15. Chapter Fifteen #3
Am I just that used to it now? Is my body caught in an endless loop of suffocation? Are the nightmares and panic attacks the reality, and the short bursts of clarity just my mind making things up when I black out?
Maybe I’ve been suffocating since that night and just didn’t know it.
Maybe I’ll spend the rest of this life fighting for air.
“Is it soft?” a voice asks. A man’s voice. Gentle. Kind. Warm, but not as warm as I want. It’s the wrong voice. That’s why. This is the wrong man. Not a bad man, just the wrong one. But who is the right- “Matt? Is your bunny soft?”
Is my…?
I open my eyes, lashes sticky and wet. I’m holding a stuffed bunny. A blue bunny. My blue bunny.
No, not just holding. My hands are clenched around it. Squeezing it. Hurting it.
I hurriedly gentle my touch, tears spilling down my cheeks. Was I just strangling him? Was he suffocating too?
He doesn’t deserve that.
I didn’t deserve-
“Matt?”
Not my name.
Not my name, not my name, not my-
“Can you look at me? Hey, Matt, I need you to look up at me please. Can you look at me?”
Looking is bad. Looking makes it worse. Master Mica doesn’t like when you look, doesn’t like when you talk, does not, does not, does not like when you say no.
There’s a soft sound, like a bell. I jump and search for the source. My eyes fall on the man across from me. Not a master. Not Mica.
His name - his name is - I don’t - but he’s… safe?
He’s safe.
He’s not really who I want - who do I…? - but he’s safe.
What’s his name?
He smiles.
He’s a doctor and he smiles and his name - his name is -
He’s smiling right now.
Dr. Smile, I guess he can be.
“There you are. Hello. Do you know where you are right now? You’re in a safehouse. In my office. We were doing a therapy session. It’s-” he pauses, checking his watch. “-just after 8 PM. Look outside.”
He gestures to the window. I look over at it, blinking. The blinds are pulled down, keeping some privacy for us, but the slats are open to let the light filter in. There isn’t much light left, though. The sun is setting.
“You’re safe. You’re here with me. You are safe here with me. Nolan and Bryce are here. So is Carter and Casey. You’re in a safehouse. You’re safe. I promise, you’re safe.”
I nod slowly. I remember. Now. I remember now. This is his office, in the safehouse, and he’s Dr. Smile - no, no, he’s Dr. Singh, yeah, Singh, Dr. Singh - and I’m safe.
“Do you know where you are?”
I nod again, this time more sure. I’m here safe in the safehouse.
For a minute, though, I had been back with Mica. The thought makes me shudder, a phantom itch crawling up my throat.
He can’t get me here. He can’t. Travis is going to find him and kill him and he’ll never be able to get me. Not ever again.
What if Travis doesn’t find him?
But there are cameras here.
There are cameras and Ace - Ace, that’s who I want, warm smile, warm voice, warm, warm, warm, why am I not in his office, I like his office more, can I leave? - won’t let anyone enter the house. If Mica showed up here, Ace would know. He’d take care of it.
I’m safe.
I can breathe.
“Can you give me a thumbs-up or show me one finger or nod if you can hear me?”
I nod and do one finger at the same time. It’s awkward doing the finger, though. My bunny almost slips out of my hand.
“Your bunny is really nice. Fits perfectly in your pocket, doesn’t it? He must be very soft. Or - I’m sorry. Is he a he? A she? A they? Something else? I don’t mean to assume.” He winks, playful, happy, warm. He’s smiling again. “We accept all pronouns here in Casa De Singh.”
I almost smile. I feel the warmth of one, which is close.
I think of my bunny as a he, but I don’t have the sign for that. I show him one finger. He guesses, “He?” I nod. He smiles. Again.
Maybe he really should just be Dr. Smile.
Does he practice that thing? Or is that natural?
Is there a therapist class where they all smile at each other like they’re crazy and then get graded on it?
It’s hard to be so smiley without coming off unhinged, but he pulls it off.
If it was a class, he probably got an A.
“Well, as much as I think your bunny is awesome, and very conveniently sized, there may be times you don’t want to wear your hooded sweatshirt, or times you don’t want him to come along somewhere in case he might get lost or wet or just because you don’t feel like it.
But I can tell his fur really helps you, so I have something else for you. Give me one second.”
When he comes back after grabbing something from his desk, he’s carrying a little velvet drawstring bag. I take it when he offers it, a little overwhelmed to be given yet another thing. This has been a lot tonight. A lot a lot.
“You don’t have to open it right now if you don’t want to.
They’re worry stones. You can keep one in your pocket at all times, or the whole bag.
You can put one in each room of the house, or the rooms you spend the most time in.
Whatever you want to do with them, they’re yours.
Just another thing like your bunny to help ground you.
Next time, we can practice some other grounding techniques. With these in particular, I recommend-”
The velvet is soft.
I don’t feel liberated at all.