18. Chapter 18
Chapter 18
Avery
Even though I asked for it, I still have to admit it's a surprise. I wouldn't call it pleasant but it's digestible at least.
"I'm really glad you are back, Avery."
I look at Dr. Smith from across the desk, his warm smile pissing me off. It's easy to tell it's a facade.
"Back in session with you or back from being tortured by mad scientists?" I ask sarcastically.
It took many hours of convincing the guys that it was a preferred option to return to Dr. Smith. One of the guards had sprung it on me late yesterday, giving us the heads up that from today, I'd be returning as one of Dr. Smith's patients. Grey was the most vocal about it, and while Damon stayed quiet, I could see his jaw ticking.
Unfortunately, seeing a psych is a requirement of Lilydale, one that most people can't get out of. While the three of them seem to be session-free, I don't hold the same power or confidence. And if our options are between Dr. Smith and Dr. Elsher, it's obvious who I'd choose.
I tried to pry for information about why they were so worked-up about Dr. Smith but no one gave me any answers. It can't be as simple as he's Damon's cousin, because that fact was already out in the open when I was seeing him previously for sessions. Still, every time he appears in conversation, I practically drown in the masculine hostility.
Dr. Smith shifts awkwardly, smile dropping slightly. Good—I've made him uncomfortable. The last thing I need is some nauseating, happy optimist who overlooks what happened to me. As much as I hate talking about it, it would be even worse to pretend it didn't exist—acting as if my trauma is not important enough to recognize. At least here, I can talk about it freely without worrying about the personal attachments. I know the guys keep encouraging me to share what I'm comfortable with, but it's their reactions that kill me . They are hurting for me, angry, and out for blood.
I love how protective they are—I've never had that before. However, it dawned on me that having that kind of protection comes with a price. It's not just my emotions that suffer—it's all of ours. And I don't want them to feel like they are drowning because of something that happened to me.
I want to protect them too. And keeping it locked away is the only way I know how.
"Yes, well…" he starts, tapping his pen on the notepad in front of him. "That's definitely a good point."
"I almost expected you to deny it," I say, sitting criss-cross applesauce on the chair. "Probably not professional to discuss your colleagues' secret side projects."
He laughs under his breath, surprising me. Placing his pen down, he pushes the notepad away and leans back into his chair. "Despite what you must think, I don't think they are professional at all. And I certainly don't wish to have them referred to as my colleagues."
My eyebrow shoots up. "You expect me to believe that you don't agree with it?"
"Of course not. You have every right to be weary and distrusting. But I'm not going to say I agree with it, regardless of what you think of me."
"You're Damon's cousin," I point out. "That means your family owns this place too."
Surprise appears on his face. "They told you that?"
I pause for a moment, wondering if I shouldn't have disclosed what I know. But it's too late now to backtrack, so I nod confidently.
"Alexander is your uncle, I assume. Isn't he the one organizing the research downstairs? While also paying your salary?"
"If I supported his mission, I wouldn't have jeopardized my position here by doing what I did. And now that I have you face-to-face, I can apologize for it."
I'm not sure what he's talking about, racking my brain to figure out which incident he's talking about. "The meeting with Alexander and Whittingham?" I question. "I don't think they would have placed me in solitary confinement for long."
His eyes widen slightly, apparently taken aback at my reply. "I'm not referring to that. Though I do wish I had more input when it comes to such matters. Thankfully, Damon was able to step in."
There's a moment of confusion between both of us, and I get side-tracked by his comment.
"It's interesting that Damon has so much power and you don't."
Dr. Smith looks away, pondering my observation. "There are reasons. I'm sure Damon will fill you in if he chooses to do so."
I snort. Damon is a locked vault the majority of the time. But I already know—it's the immediate family connection. The issues about wealth.
It's still strange though that Dr. Smith is treated differently… and more so, why he allows it. If he's really against Lilydale's practices, then why work here at all?
"Regardless, you'll need to fill me in. What exactly are you trying to apologize for?" I ask, getting back to the point.
"The staff card," he says cautiously, trying to gauge how much I know.
Shaking my head, I'm still completely clueless. "What staff card?"
He sighs, rubbing his temple. "I thought you knew. I assumed they would have told you already."
"Told me what?"
Light eyes peer up at me as he hangs his head in exasperation. I can see the mental discomfort that he has to break whatever news he has. "Avery, I'm the one who framed you with the staff card. Before you react," he says sternly, noticing my face tense up in anger. "There was a reason behind it that you should know."
"Are you fucking kidding me?" I snap. "What possible reason could there be for you framing me for murder ? I was arrested."
I'm blindsided again. All my initial feelings of betrayal from Dr. Smith come rushing back. I feel like a fool. I should have stuck to my guns and held him accountable for the file incident and giving me the fake cabinet key—too quick to dismiss it.
It's hard when your options are bad or worse.
"I had gotten wind that you were a person of interest for Alexander's project," he interjects. "I knew you wouldn't have maimed someone but figured if I could get you out of here, you'd be safe. The police would realize you were innocent and perhaps reevaluate your situation ."
Laughter threatens to bubble out. Regardless of his position and educational background, he's fucking stupid .
"You're not a lawyer," I mutter through clenched teeth. "Nor do I have the money for one. What exactly did you think they were going to do once I was found innocent? Just let me go free? I'm still a convicted felon. The best-case scenario would have been federal prison. I'd be alone again in an equally terrible environment."
Dr. Smith sighs sadly. "It was a rash, split-second decision. I didn't have long to consider the long-term consequences. I just knew they were coming for you, and then once Mr. Hallman's death was discovered, it raised concerns about who would take the fall. We both know that Damon and his group wouldn't. But Arthur would still want someone to be held accountable. Unfortunately, you would have been in the firing line due to the incident earlier that day." He pauses, frowning. "I just never anticipated that Alexander would intervene. He normally doesn't."
"I'm just that special," I grumble. "But if they had their sights set on me, it would make sense that he would want to bring me back."
He falls silent and it takes me a moment to realize that it's because of what I've just said.
"What?" I ask. "What now?"
"Alexander didn't bring you back for that reason," he replies slowly. "You are special, Avery. But he has nearly a hundred other patients to target."
My face twists in confusion. "I'm not very good at riddles. Get to the point."
Dr. Smith leans forward, resting his forearms on the desk. "Damon cut a deal with him."
"What?" I question, my voice an octave higher.
"I don't know the particulars," he responds quickly. "I'm not privy to that information. But I do know that Damon was the instigator of your return."
I fall back into my chair, trying to deal with all the new information. My head feels like it's spinning a million miles an hour, giving me a headache.
"You shouldn't be telling me all of this." It's the only thing I can muster out loud. This whole session has been well outside the box of professionalism, and I'm not sure if I'm relieved by that or frustrated.
He nods, agreeing. "Let's move on from that. How are you doing otherwise?"
"I'm fine."
"Do you want to talk about what happened?"
I snort, raising an eyebrow at him in amusement. "What do you think?"
Dr. Smith offers me a small smile. "Fair enough. How about this? How are you coping? And remember the difference we discussed."
"I'm still fine."
"That's surprisingly a telling answer," he says. "One that I believe."
My eyes focus on the cabinet in the corner of the room, drowning the conversation out. "Good."
"The normal reaction to traumatic events is to have a reaction . But you do appear oddly fine. Now, I don't know the particulars of what occurs downstairs, other than its medical research on mental health disorders. My instincts would tell me that they are using specific methods to observe behavioral changes."
Against my better control, my jaw tenses as my cheek twitches. "You'd assume correct," I answer bluntly.
He nods. "I don't practice that kind of psychiatry. For them, they would make a conclusive report that the behavior you are exhibiting now is a direct reaction to their investigations."
"It is," I say, rolling my eyes.
"I'm not done," he cuts me off. "In their eyes, they would seemingly have fixed you—for lack of a better word. Helped cure mental illness ."
My eyes shift back to him, somewhat curious about where he's going with this. "I'm not cured. Or fucking fixed. It's not that simple."
"It's not," he agrees softly. "And despite only knowing you for a few short months, I also know that your coping methods are a direct reflection of what you already battle with."
"Maybe I'm just getting stronger," I argue. "Or perhaps I'm used to being a punching bag for people that I'm conditioned to it."
His lips purse together. "We both know that while both of those statements may be true, it's not acceptable to be conditioned to poor treatment."
I shrug. "It's the hand I got dealt with, I'm afraid."
Dr. Smith stands from his desk, walking over to a bookshelf along the wall. He scans the spines, sliding a book out. "Do you remember what I explained to you about borderline personality disorder?"
"Yes."
Sitting back down, he opens the book, flicking through the pages. "While extreme mood swings are common, it's also just as likely that an individual might feel numbness . They may split from a situation or persons, dissociating to take a step back from reality."
"Split?" I ask, confused.
"It's a defense mechanism to cope with difficult situations. It manifests in different ways, but essentially you view things in black and white, good and bad."
"That's normal," I shoot back. "The world is black and white at times. People are often good or bad."
He gives me an empathetic smile. "While that may be somewhat true, it's deeper than that. It takes away the complexity of things. People will often shut down, go through various phases of denial to avoid focusing on any emotions they may have about a situation. Coming back to my point, you say you are fine despite what happened. I believe you are protecting yourself, separating your mind from the Avery here in the present from the Avery that was subjected to cruel means of mistreatment."
"What's wrong with that?" I ask quietly. "I don't want to think about what they did."
"There's no easy way to put this," he replies gently. "But until you face what happened and process it, those feelings are still going to be there. They are locked away, but still present. The longer you ignore them, the more likely you are to experience extreme emotions that you may not be able to control."
I fall quiet, unsure what to say. I want to give some snarky remark or make light of the situation, tell him he's wrong. But nothing comes.
Taking advantage of my silence, he presses on. "Think of it this way—your emotions are water. You've put them into a plastic bucket and sealed it closed but there's a pipe, filling the bucket. It's manageable now while the bucket still has space, but eventually, those emotions will reach the top. And for a while, you'll still manage—but it will become harder. The bucket will be shaking, feeling pressure on the sides. You'll have moments where you start to get overwhelmed by the emotions shaking but you might be able to stop it temporarily by holding down the full bucket with your weight. But then, the water pressure will be too strong for the plastic. It will break and flood out. By then it will be too late to stop it because the water will gush out with nowhere else to go."
There's a knock on the door before I can answer. It creaks open, a guard appearing.
"Her session time is finished," he says, relieving me from Dr. Smith's mounting information.
I stand quickly, brushing invisible dust off me. "See you next time," I say dismissively, following the guard.
As we walk down the hallway, I spot Damon waiting, his eyes locked on me while silently daring the guard to try to pull any funny business.
"I've got it from here," he says when I'm within reach, grabbing my arm and pulling me to his side. "You're excused."
The guard nods, turning to leave. We wait until he's out of earshot before I plaster on a smile, looking up at Damon. "Hope you weren't waiting long."
"Come on," he says, directing me toward the library. "I've got a present for you."