The PTA President
Prologue
“Candace, did you hear me?”
Her shrill voice pierces my brain, exploding behind my eyes and ripping me from my thoughts. “Sorry, Dr. Wilder. Could you repeat the question? There was a piece of lint stuck to the hem of my skirt, and I could not for the life of me get rid of it.”
“The question was, how often do you envision taking the life of Natalie Reynolds?” Her tone isn’t full of judgment as it should be. I guess that’s why I'm paying out the ass to have these weekly visits. She’s more curious than anything, probably wondering if I’ve made any progress this summer.
“In the morning, once I’ve crawled out of bed and dry swallowed the Xanax I left on my nightstand, I head to my bathroom where I dunk my face in freezing cold water. It’s about that point in my routine when I go through all the ways I’d like to kill Nat,” I answer straight away.
My doctor's solemn expression never changes. She takes copious notes, pretending she’s interested in my life.
Deep down, I know she’s assuming I’m another rich housewife having a midlife crisis.
Oh, what a shame, the trust fund Ivy League graduate didn’t win best dressed at the country club this year.
Of course, she’d be drowning her sorrows in benzos and fantasizing about murdering her lesbian lover. What a tragic life!
“Besides harming Miss Reynolds, have you ever considered hurting yourself or perhaps taking your own life?” Her vintage-style gold pen is at the ready to note the insanity that leaves my mouth.
“Only once, because I was successful the first time,” I state firmly.
She shifts her weight in her oversized leather armchair, her face contorted in confusion. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I don’t understand. You were successful in harming yourself?”
I sit up straight, uncrossing my legs, and stare dead into her rich amber eyes hidden behind her hideous tortoiseshell reading glasses, as I confidently answer. “Yes, that pathetic version of myself was holding me back. So I gutted that bitch, and I’m a better person for it.”
A sudden knock on the door leaves her so stunned she drops her expensive pen. My confession couldn’t have been that shocking.
“Sorry to interrupt, Doctor, but your twelve o’clock is early and insists you see her. The young woman is acting unreasonably and making graphic threats against my life if I don’t allow her in.” The frizzy-haired receptionist bursts in, juggling a notebook and a stack of loose papers.
Dr. Wilder’s lack of professionalism, given this interruption, amuses me.
It’s hard to look away from the chaos unfolding.
Leaping up from the chair, she heads to her planner, frantically flipping through the papers looking for today’s date.
“No, that's impossible. Kennedy, do whatever you can out there. Miss Reynolds arrived more than an hour early. These two aren’t allowed in the same building. There’s a court order and everything, Kennedy.
Do not fuck this up, or I’ll have your job!
” she shouts, motioning for her to leave the office.
It’s been months since I last spoke to her. Since the restraining order. Since I promised myself I’d never say another word to that monster.
“Well, doc,” I snap, standing from the uncomfortable suede couch and grabbing my purse. “My apologies for the mountain of paperwork you’re about to be stuck with.”
Aggressively closing her planner, she rushes towards me, fingers combing through her messy white hair, her face flushed red.
“She doesn’t control you, Candace. She never did.
Don’t let her now. Not after all the work you’ve done.
You’ve made tremendous progress this summer.
I’d hate to see you throw that away.” My doctor warns.
The wooden door is heavy as I make my way into the dreary waiting room.
Nat’s standing with her back against a wall, arms crossed, glaring at Kennedy.
In typical angry girl fashion, she’s sporting black, laced-up boots that reach her kneecaps.
Her right foot pressed against the wall, making herself right at home in a therapist’s office of all places.
“The doctor will see you now, Miss Reynolds,” I snarl at her, making my way through the sitting area.
The smirk on her face makes me physically ill, and I almost lunge at her throat.
“No amount of therapy is gonna fix whatever’s wrong in your fucked-up brain, Candace.
You’re wasting your time and your ex-husband’s money, or whoever the fuck is paying for this.
It’s probably best if you just go home and suck a dick or whatever straight women from the suburbs do when they’re inconvenienced. ”
I hear my doctor's voice in my head on repeat, “I will not engage. She doesn’t control me.” I take a deep breath, remove the keys from my purse and walk towards the elevator, not giving a second glance to the woman I mistakenly once thought loved me.
“She does not control me,” I repeat over and over, maintaining my breathing.
“Bye, lover,” Nat calls out as my hand touches the door handle. “After my chat with the doc, I’ve got a date with your dad for a quick fuck. Hopefully, give him the daughter he always wanted.”
Slowly, I turn my head to look back at her.
She’s smiling, wider than I’ve ever seen.
I’ve seen her smile before, obviously, but this is different.
What’s disturbing is how sincere it is. No part of her is lying or testing me.
I’ve let her play with my insecurities, shown her every exposed nerve, let her kiss my wounds.
She knows me better than anyone ever has, or ever will.
“Did that sting a little, sweetie?” She winks, finally taking her boot off the wall, and heads towards our doctor, standing guard at her open door.
“Nat,” I call, keeping my voice steady. She doesn’t turn, just keeps walking. “If you can make me hate myself, I can’t imagine how you must feel,” I say, the anger slipping out of me.
And with that, I turn the handle and exit, heading down to my car. Leaving behind the main character of every dream and nightmare.