11. BlueGreen Eyes?
BLUE OR GREEN EYES?
Therapy was a waste of everyone’s time. Mr. Jacobs got paid to ask stupid questions and I got forced to answer them because apparently shooting a rapist made me emotionally unstable.
Life’s little joke, huh? I flicked my zippo open and shut as I waited outside his office.
My body throbbed with pain as I desperately pressed against his door, and yet, deep down, I knew it was my own choice to stay.
Sleep was impossible last night. I couldn’t get more than an hour.
I couldn’t find rest after leaving my sleeping beauty to her dreams—her peaceful slumber haunted me.
The way she curled beneath the blankets.
The rise and fall of her breathing as the moonlight glowed against her soft blonde curls.
I hadn’t gotten more than an hour of sleep.
Exhaustion seeped into every bone, weaving through me like a tentative shield, I couldn’t help but regret every moment I stayed awake. That tiredness clung to me, tempting me into a fragile, false sense of security I wasn’t ready to accept.
“Good morning, Mr. Jacobs,” I heard the secretary say, her voice piercing through the haze. I jerked my head up suddenly, as if snapped from a trance, my heart pounding with an unsettling mix of longing and dread. Pocketing the zippo I turned sharply on my heel.
“Good morning Charlie,” Mr. Jacobs chimed, unlocking his office door for me to step inside. I followed dutifully behind and smacked the door closed behind.
Sinking into the chair across from him, a wave of anticipation flooded over me as I watched him carefully place his belongings, organizing them with a quiet precision that hinted at unspoken stories and hidden emotions.
“Let’s get this over with,” I rolled my eyes.
He looked up, “Charlie, you know our sessions aren’t always about the accident right? We can talk about anything that’s on your mind. Even Lillian.” He smoothed his hair back grabbing the pen and notepad.
I didn’t flinch. But hearing her name still felt like being punched in the throat.
Lilly.
The name alone was enough to drag memories to the surface.
Blonde hair.
Blue eyes.
The laugh she’d try to hide whenever she found something genuinely funny.
My fingers tightened around the arm of the chair.
Mr.Jacobs waited patiently, pen hovering over paper.
“What do you miss most about her?” He asked.
The answer should have been easy. But my mind betrayed me. I thought about sleepy eyes blinking open in the morning. Soft curls spread across the pillow. A stubborn smile that appeared right before she said something sarcastic.
Anna.
The realization hit me hard enough to look away.
“Charlie?” Mr.Jacobs voice sounded distant.
“What?” I blinked.
His pen hovered over the page.
“You were talking about Lilly.”
I swallowed.
Right.
Lilly.
Not Anna. Not blonde curls beneath the moonlight. Not blue eyes staring through me at the back of a classroom.
Lilly.
My stomach twisted.
“Yeah,” I lied.
Mr. Jacobs scribbled something across his page.
I didn’t ask what.