22. First Session
Chapter twenty-two
First Session
Drake
I guess today’s finally the day, isn’t it? I check over my reflection to see if everything is in place. I’ve changed my tie and jacket several times and I’m still not satisfied.
Shut up, Drake. She’s not here to critique your clothes. She’s here to help you.
I’m just thankful that she agreed to see me in my home instead of having to go to her office.
The last thing I need is someone else recognizing me while I’m there and discovering that I have a problem.
Gossip gets around fast in the medical community.
Mostly because discussing CMEs and gossiping about unruly patients gets boring after a while.
I glance at my watch again. Only two minutes have passed. Why am I so nervous about this? It’s not as if she’s going to be grading me on how emotionally functional I am.
The knock on the door sends my heart racing. She’s a little early. My eyes dart around the apartment for some kind of escape or to make sure that everything is in its place. Do I have any pill bottles lying around? I breathe into my hand and smell my breath. Would she even be able to tell?
The second set of knocks reminds me that I’m leaving her waiting while I drown in my own thoughts, which is the exact opposite of how a therapy session should be going. I lower my hands to my sides, close my eyes, and exhale slowly.
She’s not here to judge. She’s here to help. The state of my home is not important right now.
When I open the door, I see the bright, cheerful face of Chelsea Fisher. Her blonde hair is just past her shoulders and her blue eyes are sparkling, yet tired. I guess having twins will do that to you.
I’m surprised she didn’t bring them with her.
“Miss Fisher, I presume?” I extend a hand in offering.
“That would be me, yes. Drake Strickland?”
“Right in one. Please, come in.” I step to one side and gesture for her to enter, waiting for her to be out of view so that I can dab the sweat away from my hairline.
We haven’t even gotten to the hard work yet.
“Can I offer you any water? Coffee?” I close the door and adjust my tie, lingering between the kitchen and the living room in case she wants anything.
“Just water, please. No ice.”
“Coming right up.”
I tell myself I’m trying to be a good host; another part of me thinks I’m trying to delay this as much as possible. Both sides of me could be right.
I think I’ve regained most of my senses and confidence by the time I offer her the glass of water and take a seat across from her. Treat this just like a conversation, she’d told me yesterday. It can be as casual as I want it to be.
“Where would you like to start?” she asks with a smile.
“You mean from the beginning? Well, my father was a carpenter and...” I chuckle under my breath, then mentally chastise myself. I’m supposed to be taking this seriously, not goofing around.
“Sorry. I’m nervous, that’s all.”
“Trust me, you’re not the first person to try and clear the air with a bad joke. But saying something’s better than saying nothing. If you don’t know where to start, maybe I can ask you some questions?”
Questions. Sure. At least that will keep the conversation moving in the right direction instead of having me ramble for an hour or two.
“So when did this all start?”
“Maybe two, three months ago?” I rub the back of my neck; I honestly can’t recall, given I spent some of that time in a stupor.
“And did someone encourage you to try it or...?”
“No, no one. My job as an emergency doctor is pretty stressful and I just wanted... a break of some kind. Something to take the stress and the awful nightmares away.”
“Did it work? The pills you were taking?”
“Kind of. Maybe? I don’t know. I definitely slept better at night. But I think it made me stop caring about anything. And my friends told me that I’ve said some pretty awful things.”
I can hear Edward’s voice in the back of my head now, telling me that I’d hurt Maria with my words. Goddammit. I press my hands to my face.
“Do you want a break?”
Her voice is so soft and gentle, yet encouraging. I can see why she’s so well-recommended.
“No. It’s the guilt. Being told what I did, what I said. I’m not proud of any of it.”
“Is that why you lied to your friends about going to therapy when you weren’t?”
I pause and peek at Miss Fisher from between my fingers. They told her, didn’t they? My face radiates heat and I’m half-tempted to throw her out of here.
But what would that achieve? It’s not like I don’t deserve it anyway, because it’s the truth.
“That had nothing to do with guilt.” Even I’m surprised to hear myself say those words. “That had to do with control. I like to be in charge of my own life, what I do, and where I go. But my job... my job takes that control away from me, I think.”
It all clicks together in my head. I’m not going to say she’s a miracle worker, but not even I expected this kind of epiphany within the first few minutes of our session.
“Your work as an emergency doctor, right? What kind of work is it?”
I swallow at the parched sensation in my throat.
“Accidents. Horrible accidents. Self-inflicted. Car crashes. Drunken idiots being stupid. Most of them, people walk away from. It’s the fatal ones that have been sticking with me lately.”
I feel like I’m spiraling. In which direction, I don’t know, and I start to feel my mind separating from my body. I clamp my eyes shut against the sensation. I want it to stop.
“Drake... Drake, it’s okay.”
I peel my eyes open and find Miss Fisher kneeling before me, her hand resting on my knee.
“No. No, it’s not okay! I could’ve killed someone cramming those pills down my throat! I should’ve lost my job by now if it weren’t for my friends protecting me. And how did I repay them? By lying to them.”
The dam bursts open and all of the thoughts I’ve kept buried inside me come spilling out. I don’t remember half of what I said, but all I can fixate on is Chelsea Fisher being right there next to me. Just listening. Just being the ear and the shoulder I’ve needed for a while now.
At the end of it all, Chelsea sits back on her haunches and places the digital pad she’s been taking notes with on the coffee table.
“This is outside of my professional opinion, but you look like you need a hug right now. May I?”
Who am I to refuse? I have nothing left in me to say otherwise, so I only nod. Her arms are small but strong as she wraps them around me, patting my back gently.
“It’s a lot, I know, but that’s why I’m here. To help you carry it and sort it out so that we know where everything goes. Will you let me help you?”
I nod again and she pulls away, returning to her seat.
“That’s why... The control, I think that’s why I was so upset when Maria rejected me.”
Chelsea perks up but she quickly smooths out her expression.
“Maria Bailey?”
“Yeah. She was... It was the day of...” I sigh heavily. Putting that day into words is going to make me sound like a sick scumbag.
“My friends say I have this habit of falling for every woman who comes into the emergency room having lost a loved one. I denied it at first, but after what I just said, I’m starting to think they’re right.
I can’t fix the people they lost, so I’m trying to fix them instead, to make things better.
Maybe to even help them forget their sadness for just a few moments. ”
“Those are some of the classic signs of what we like to call ‘savior complex.’ It’s understandable, in your line of work, wanting to save as many of the broken pieces of someone’s life as you can.
But you can’t do that to yourself, Drake.
You’re just one person. And sometimes, things just happen outside of your control. ”
Control. There’s that word again. It feels like a nail being driven into a coffin every time one of us says it.
“You have to learn to let things go.”
Like Maria. Though can I ever truly say that she was mine to begin with?
“I can... try.” I run a hand through my hair. “If you’ll help me.”
Her smile grows wider and she retrieves her pad from the table.
“That’s what you’re paying me the big bucks for, right?”
“Uh... wasn’t this first session supposed to be free?” I chuckle awkwardly. That’s what I’d been told, if I remember correctly.
“It is. But it sounds like you want to continue with therapy. And that means my charity is no longer on the table.”
What a cunning woman. Not only a new mother of twins but also a smart businesswoman.
“I look forward to you psychoanalyzing the shit out of me, then, doc.”
Chelsea shudders.
“Ugh, don’t call me doc. Chelsea or Miss Fisher will do nicely, thanks.”
“Chelsea, then.”
I think this is going to work.