A Walk I Don’t Want To Remember
A Walk I Don't Want To Remember
Keaton | The Past
"Are you ready to face that day, Keaton?" Lionel asks as he taps his pen against the notepad in his lap in a hypnotic rhythm.
I catch the small flinch he tries to hide when my laugh comes out sharp and bitter. "Am I ready to face the day I shattered the most incredible woman alive? Of course. That’s exactly why I buried every last bit of it so fucking deep inside my mind that I don’t remember anything about it."
He shoots me a sharp look, reprimanding me for my sarcasm. "There is no pity for the wounds you've inflicted, Keaton."
Scrubbing my palms over my face harshly, I blow out a deep breath. "I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize to me. For the shit you've put you and Charlie through, you're making better progress than I'd expected."
Lionel’s bluntness still catches me off guard.
Some might call him unprofessional, but for me, it’s a relief.
His straightforwardness makes it easier to let my guard down.
Before I betrayed Charlie, therapy was unthinkable.
I could barely talk to her about my feelings, let alone spill them to a stranger.
But after I crossed that line, I knew pretending I was fine wouldn’t cut it.
The moment my mind snapped back in that pool house, I realized something was broken inside me.
People say cheaters have a hole in their soul.
I never believed that about myself until then.
I thought I was whole, happy, and loved.
If that was the truth, there was no way in hell I'd be able to cheat on Charlie.
Last week, we dug into my so-called friendship with Rianna.
Lionel echoed what Charlie, Amelia, and everyone else had hammered into me.
I spent a year tangled in an emotional affair.
I still can’t fully accept it. Maybe I’m blind now that the affair fog, as Lionel calls it, has lifted.
Or maybe there was never anything real there at all.
The truth is, Rianna never held a candle to Charlie.
There wasn’t a single thing I wanted from her that I didn’t already have with my girl.
Lionel suggested it might just be complacency, and part of me agrees.
But there’s a gnawing feeling that it was something more.
What was I chasing? Why did I let myself cross that line with Rianna?
Why did I do the one thing I knew would strip away my self-control after the way she acted toward me that day?
Did I actually want it? Was I secretly trying to blow up my life with Charlie for some idiotic reason I can’t even remember, too cowardly to end things with words?
The questions slam against my brain.
"Where'd you go just now, Keaton?"
I glance over at Lionel and shake my head. "The same place I always do. Trying to establish why I did it. Trying to understand what caused me to throw away the one thing that's always meant the world to me."
He scribbles something on his pad, then starts up that relentless pen-tapping again. I can’t help but zero in on the pen’s up-and-down dance, my eyes tracing every movement as the rat-a-tat-tat lulls my mind into wandering.
A low white noise swells in my head, growing louder until a sudden whack snaps me upright, my body jolting to attention.
There's a small smile flirting with the corner of his mouth as he stares at me knowingly. "You're still not able to remember what happened?"
"I remember everything until we enter the pool house, and then everything that happens after I hear Charlie's voice," I admit quietly.
Every time he says I’m blocking it out on purpose, I feel like an idiot.
The first time he caught my confusion, he explained it’s a kind of trauma response.
Because I knew I’d done something devastating to someone I loved, my mind slammed the door on the truth.
I know what happened in theory, but the actual memory is a black hole.
Whenever I try to force myself to relive it, I break out in a cold sweat and my heart pounds so hard I’m sure it’ll explode.
Maybe it’s not just trauma. Maybe I’m just terrified. Terrified to face the version of myself from four months ago in that pool house. The guy who could hurt someone he loved so viciously.
Lionel flicks his pen again, unintentionally grabbing my attention. Hell, it's probably intentional at this point.
"Let's talk about how we're going to go back to the pool house. As I've mentioned in a few previous sessions, hypnosis will be your best bet for getting your brain to open up and release what it's working hard to keep hidden from you. Have you ever heard of Rapid Transformational Therapy?"
"No. What is it?"
Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on my knees and dangle my hands between them while I keep my eyes on the steady movement of his pen.
Tap. Click.
Tap. Click. Click.
"It's a technique that I'm going to use. Another therapist in the field created it. It'll allow me to guide you to a quicker hypnotic state than a traditional approach would, and then we'll focus on deepening your trance until you're comfortable enough to break through that wall you have up."
Tap. Click.
Tap. Click. Click.
I nod, and he continues in a soothing, methodical voice. "What would it be like if you closed your eyes and rolled them up a little, then leaned back in your seat and stretched out your legs?"
It only takes a few seconds before I'm resting back on the couch. My legs are out in front of me and crossed at the ankles, and I fold my hands over my stomach.
Tap. Click.
Tap. Click. Click.
"Very good. You find yourself feeling an overwhelming sense of calm as you fall deeper and deeper into your state of relaxation."
Lionel's words grow hazy as they reach me, and my body relaxes further. "Just pretend you're lying in bed that morning. Walk me through your day."
And there, behind my closed lids, the worst day of my life plays out in crystal clarity...