“To be honest? No. I’m sure they’d much rather that I was still trying to get you to discuss your time in Harold Griggs’ basement. Or how it felt to be kidnapped by a killer who tried to recreate that scenario for you.”
Oh. So she did see that picture. And read the accompanying article, apparently.
Dr. Evangeline sighs heavily.
“Listen, Cassidy. I know you don’t want to be here. I get it. For some people, being forced to talk about their feelings is just as painful as the trauma that caused them. And I’m going to be honest with you.”
I tuck my hands under the backs of my thighs, digging my nails in deep, bracing myself for what she’s about to say.
“I don’t think you need to be here. I think you’re just fine.”
That’s the last thing I was expecting to hear. Turns out, she isn’t as perfect as I thought, because she’s wrong.
“I know some time has passed since our last session, but after what happened to you, I’d expect you to be a wreck right now. Yet you’re not.”
Or I’ve just become a very good actress. Because while it’s true that I wasn’t completely re-traumatized by being kidnapped and handcuffed to a pole in a room designed to recreate the experience I had of being held by now-infamous serial killer Harold Griggs, I’m not okay.
My nightmares occur with even more frequency. I can still feel the hot breath of a panic attack on the back of my neck entirely too often. And though I’ve never been what you’d call a trusting person, now I have downright issues, suspecting people and their motives more than ever before.
“So I want to propose something new,” the doctor continues. “Since you have to keep coming to these appointments for a while, why don’t we try to make this more enjoyable for you? We can sit and chat, like friends. Or even just strangers in line at the grocery store. Or, we can go back to me asking you questions you don’t want to answer. It’s your call. Which would you prefer?”
I have no doubt that she’s up to something. That there’s some kind of ulterior motive at play here. But am I really going to pass up an opportunity to not be picked at like a peeling scab? To seize whatever control over these sessions that I can manage, even if it means walking into some kind of headshrinking trap?
I don’t think I could make myself resist the offer no matter how hard I tried. I’ll just have to watch my step and do my best not to reveal anything I don’t want to. So basically, the only thing that’s changing is that instead of asking what she wants to know outright, she’ll have to work harder to try to trip me up. Works for me.
Clearing my throat, I say, “I think that talking like friends would be nice. Thank you.”
She gives me what’s perhaps the first genuine smile I’ve seen since we started these sessions. “Great. Now. Would you like to discuss your dress? Or is there something else you’d like to talk about?”
Even though she’s just cut me what feels like the deal of a lifetime, I’m still not sure I like this woman. And I know I don’t trust her. But is that because I always expect the worst from people? She certainly hasn’t done anything to merit it.
It’s possible that I’m letting my suspicions cloud the situation. If she’s offering an olive branch here, maybe I should take it. Because thereissomething I desperately need to talk about, but it can’t be with someone who knows Jake, which excludes anyone I’d normally speak to.
“Actually…” I draw it out, trying to buy time to change my mind. To my surprise, my resolve sticks, even after Dr. Evangeline leans forward in her seat like she’s preparing to hear some juicy gossip. And then I see it. A small makeup smear on the collar of her jacket. Maybe she’s human after all.
So I take the leap and ask, “Do you remember me telling you how I’d discovered that Jake’s mom had helped murder my parents?”
“That’s kind of a hard thing to forget.”
“Well, she just had her first pretrial hearing. At least, she was supposed to, but it was delayed. That’s beside the point, though. Jake and I were there. And, well, I’m not sure he’s okay.”
“It’s understandable for him to be upset.”
“I know. And I’ve told him that. But he keeps insisting he’s not.”
“Plenty of men keep their feelings bottled inside.”
“It’s more than just that. He’s hiding things.”
“What kinds of things?”
“He’s hiring a defense team for his mom. Which is fine. I understand.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“He’s not the one who told me. A coworker of his did.”
“Hmm.”
