14. Leni
14
LENI
“You know, we’ve spent the better part of the past hour together, and all you’ve done so far is talk about your boyfriend and his brother.” Dr. Miller removes her glasses and pinches the bridge of her nose, sighing softly. She doesn’t usually reveal her feelings about what I’m saying—I guess that’s the way it’s supposed to be. She’s meant to be a blank page, a surface for me to imprint my thoughts on so she can help me figure them out. This is only our third session, but I’m already getting the sense of how things are supposed to go.
Obviously, if she’s already calling me out, it’s a problem.
“I care so much about them.” The words feel empty, but there’s no way I could possibly express the depth of my feelings. Or the depth of my confusion—how conflicted I feel whenever I think about Nix, how he treated me, how frightening he is now. It’s been four days since he tied me up, and I’m no closer to understanding how I feel about it than I was when I heard the front door slam shut while I trembled in bed, aching and quivering and hating myself.
I don’t know what to think about how I reacted. How easy it was to come with him inside me. I fought against it—or at least I tried my hardest—but it was like my body took over. I might as well have told myself to stop breathing.
He brought up all the old thoughts, questions, fears. Maybe there’s something broken in me. The sort of broken that can’t be fixed by spending a couple of hours a week with a therapist.
“I’m sure you do, and it’s commendable—how much you love and how worried you are for them.” She shifts in her chair, frowning while looking down at her notes.
When I was competing, I always hated the feeling that I’d disappointed my coach, something I always worked hard to avoid when I was practicing and competing. There were times I worked as hard as I did not for me, but for them, for Mom, for anybody who was counting on me. And I’m getting that feeling now.
“Is there anything you’re trying to avoid addressing? Because, you know, it’s very convenient for us to focus our attention on the people around us instead of working on ourselves.” She lifts her gaze, staring hard, challenging me. “That’s what you’re supposed to be doing now, during these sessions.”
“I know.” I can’t help but look down at my lap, where my hands are folded, my fingers twisting together while I fight the discomfort of being called out like that. She’s gentle about it, always professional, but her insight stings.
“What does all of this represent to you? You tell me your boyfriend and his brother were very close, and something has gotten between them. Why is it that this is taking up so much space in your mind and your heart?”
That’s the tough part about this whole therapy thing. There’s so much I can’t tell her. What’s the point if I can’t be completely honest? Then again, what do I do? Tell her I’m pretty sure Nix set the fire that ended up killing my mom?
I know there’s such a thing as confidentiality, but how far does that extend if I’m talking about a crime?
I don’t know how I feel about Nix right now—it’s all too confusing. I’m conflicted, a battle waging between resenting him for using me and wishing he and Colt would come together again as brothers so they can figure things out. Because I know it would make Colt happy in the end, once the smoke is clear and everybody understands each other. Without Nix, he’s half of himself.
I want him to have everything he needs. That’s what it means to love him.
Even if, right now, it doesn’t seem like he wants my love.
“I feel like Colt resents me,” I whisper, and some of the tightness in my chest eases now that I’ve said it out loud.
Tucking a strand of honey blonde hair behind her ear, she peers at me from over the frames of her glasses. “Why would he resent you? What reason would he have for that?”
“Because his brother reached out to me and not to him. I can’t tell if he thinks there’s something deeper going on, or if he’s just hurt or what. But it’s affected life at home, for sure. There’s this feeling in the air,” I confess, shivering when I think about it.
“What kind of feeling?”
“He’s angry, but he doesn’t know who to be angrier with: himself, his brother, or me. So he’s just angry in general, all the time.”
“How does that make you feel?”
What does she expect me to say? Why do I feel like there’s a right and a wrong answer? I have to remind myself this is not a test. I won’t be graded. “Like I don’t want to breathe too hard sometimes. I feel uneasy.”
“Your home is where you should feel safest.”
“I know,” I whisper. “It’s not that I feel unsafe. I just feel… uncomfortable.”
“Have you tried talking to Colton about this?”
I avoid answering directly. “I mean, what is there to say?”
“You could start by telling him what you just told me—that you feel uneasy. You said before this is essentially the first relationship for both of you, right?” When my head bobs, she shrugs. “First relationships require a lot of patience and compromise. There are always going to be growing pains involved. But I encourage you to work through them,” she insists.
In response to my uncomfortable silence, she continues, “When you first came to me, you talked about wanting to claim your power. We agreed that was something we could work on together. Finding ways for you to stand up for yourself, speak up for yourself, make sure your voice is heard. There’s no time like the present.”
She makes it sound so easy, like all I have to do is snap my fingers and become a better, stronger person.
What else is she supposed to think? I’ve only ever given her fragments of the full story.
Maybe this was going to be a waste of time in the end.
I can’t tell her that, of course. All I can do is thank her when the hour is up and leave, feeling no better than I did when I arrived at the office. I should tell Colt to stop wasting his money—he’s been so generous, so determined that I go to therapy and learn to get through the dark, ugly memories. I want to. I just wish it were that simple.
Instead, I’m stuck looking over my shoulder all the time, wondering if Nix is watching as I leave the building situated in the middle of a row of shops and offices downtown. It’s a lot safer here than where I walked when I first found Nix, but I can’t escape my nerves. How am I supposed to live the rest of my life if I’m always nervous when I’m out alone?
But I made a big deal of telling Colt I’d be fine, that he didn’t have to pick me up after my session. Sometimes it’s better for me to walk so I can process what I talked about with Dr. Miller before getting home. I need to be alone with my thoughts for a little while.
I know she’s right about a lot of things. I can tell myself all I want, that she doesn’t know the full story, but that doesn’t change anything. There are all kinds of reasons I can give for devoting so much of my energy to Colt and Nix and everything surrounding them, but I need to figure out how I feel about everything instead of worrying so much about the way Colt feels, or about how isolated Nix must feel. I didn’t set any of this in motion—none of it is my fault. So why am I constantly biting my tongue to keep from begging Colt to forgive Nix? Why do I keep hoping Nix will finally reach out and the two of them can settle the questions into accusations?
Why do I keep wishing so hard for Nix to come back when really all he’s ever done is hurt me? It’s got to be unhealthy, sacrificing myself like that, no matter how much I love Colt. Maybe that’s something I can talk to Dr. Miller about during our next session. I just have to find a way to explain it that won’t make her ask a bunch of questions I can’t answer. This is all so messed up. It’s enough to make me wonder if I’ll ever work my way through the trauma James inflicted on me. How am I ever supposed to get past it when Nix still seems stuck in the past? At least Colt has moved on—a little, anyway. The cruelty is gone. He wants to make it up to me, all those terrible things. All Nix wants to do is hurt me the way he did before.
Maybe it would be better if he did stay away, even though I know how it hurts Colt. He might not want to admit it out loud, but I know it does. The doctor is right. I need to stop worrying so much about them and think a little more about me, about what would be best for me.
“I knew you were a fucking head case.”
The nasty laughter that follows that charming observation makes my skin crawl. Why? Why can’t Deborah leave me alone?
She’s leaning against the car parked up ahead, her arms folded, a nasty grin stretching her mouth. She doesn’t know it, but she has picked the wrong day. I have too much on my mind to worry about treading carefully around her when all she seems to care about is following me around town.
“Deborah, you really need to get a life,” I mutter, scoffing, determined to keep walking without moving aside. She wants me to be afraid. She wants me shaken up. I’ll be damned if I give her the satisfaction.
“Did you tell your shrink all about the vandalism you’ve been up to lately?” she asks with a nasty laugh.
“You’re deluded, too.” I’m ready to keep walking, to leave her behind me, but she’s got other ideas. Pushing away from the car, she steps in front of me, feet planted at shoulder width. For one wild second, I can see myself shoving her hard, knocking her on her ass. She wouldn’t expect it, meaning I could probably make it happen—catching her off guard, having the pleasure of laughing at her surprise.
Then again, all I need is for her to accuse me of assault, which she would definitely do. As it is, she’s trying to accuse me of vandalism when I don’t have the first clue what she’s talking about. Just another thing she’s made up, I guess. An excuse to hate me.
“Deluded? No, honey,” she whispers, her lip curling, eyes narrowing. “You’re deluded for thinking you could slash my tires outside the movies, and I wouldn’t know it was you.”
Slashing her tires? “I never did that.”
“Yeah, right,” she snaps. “I guess it was a coincidence.”
“Or maybe you pissed off the wrong person,” I suggest with a shrug. “I can’t be the only one.” Was it Nix? Was he following me around even then? Would he take a risk like that?
“Listen, bitch.” Baring her teeth, she snarls, “I’m sick of you strutting around like your shit doesn’t stink, acting like a goddamn queen bee when we both know you’re not. We both know how worthless you are. You’re trash. Pretend all you want, but that’s all you’ll ever be.”
Pausing, she adds, “You’re a liar, too, and probably a murderer.”
“Wow,” I muse. “I must be pretty busy. Maybe you better get out of my way—I have all kinds of murders and other crimes to plan. You’re wasting my time.”
“You’re not going anywhere.” She shoulder-checks me when I try to walk around her, making me stumble. There are a few passing cars now and then, and a woman across the street pauses in the middle of getting into her car, eyeing us with curiosity. She must decide to mind her business because she wastes no time getting behind the wheel and closing the door.
“Just let me pass, please.” I sigh. “I didn’t do anything to you, and I would rather pretend you don’t exist, if you don’t mind.”
“See, that’s your big mistake, even bigger than thinking you belong with Colt.”
Because in the end, that’s what this is all about. “I think Colt knows what’s best for him. If that’s your problem, maybe you need to get in his face instead of mine. But I’m sure you’re afraid to do that,” I conclude.
“Why would I be afraid of him?” She lifts her chin defiantly, her eyes cold. “Especially when I know what he’s done.”
“You’ve lost me again. You really need to stop being so deluded. It’s sad,” I whisper. It’s the truth, too. I’m sad for her. “I’m sorry, there are no answers. I really am, but I’m not the person who can give them to you.”
“Bullshit.”
“Whatever you say.”
“We’re going to find out what happened to Bradley.”
“We?” I ask, and for the first time, real fear slithers down my spine like a snake. I didn’t think about Bradley. The way he disappeared around the time of the explosion. The body, the grave. Why didn’t I think about that until now? How could I have missed it?
When Deborah’s mouth twitches into a knowing smile and a look of satisfaction comes over her face, I know this is it. She has seen through me. I’ve just gotten to the heart of why Nix won’t come back. It must be Bradley in his grave. And now she’ll know all of her accusations were correct because I’ve never been very good at hiding my thoughts.
It’s only when I hear someone step up behind me that I realize I was worried about the wrong thing. Hot breath fans out across the back of my neck, making me flinch, but I don’t have time to run. It’s already too late.
That same hot breath hits my ear in time with a cloth covering my nose and mouth, a cloth cupped inside a large hand that clamps down hard. “This is for my brother,” a man whispers, and I know it must be Dennis holding me in place.
I’m forced to breathe in whatever is on the cloth.
Dennis holds me up as my body begins to slump, and Deborah opens her car’s back door in the moments before the world goes dark.
They’re going to hurt me, and there’s nothing I can do to stop them.