6. Lincoln
6
LINCOLN
“Want to tell me why you’re staring out the window right now?”
I glanced over my shoulder to see Dr. Dawkins, my therapist, walk into the room. “Just waiting on you.” I winked and turned around.
He eyed me for a moment. “I might believe that if I thought you were looking at anything interesting out the window, but since I know it’s just a brick wall of the next building and an alley, why don’t you come over here and tell me what’s on your mind?”
A former Army Ranger, Dr. Dawkins had a habit of seeing right through people. Right down to the part that you tried to keep hidden from the world, and maybe even from yourself.
At that moment, it wasn’t myself I was hiding from. No, it was the sexy center who’d sent me a Happy New Year message over a week ago. One I left unanswered. Things weren’t in the right place for me to take on a relationship, and I wasn’t sure they ever would be. I walked over and sat down on the couch across from Dr. Dawkins.
His office was simple and didn’t really look like an office. There was no desk, no shelves of books on all different types of psychological disorders. There were three doors into the room we were sitting in. One led to his actual office, where I was sure he kept all those things, one to the front waiting room, and one that let you step right into a hall where you could leave without running into anyone else. Greg Dawkins was adamant about keeping his patients’ privacy and that included not seeing other patients coming and going. This room looked more like a living room with two couches and a TV on one wall. Another held a large fish tank full of colorful fish.
Dr. Dawkins leaned back and rested his ankle on his knee. In a polo shirt and khakis, you could still see the definition in his muscles from his time in the service. “How was your trip back to Massachusetts?”
“Nice to have Mom’s cooking again. I might have some of her recipes, but everything I make turns charbroiled.” Looking at him, most people might be a little nervous to sit down and lay their fears at his feet, but he was great at making people feel comfortable.
“Isn’t that always the way? I’ve mastered my mom’s baked mac and cheese, but it still doesn’t taste the same way as when she makes it.”
“Never does. And cooking for one sucks.”
He chuckled. “That it does. Anyone else there besides your parents?”
“Just my sister and my brother. Oh, and I had to meet my sister’s boyfriend.”
“She’s been bothering you about that for a while.”
“She has. He seems like a nice guy…” I trailed off and Dr. Dawkins finished my thought perfectly.
“But you don’t think there’ll be anyone worthy of your sister?”
“That’s it exactly. Kevin and I agree.” And suddenly I found myself telling him all about my sister’s boyfriend and the way my brother and I nitpicked his traits. The conversation moved to my job and how things were going there. Then, like a pilot waiting for his target, he dropped the bomb right in my lap and I didn’t even see it coming.
“So, when are you going to start dating again?”
“What?” The question slipped from my lips as my mind raced to come up with an answer. How did I explain avoiding Devon when this had been the first time Dr. Dawkins had mentioned it in a few months? I thought when he stopped asking, he’d given up on that happening. I’d been so adamant that I would never be ready to date. To be with anyone. I wouldn’t be a burden or throw my shit in another’s lap. Which meant dating was out of the question.
He tilted his head to the side. “I think you heard my question, but don’t want to answer it. Thought I’d given up?”
A humorless chuckle left my lips. “I did. We’ve been through this before. I can’t bring my problems to someone else’s doorstep. It’s not fair to them to deal with my attacks.”
He lifted his arm and rested it along the back of the couch. “And when was the last time you had a PTSD episode?”
It took me a moment to remember. “Eight months ago.”
“Eight months is a long time.”
“Doesn’t mean I’m cured.”
He shook his head. “No, it doesn’t.”
“Which is why I avoid anything that could cause an attack to happen.”
Dr. Dawkins sighed. “That’s hiding, not healing.”
“So, you want me to put myself in a position to struggle? Even you agreed that working at the urgent care is better than the ER.”
“Yes, because we are talking about someone else’s life on the line if you freeze up and panic. That doesn’t mean you can live your entire life avoiding everything that might upset you. Otherwise, you’re not really living.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, staring right at me. “Look, Lincoln. PTSD is not something you get rid of. It’s something that will always be with you. The difference is learning to live your life in a way that you can cope with when it tries to take over. You learn how to handle the panic and come back to yourself quickly. Thinking that you can just avoid everything that might upset you only leaves you in a position for an attack to drag you under to a place you don’t want to be again.”
My chest tightened. “I don’t want to go back there ever.” The memories of what it was like to be stuck in my own head for days and sometimes weeks at a time threatened to undo the peace I’d slowly found.
“Lincoln, focus on me.”
I looked up and focused on Dr. Dawkins’s gaze. I counted the seconds it took to take each breath. In. Out. In. Out. Pushing the air through my lungs at a measured pace. My breathing slowed and the knot loosened.
“See, in an environment with nothing to fear, you know how to bring yourself back, but until you learn how to do that in the real world, the PTSD is going to control you, instead of you controlling the PTSD.”
I knew what he was saying. The realities of living were different than the avoidance I’d been surviving with. But the fear of being dragged back down into the well of despair was enough to keep me from changing my routine.
“I know, but—”
“No buts. If you’re not willing to push yourself, I’m not sure there’s much more we can accomplish together. You’ve reached a point in your therapy where you know how to function in the environment you created.” He sat back on the couch and watched me, waiting.
My mind raced. Was I ready to walk away from our sessions? To really be out on my own without Dr. Dawkins when I needed him?
“I thought it was good that I was down to coming once a week.”
“It is.” He didn’t say anything else.
Silence filled the room while I tried to find a way out. Some way to prove to him that I wanted to keep going. I wanted to cross the finish line. Every idea I had, I dismissed just as quickly, knowing that Dr. Dawkins would also dismiss it as continuing avoidance. I stood and started pacing in front of the couch I’d been sitting on. He watched me but stayed quiet. When I realized what he was looking for, I stopped and spun to face him.
“I got asked out on a date.”
His brow lifted. “Let me guess, you turned him down.”
“Well, he is the son of one of the doctors I work with.”
“Be honest with me and yourself. Did you really say no because of that?”
I sighed and dropped back down onto the couch. “No. I’m afraid.”
“That’s okay. Even a person who hasn’t suffered the trauma you have would be scared when it comes to going on a date with someone for the first time.”
“This is different. You know what I’ve been through.”
“It is, but I think it could be a step in a new direction for you. You can’t avoid it forever. Taking a risk and opening yourself up to someone else could be the first step to really getting a handle on your PTSD.”
“So, you want me to use him to heal myself.” I’d never hidden my sexuality from Dr. Dawkins.
“No. I want you to open yourself up to finding the possibility of something special.”
“And you think the first guy who asks me out on a date in more than two years is my something special?”
“I don’t know and neither do you. But there is one way to find out.” An alarm chimed from his pocket, and I knew our time was coming to an end. I stood and started toward the door when Dr. Dawkins called my name. I glanced over to where he was standing up from the couch. “If he asks again, say yes.”
“I’ll think about it. See ya next week, Doc.”
He inclined his head and I stepped out the door into the hallway, wondering if I really could bring myself to say yes.
A few days later, I found the same question running through my head as I walked to the front door of Natalie’s home. Yesterday, she invited me to her house for a dinner party tonight. Normally, I would’ve said no, but in my attempt to do more things outside my comfort zone, I figured dinner with my colleagues was a great place to start.
Nat already knew enough about my condition, should anything happen. I never gave her the full story, just enough to make it clear what was happening if I ever had an episode at work. Not that I had. The demons usually liked to chase me at night.
I sucked in a breath and rang the bell. Soon after, the door swung open and Nat’s bright smile greeted me.
“Lincoln, I’m so glad you came. Please come in.”
She opened the door wide, and I stepped inside, the warmth engulfing me immediately. “Here, let me take your coat.”
I handed over my jacket. “Thank you for inviting me.”
She hung it on the rack next to the door. “I’ll never understand how you wear such a light coat when it’s freezing out,” she said with a laugh.
“I grew up in Massachusetts. It’s always cold there.”
“I’m from Minnesota and I still freeze in this weather.” She started down the hall in front of her.
“Maybe I’m just cold-blooded.” We both laughed at that as she led me into the living room. There was a beautiful fireplace on the far wall, surrounded by couches that were noticeably empty. “Where’s everyone else?”
A light flush covered her cheeks. “Oh, it’s just you, me, Alec, and…” Her words died off as someone stepped through the open doorway on the right side of the room. “Devon.”
I practically swallowed my tongue. I’d seen Devon in a suit, and a pair of jeans and T-shirt, but standing in the doorway in a pair of dress slacks and black button-down shirt, with the sleeves rolled up on his forearms, he was downright enticing.
How did I not think that Devon would be here? I hadn’t looked at his schedule and I guess I thought he’d be on the road. That Nat was having an after Christmas dinner party for the staff at the urgent care. But as I thought back to her invitation, she never mentioned anything about our other coworkers. Just that it would be a dinner party.
As Devon’s gaze dropped to the ground, I realized she was trying to set us up.
“Nice to see you again, Devon.”