Chapter 13 #2
“How could I have used my time efficiently with you this week, making sure that you play your best in these games, if I hadn’t? Under your contract, your coach has the authority to sign permission on your behalf. This is just…”
“For appearances.”
She doesn’t deny it.
Instead, she picks up a bottle of water, twisting off the top. “You look pale. You should have a drink.”
I stare at the water.
My throat is dry. I am shaking.
I should take the water, but from her hand, it feels like the offer of poison.
“I’m fine.”
For the first time, something deep and dark flashes in Olivia’s eyes. She pastes on a fake smile and takes a deliberate drink of the water herself, smacking her lips.
I feel thirstier than I did before.
“Are you always this uncomfortable taking orders? Is feeling controlled a trigger for you?” Olivia asks.
I lean forward, fire flaring in my eyes. “Did you become a psychiatrist because you needed to be in control?”
For the first time, she flinches.
Bingo.
“This isn’t about me.”
“I’ve had mental skills coaching before and it wasn’t like this."
“Obviously it wasn’t effective.” There is an edge to her voice now.
“It’s not as if I’ve led my team to the Conference Finals,” I drawl. “How effective does it need to be?”
When Olivia leans forward in her seat like she is finally about to launch herself out of the water for her ambush, I stiffen.
“Tell me, D’Angelo, do you truly believe that the Bay Rebels have reached this level of success because of you?
How many years have your team been called misfits and losers, while you were the captain?
Yet this season you finally make the playoffs. What changed?”
I wet my dry lips.
What’s changed?
Shay and Eden. Robyn returning to Freedom. Finally learning what true love and support feels like and then being able to offer that to the rest of the team and staff as well.
But it wasn’t me.
“Who is the highest scorer?” Olivia presses.
“Shay,” I reply, quietly.
Suddenly, the room is suffocating.
I can taste phantom blood on my tongue and feel Bruno’s fist pummeling me to the floor.
Mom…Dad…save me!
I jerk, trying to shock myself back to the present.
I snatch up the paperwork, folding and refolding it to calm myself.
“What would happen to the team if you simply weren’t there?” Olivia’s voice is harder than it was before.
I flinch, caught between my bruised and terrified past and the present, where she is tearing me down.
I feel fucking small.
Why am I needed?
Is coach right about me? Is this why I need him to be a hard-ass with me? I was a fucking mess when he took me under his wing. I would have self-destructed without him.
“Would the Bay Rebels have failed to make the playoffs?” Olivia slaps her palm on the table, and I jump. “Couldn’t literally any other captain have led a team with a star player like Shay?”
“They need me.” I can’t stop folding the paper.
I am breathing too fast.
I must get out of here.
When I abruptly stand, however, Olivia calls after me.
“It didn’t look that way in your recent games, which is why coach fired the other staff and brought me in full-time. I suppose that makes it your fault that they’re gone. Is that why you see yourself as the devil? Why you feel guilty?”
This is my fault…?
Feeling sick, I spin back to Olivia.
Guilt floods through me, rooting me to the spot.
I clutch the paperwork to my chest like a shield.
“I need that back.” Olivia holds out her long-nailed hand to me calmly.
I glance down at the neatly folded paperwork.
I can’t give it her. It’s mine. I need it.
If I let it go, then the strangers will come in the night and take me away.
The nightmare will start again…
Wait, something is wrong about that.
What…?
Panic shoots through me. I take a step back.
Olivia tilts her head, assessing me. “This is why you need the new meds, you see? It will help you to control these episodes. Do you want that?”
That doesn’t feel right.
I wasn’t like this before I came into Olivia’s office. Yet the guilt is seeping into my bones.
Everything is my fault.
My therapist is gone because of me. Staff have lost their jobs because I allowed Wilder to push my buttons. I didn’t lead my team properly.
I deserve this.
My victories belong to Shay and not to me.
What if Bruno, my parents, the teachers and professionals, Wilder, and coach were right about me?
I’m a bad person.
Bad, bad, bad.
Stop thinking.
Stop, stop, stop.
I clutch the paper harder until it crumples.
My mind is a mess.
Disorientated, I can only nod.
Olivia’s eyes gleam, and she smiles with too sharp crocodile teeth. “Excellent. I will have your new medication prescribed and delivered to you. But for now, coach wanted me to raise the impact of your relationship on your—”
“No,” I snarl, “my relationship is off-limits. That’s a boundary for me.”
“Weaponizing therapy speak.” Olivia takes a deep drink of water. “I may need to do a further evaluation. Some of your patterns suggest narcissistic traits.”
“Are you sure that you’re not talking about yourself?”
She doesn’t even flinch. “That’s deflection. Turning it back on me is classic narcissism. How predictable and revealing.”
I stagger to the door.
I can’t think.
Can’t…
She thinks that I’m bad, right?
But I am.
They all say it.
I shake at the memory of my brother’s fury and my parents’ coldness. The terror of solitary confinement with only my circling, intrusive thoughts.
“I’m not,” I storm to the door, “talking about anything with you.”
My hands are shaking so hard, however, that I drop the paperwork. It scatters across the floor.
“No,” I gasp. “No, no.”
Now the men will come and take me away for making a mess…
I must be neat and good and then I won’t be sent away again.
I won’t be punished.
I can be good.
Frantically, I drop to my knees and gather up the papers.
“Leave those,” Olivia says, coolly. “They’re my copies.
Remember that I’ve read your private therapy notes.
I know about your unhealthy coping mechanisms. Aren’t you at least going to talk about the reason that you never truly hit your true potential until this last season, instead hiding behind drink, partying, and BDSM? ”
“Don’t,” I whisper, covering my ears. “Don’t.”
“All to escape what happened after that day your brother came home and found you kissing a boy—”
“This session is over.” I abandon the paperwork, launching myself to my feet.
My thoughts are circling. I can’t stop them.
Can’t stop.
My heart is thudding. This is my fault.
I tug on fistfuls of my hair — once, twice, thrice.
I’m suffocating in my own mind.
One. Two. Three.
Panting, I tug on my hair three times again.
Then I wrench open the door, throwing myself out into the corridor.
My mind is still spinning.
I can’t escape.