oh my god! Oh, god! Bibi! No!” Haze was shouting.
I’d rushed into the kitchen to find Reggie, our sweet baby, sitting in his bouncy chair, seemingly unfazed by the duct tape wrapped round his whole head.
“I just went for a pee! How are we going to get it off? It’s going to rip out his baby hair!”
Bibi was smiling next to him, gripping the roll of tape. Where had she got it from? We only kept duct tape in…our kill kit. I scanned the kitchen, and there was the familiar black case, open on the floor. We could at least be grateful she hadn’t used the rope, bleach, or industrial bin bags.
“There are moments where it feels…too much. If I wasfeeling better, then maybe things would be easier. It’s why I’m so desperate to go back to normal, to how I was.”
Sally tilted her head. “Nathaniel, I feel like we still haven’t got to the crux of why you’re here.”
I blinked at her. “I’ve told you. Many times. I was the victim of a violent mugging, and it’s been hard for me to move on from it.”
I’d told Sally this fabricated mugging had occurred in Italy. I’d been vague about where. Ivrea was a small town in the northwest. What had happened there had been covered on the news for a couple of days.
Sally leaned forward. “What’s the rush? You know that getting over trauma takes time, but you’re clearly wanting a quick fix. Why?”
It was comforting to know she was a good enough therapist to spot this. She was right: I was in a rush. I couldn’t carry on like this. My mental health could affect our physical health, and that’s why I needed to fix this. Fix me.
I took a deep breath. “I was having a moment with my wife, and I found it difficult to…” I trailed off.
“An intimate moment?” Sally tapped her pen against her notepad.
The two of us, standing over a squirming Clark Dixon.
“Very intimate.”
“And you had trouble performing?”
Gripping the knife in my hand: a hand that wouldn’t move.
I dropped my head. “I couldn’t get it up.”
Sally nodded. “Impotence is a common side effect post-trauma. How did Haze react?”
“She pretended she hadn’t noticed.”
Haze gently taking the knife from my hand and walking toward Dixon.
“I felt bad that I wasn’t there for her. That I let her down. I hate her doing it alone.”
Sally dropped her pen. “There is nothing shameful about masturbation.”
“Mastur—What? Oh. Right. No, I’m all for it. Of course. I just meant I felt bad that I let her down.”
Sally snorted. “Women usually find masturbation more satisfying. More likely to get the job done.” She looked up to see me staring at her.
