Chapter 9
Roxanne
“Still no word from Mr. Donovan, I’m afraid,” Lisa explains after an hour has passed from Caleb’s appointment time slot. “Do you mind if I close up shop now, or do you need me to stay a little longer?”
“No, Lisa. It’s quite alright. Go home and enjoy the rest of your night,” I reply with a forced smile.
“You too,” she waves off cheerfully before racing away.
I, unfortunately, stay seated at my desk, wondering where it went wrong.
I really thought yesterday’s group session at St. Francis would have done the trick to change Caleb’s mind about getting the help that he needs. After all the stories he heard, I was certain that at least one would have resonated with him somehow and touched him enough to realize that he’s not as much of a lost cause as he deems himself to be.
But alas, as I stare at the wall clock in my office and watch the long hand dip away, minute by minute, I have to face the fact that not everyone is prepared to open themselves up like that. It takes an enormous amount of courage and strength to be that vulnerable with someone.
For a brief second, I honestly believed Caleb carried such strength inside him.
But maybe I was wrong.
Maybe he considers his scars too ugly to show to the world.
Along with a deep sense of disappointment, I also find myself feeling extremely sad for him.
If he doesn’t take steps to ease the guilt and the pain he’s carrying, I’m afraid he’ll lose himself in his despair.
Feeling depleted of all my energy, I start to pack everything away so I can head home, too. As I hold his file in my hands, ready to place it back in the filing cabinet, I pause to take a minute to look at his picture.
I brush my fingers over it and let out a sigh.
With his playful grin and a mischievous glint in his eyes, Caleb looks free of any burden the world may hold.
Whoever this man was, he’s not the one I’ve met.
“Is that my file?” I hear Caleb ask behind me, causing me to jump and let the file drop on the floor.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.” He smiles softly, rushing to pick the scattered sheets of paper off the floor.
“I… um… no… you didn’t,” I stammer as I go to my haunches to help him.
“Liar.” He grins, a flash of his roguish personality coming through. “We really need to stop meeting like this.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind.” He shakes his head and hands me the papers in his hand.
Once I have everything neatly packed, I place his file on top of my desk.
“I didn’t think you would come,” I tell him honestly.
“Yeah, well… neither did I.” He frowns while running his fingers through his brown curls.
“What changed your mind?”
“You.”
I swallow the lump that jumps to my throat at the vulnerable sincerity in his eyes.
“Well, I’m glad you came. I truly am,” I reply, thankful that my voice remains even and professional.
“Let’s see how glad you are about it in a few weeks’ time. I’m sure you’ll get tired of my face soon enough.”
Doubtful.
I shrug that curious thought away and give him a reassuring smile.
“Shall we begin then?”
“Might as well.” He shrugs, walking over to the couch. However, instead of plopping on it like he’s become accustomed to, he surprises me by sitting on the floor, preferring to lean against it, and hugging his knees to his chest.
I don’t ask why he prefers the floor to the couch and instead turn to grab my things off my desk so we can start our session.
But just as I’m about to sit down on the armchair, Caleb stops me.
“Do you mind if you sit next to me?”
My jaw goes agape at the peculiar request.
“I doubt I’ll be very forthcoming if you’re looking down on me,” he explains. “If this is going to work, then I’m going to need you to sink to my level. You think you can handle that, Doc?”
I hesitate for just a brief second since this isn’t exactly how I like to conduct my session. There is a reason why a therapist and patient should always maintain a proper distance from each other. This helps reduce pressure on the patient and ensures a professional boundary for the therapist. Being seated so close might blur some lines that should remain immaculately clear.
Still, I find myself following through on his request and sitting down beside him.
“This is highly unorthodox,” I explain, feeling a bit uneasy about the situation I just placed myself in.
“Don’t sweat it, Roxie. I’m not your conventional patient, either.” He smiles reassuringly, easing my nerves somewhat.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“That’s what I’m here for, ain’t it?” he retorts with an impish grin, placing his hands behind his head.
“If you decided to come in anyway, why wait until the last minute to do it?”
“Honestly? I don’t like your receptionist very much. I kind of made a pass at her on the first day and then turned her down an hour later. Shit like that gets messy real fast. If I’m going to take this whole therapy thing seriously, then I would rather not have to deal with all of that.”
“Understood.” I nod, writing a note to remind Lisa not to fraternize with patients… again. She’s extremely organized and professional in every aspect of the business, but her Achilles heel seems to be hockey players. She just can’t help but flirt with them. However, in this case, it seems that Caleb was the one in the wrong and not her. Still, I have to do something to ensure a safe environment for my patients, in this case, Caleb.
“If you prefer, we can conduct our sessions after working hours. I’d be okay with that if it would make you more comfortable.”
“Thanks.” He grins. “And for the record, she’s not my type. I mean, she was. Most women like her were. But not anymore. I don’t… I mean… fuck… what do I mean?” he stammers nervously.
“Caleb,” I interject, placing my hand on his thigh. “Breathe. We have plenty of time to discuss every aspect of your life, including women and your relationship with them.”
It’s only when he goes uncharacteristically mute, just staring at my hand placed over his bulging thigh, that I see the huge error I just made.
I swiftly pull it away, inwardly chastising myself for the impulse.
This.
This is why there should always be a clear distance between a client and their therapist.
Argh.
“I… um… shouldn’t you start the recorder or something?” Caleb asks after we’ve both gone silent for a full minute.
“Right. Of course,” I reply, quickly turning to my side to grab the recorder.
“So, where do we begin?” Caleb asks after I’ve recorded today’s session intro.
“I was thinking that today you could tell me a little bit about your childhood.”
“The origin story, huh?” He laughs. “Okay, Doc. It’s your show. What do you want to know?”
“Anything. Everything. Whatever you feel at ease telling me. Maybe you can tell me about Jack and your relationship with him if you feel you’re ready to talk about it.”
“Yeah, okay. I can try to do that,” he replies, sounding a bit apprehensive.
I have to sit on my hand to force myself not to comfort him, reminding myself that words are just as effective as touch.
“Tell me how it was growing up. In your file, it says that you’re a townie and that you and your family have lived in Boston for generations, tracing back several decades. What was it like to have such roots in one place?”
“As you might expect.” He throws a noncommittal shrug. “Everyone knew just about everyone else in our block. And with our father being a cop, it meant total strangers knew who we were, too. The Donovan boys, they would call us.” He lets out a tiny chuckle. “Here come the Donovan boys!” he calls out, pressing his open hand against the side of his mouth. “Yeah. Everyone knew who we were and knew exactly how to tell us apart, too. Jack was the reliable one, the responsible brother. He was the guy everyone called if they ever got themselves into trouble. Me? I was trouble. Always running my mouth and getting myself into all sorts of mayhem. Chaos might as well have been my middle name.”
“So you were total opposites, huh?”
“Still are.” He tries to grin, but the sadness coating his eyes tells a different story.
“Were the two of you always close?” I ask, coaxing him to continue to open up more.
“Always.” He nods. “I might have been a pain in the ass, but Jack always had my back. Even more so after our father died.”
“How so?” I interject, wanting to know more about their dynamic.
Caleb hugs his knees to his chest again, placing his strong chin on top of them.
“Jack took care of me. Took care of us. But looking back, he always had in a way, even before our dad died,” he confesses, running his fingers through his hair again, something I came to notice as being a nervous tic he has when he feels uncomfortable. “Now that was one hard motherfucker, if I ever saw one. Fucking brutal, really. Our dad didn’t suffer fools easily, so for a rebellious kid like me, it wasn’t the warmest of households to live in. Not while he was around anyway.” He lets out a deep exhale. “He never hit me or anything, but he sure knew how to cut me open with just one look. See… Jack was perfect in his eyes, whereas I never knew when to keep my mouth shut and avoid ending up on his wrong side. Don’t get me wrong, I loved him ‘cause he was my pops and all. But he never really understood me. And I guess I never took the time to understand him, either. Know what I mean?”
“I do.” I nod.
“Do you get along with your folks?” he asks, needing a bit of a reprieve from walking down memory lane.
“I do, actually. They’re retired now and live down in Florida. Tampa, actually.”
“No shit?” He chuckles.
“Yeah,” I smile widely. “My dad is actually a hardcore Guardians fan.”
“Fuck! Don’t tell me he went to see the game with the Blackhawks.”
“Actually, he did.” I laugh softly.
“Jesus. Well, I always sucked at making a good first impression.”
“That’s okay. I think you more than make up for it the second time around.”
“Yeah?” His green eyes light up.
“Yeah.” I smile back, only for it to slip off my face when his expression turns somber. Before I have time to ask him what’s wrong, he turns around to face me, crossing his legs as he goes about it. I can’t help but notice that for a man of his stature, he sure is flexible.
“I kind of owe you an apology,” he starts.
“You kind of owe me one?”
“No. You’re right. I do,” he retorts, running his fingers through his hair again. “I was a dick to you. I know I was. I shouldn’t have said that shit about your late husband. If I knew he had died, then I wouldn’t have opened my mouth to say such nasty stuff to you. It was a shitty thing to say. But at the time, all I wanted was to piss you off so you’d tell Trent that you could no longer be my therapist.”
“And now?”
“And now… I’m just hoping you won’t give up on me and give me another chance.”
“Is that what you really want? Me to help you?” I interject, needing him to say the words aloud as a way to solidify his commitment to the arduous process he’s about to embark on.
“Yeah. I really do. I think… well, I think you might be the only one who understands what I’m going through right now.”
“I do understand,” I affirm, knowing he needs to hear it from me.
“I hope so, ‘cause I gotta admit… the shit I’m going through… it isn’t pretty. I’m… fucked up, Roxie. Like really fucked up in the head. The things I think about… would scare you. They sure as shit scare me sometimes.”
I turn to face him, crossing my legs to mimic his form.
“Can you tell me one of these things that scare you?”
“I…” he hesitates, lowering his gaze away from mine.
I reach for his hands and hold them tightly in mine.
“No judgment, Caleb. Within these four walls, you have the freedom to express your true thoughts and emotions without any judgment whatsoever. I’ll never think any less of you. Never. Because whatever thought has crossed your mind, I’m almost certain it has crossed mine at one time or another.”
“I doubt it.” He hangs his head down low.
“Okay, how about we do this another way? I’ll say something that passed through my mind when I was at my lowest of lows, and you squeeze my hand when one sounds familiar to you. How does that sound?”
He takes a minute to think about it before nodding his consent.
“Good. Let’s start with an easy one.” I clear my throat. “I feel like no one really understands what I’m going through.”
Squeeze.
“I no longer enjoy spending time with my friends, family, or coworkers.”
Squeeze.
“Good. You’re doing great, Caleb. Now that we’ve warmed up, we’re going to step it up a notch. If at any point you feel uncomfortable or if it gets too much for you, just let go of my hands. Deal?”
With his eyes still fixed on the cream carpet between us, he offers me another silent nod in reply.
“I no longer like mirrors. They show too much.”
Squeeze.
“The nightmares keep me up at night.”
Caleb snaps his head up with a stunned expression on his face.
“How are you doing this?” he whispers.
“Like I told you before, I understand. I know how it feels to go through something so traumatic.” I smile sadly. “Do you want me to stop?”
He shakes his head, but this time, he doesn’t hide his face from me and keeps his gaze locked on mine the whole time.
“Okay, here we go.” I take in a deep breath.
“I’ve spent hours on the internet to find out everything I could about the man who hurt my brother. About the man who walked out unscathed after the crash.”
Squeeze.
I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he waits for the next words out of my mouth.
“I drove up by his house and watched it for hours. I never got out of the car, too afraid of what I would do.”
Squeeze.
“I want someone to blame. I need someone to blame. Even if that means I spend most of my day just blaming myself.”
Squeeze.
“Are you okay?” I ask, wanting to touch base with him before I continue on.
“I don’t know,” he answers truthfully.
“There’s one more statement I’d like to say, but if you want me to stop, I will. Do you want me to stop?”
“Yes. No. I…” he stammers. “No. Say it. Just… say it.”
“Okay,” I say softly, giving him time to take a deep breath and prepare himself. “Are you ready?”
He nods.
“It should have been me. I wish it had been me.”
In a flash, Caleb snaps his hands away from mine and quickly crawls backward as fast as he can, staring at me in complete horror. He then stands up, forcing me to do the same.
“Caleb—”
“No, It’s fine! It’s fucking fine!” he hollers manically.
“Caleb,” I try again, needing him to calm down, but the sound of my voice only seems to make him more erratic.
“I… um… I gotta go, Doc. This… this… yeah, I just… I have to go.”
And without further word, he races out in a furious dash, leaving me to wonder if he’ll ever walk through my office doors again.