5. Chapter Five #3
Then he salutes Dr. Singh and walks away, leaving me behind without a second glance.
Dr. Singh looks at me from where he’s standing by his desk, his eyebrows raised. He sounds amused when he asks, “Do I even want to know what that was about?”
He doesn’t wait for me to answer, though, just waving a hand as if to wipe the topic away. “He’s like that - don’t worry about him. Come have a seat. We can sit with the desk between us, or you can take one of the chairs over there, or you can sit on the couch. Wherever you feel most comfortable.”
I head for the couch, everything else seeming too enclosed. He doesn’t comment on the choice, just grabbing a few things from his desk and moving them to the coffee table before taking a seat opposite me in one of the chairs.
When his eyes meet mine, all of the anxiety Ace had somehow managed to put on pause comes surging forward.
I drop my gaze, stomach swooping when I see I’m still holding the apple. It’s not bruised. There are still a few tiny drops of water that Ace hadn’t managed to wipe away.
I quickly tuck it into my hoodie’s pocket, making room for it by sliding my notebook and pen out. I’m sure I’ll end up needing them anyway. In the meantime, my bunny can keep the apple company. Since it’s safe now. Since it’s just an apple. Since it’s not a grenade.
Dr. Singh is the opposite of Ace as I get situated, allowing himself to sit in the quiet instead of trying to fill the room with words.
It’s probably supposed to be a comfort. I know it at least should be for me, logically.
Silence has been my safe place for months now.
It’s part of the reason I liked that spot under the bed so much.
This isn’t a comforting silence, though. It’s heavy and thick, clinging to me until I have to fight the urge to try to physically shrug the sensation off.
This silence has expectations.
This silence is already asking so much from me and I only just got here.
I wish Ace would come back.
What a stupid thing to want.
“That looks nice,” is what Dr. Singh eventually says to begin.
I have to look at him to understand what he’s talking about, which might have been the point.
He gestures at the notebook. I use it as an excuse to look down again.
“I had a notebook for you as well, but that one is much nicer. Mine was just boring black.”
Something warm wraps itself around my chest at the memory of Ace babbling nervously when he gave me the bag of goodies the notebook was included in.
I’d never seen a man with such energy and authority look like such a bumbling idiot.
After his escort just now, it seems like maybe that’s just how he is. It’s endearing.
It's refreshing. Usually when someone is like that, they expect me to match the energy. Or at the very least, to pay attention. But Ace isn't like that. He spins in his own little vortex without expecting a thing in return.
Dr. Singh, staring so hard at me I can feel it like pinpricks on my skin, is definitely expecting something in return.
What had he said? He liked my notebook and had one for me, too. A compliment and a gift.
I should thank him. I know how to do that. It’s just my hand with-
“You can have the notebook I got for you too, if you want. No one can ever have too many notebooks in my opinion.”
I drop the hand I had started to lift. The time to thank him has passed. Or has it? I could nod to let him know I’ll take the notebook, then follow it with a thank you, and he could give it to me.
It doesn’t seem to matter if I want it, though, because he’s handing me it already.
Black, just like he said. I have to awkwardly shift things in my grip so I can accept it.
This is a normal sized one, big and a little floppy.
It definitely won’t fit in my pocket, but that’s okay.
I don’t have to carry this one around with me all the time. Or… ever.
Do I have to use this one right now? Will his feelings be hurt if I stick with mine?
Should this be my designated therapy one?
But he said we didn’t have to do therapy today, we’d just be talking quickly, so should I still use it but not have it be just for therapy?
Or should I save it for therapy and switch back to my blue one? But would that hurt his feelings then?
Maybe I won’t need either of them. Maybe this will be quick. Easy.
I should still thank him, the urge to do so even stronger now that I’ve accepted the notebook - even if he didn’t really give me the choice. I have to hurry up and do it before he talks again.
I try to concentrate - I just had the sign in my head a second ago - but I get distracted by my tongue moving in my mouth, as if the thing has suddenly decided it wants to work.
It’s too heavy, though. Thick and wrong like it might lodge itself in my throat if I move it wrong.
I can already feel the suffocation creeping in.
I swallow convusively.
It’s all in your head, I remind myself. It’s not real.
Focus.
Thank him.
You have to thank him.
The sign for ‘thank you’ requires me to lift my hand to my-
“Now, the reason I wanted you to have a notebook-” and I missed my chance again.
I grit my teeth, ignoring the way it forces my stupid tongue against the roof of my mouth.
He’s still talking. “-ensure that you have everything you need to communicate with me during these sessions. For that reason, having a notebook is important, but it’s not the only tool you’ll have available to you while we work. I have plenty of others.”
I hurry to lift my hand to my chin, thanking him before I can lose my chance.
He smiles as he returns it with, “You’re welcome, Matt.
I don’t want to get too far into the different options I have for you today, since I promised to keep this short.
Would it be alright if we used a combination of your notebook, a few cards, and body movements to communicate?
We’ll be mostly handling yes or no - or maybe or I don’t know - questions today, if that helps you decide.
You can give me a thumbs-up for yes or thumbs-down for no, and just tilt your hand side-to-side for maybe or I don’t know.
Or you can write them down, if you’d rather.
Or-” it’s only when he pauses midway through his sentence and I go to look at him to figure out why that I realize I’ve squeezed my eyes shut.
His smile is sad.
I look away.
“I’m sorry. Here I am, throwing a ton of options at you.
How about this - I’m going to place these down.
” I warily watch as he places three laminated cards down on the coffee table between us.
They’re large, each about the size of his entire hand, and have YES, NO, and I DON’T KNOW/MAYBE written on them respectively.
“You can use the cards, the hand movements, or your notebooks - or anything else that works. You don’t have to choose one right now, and you never have to stick with just one even after you choose.
Use whatever feels easiest at the moment.
I’ll adjust. Can you just tell me if that sounds okay? ”
I start to nod, but then change my mind and reach for the card.
I don’t want him to be upset after he went through the work of laying the cards out, even if he said I don’t have to use them.
It was nice of him to even think about something like the cards.
Nice of him to go to this much effort. I should show him I appreciate that.
It’s only a matter of time until he’ll inevitably get frustrated with how difficult I am, and it’d probably be helpful to have some goodwill built up by then.
When I select the YES card, he smiles again. It’s too happy to be just a normal smile. This smile must mean that I made the right choice. I hope I keep making the right choices…
“Excellent. Now, the largest goal of meeting today is to figure out your therapy plan. However, I can’t do that efficiently until I know how long you plan to stay at the safehouse.
There’s no pressure, and I will not judge you on whatever choice you make, nor will I hold you to it if you change your mind.
I’d just like to have an estimate of how much time we’ll have together so I can plan accordingly.
My approach will be vastly different based on if I’m just triaging you the best I can before you leave, or if we’re going to have some real time to dig down deeper. Does that make sense?”
I’m so distracted by the idea of having to dig down deeper that I don’t even have to struggle to answer, my head nodding for me.
“Have you given your future plans any thought, Matt?”
I hadn’t, not really at least, but I think I know what question he’ll ask next - or at least the general idea of what he’s going to want to know - and I know my answer to that one, so I nod again.
“That’s great. It’s a scary thing to do, facing the future after what you’ve been through.
Even just allowing passing thoughts toward it is a big step, let alone making decisions.
” I fight not to curl in on myself, the praise making me a little uncomfortable.
He thankfully moves on too quickly for me to have to spend time considering why that is, when praise has almost always meant good things before.
“Do you plan to leave soon? My definition of soon is within the next week.”
I would scoff, if I could. Within the next week? Not a chance.
There’s no hesitation when I tap the NO card.
There’s no way I’m going to leave this place anytime soon. I know I’m too broken to ever be fixed, no matter how good this man is or how much time I spend with him, but I’d like things to get a little better at least. I’d like to feel real again before I have to go out in the world.
I have nowhere to go, anyway.