I slipped my hand into Eli’s and he helped me to my feet. “If you want to continue our discussion later, my bedroom door is always unlocked.” He squeezed my hand and then dropped it.
I watched him disappear down the hall. Suddenly I didn’t feel so alone. I was also very aware of the fact that his touch didn’t feel scalding hot.
Chapter 5
Sunday
What was I allowed to say? It felt like Dr. Miller could see right through me. I glanced at the camera mounted in the corner of the kitchen. Was V watching me right now?
“Alison?”
I ignored Dr. Miller. How was I supposed to talk about anything with that camera right there?
“Alison?” He reached out and lightly touched my hand.
I immediately pulled away. “I’m sorry, I think agreeing to see you was a mistake.”
“Agreeing was the first step, but you need to talk to me. Why don’t we start from the beginning. Tell me about your parents.”
Was he trying to make my heart bleed? “Clearly you already know all about me.”
“On the contrary, Alison. I know nothing about you. My patient said he had a friend that needed help. So here I am.”
“You know nothing about me?”
“Not a thing.”
I wasn’t sure why I was surprised. Why would V talk about me? I meant nothing to him. “The man that recommended I talk to you…” I wasn’t exactly sure how to word my question without looking insane. What’s his name? If we were friends I’d know his name. “He…”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss any other patients.”
That was shut down fast.
“Let’s go back to your parents.” He jotted something down in the notebook in front of him. “Mentioning them upset you, why is that? Is your relationship with them strained?”
Strained? I clasped my hands together under the table. “My parents died when I was eight years old. I never even got to know what a strained relationship with them would be like.”
His pen stopped. “Eight you said?”
“Yes. After that, I lived with my grandmother for awhile, but then she passed away. Then there were more foster families than I care to remember. Until one…stuck.”
He put his pen down on top of his notebook. “Have you ever talked to anyone about any of this before?”
I shrugged. “Not all the details, no.”
“You’ve been holding a lot of things close to your chest.”
“Not by choice.”
“And what do you mean by that?”
I wasn’t fond of whatever mind tricks he was trying to play. But I did find it easy to talk to him. “My best friend growing up knew what I had been through. We stayed pen pals while I moved around between foster families. But he stopped writing to me eventually.”
“Just stopped? With no explanation?”
“That’s what I thought.”
He stared at me, waiting for me to elaborate.
“I saw him again recently. He claimed he'd never stopped writing. My foster father must have hijacked his letters.”
“Why would your foster father do that?” His voice was gentle. It made it easy to talk to him.
“Our relationship was rather toxic.”
Dr. Miller lifted up his pen again. “How so?” He jotted something down in his notebook.
There wasn’t really a way to sugarcoat it. “He abused me.”
His pen stopped. “Mentally or…”
“Physically. Well, both really.” I realized my hands were clasped so tightly that I was cutting off my circulation. I pulled them apart and rubbed them against my thighs.
“Physically how?”
Wasn’t it obvious? “What do you think?”
“This isn’t a guessing game, Alison. What did he do to you?”
Alison. This man had no idea who I was. So what did it matter if he knew the truth? “He beat me. He raped me. He made me believe that I was worthless.” I think he murdered my parents. He’s manipulating this city just like he manipulated me. And he has a bounty on my head.
Dr. Miller closed his notebook. “I’m not going to pretend to understand the pain you’re feeling.”
Something about the way he said it made tears well in my eyes. Everyone liked to pretend they understood what I was going through. But they didn’t. I respected him for saying that he didn’t understand. I closed my eyes to try to stop myself from crying.
“But I do want to help you work through that pain. If you’ll let me.”
“It won’t go away. I can’t even get over my parents’ deaths. I can’t get over anything. It’s like I hold it close because I like being miserable.”
“Maybe you feel like you deserve to suffer?”
I slowly opened my eyes. “Why?”
“Maybe it’s easier to feel pain than taking a chance? Or maybe it’s plain old guilt?”
“Guilt? I didn’t do anything to deserve this.”
“That isn’t what I meant. How about we go back to the beginning again. This pen pal. Do you still have feelings for him?”
“Whoever said I had feelings for him?” I didn’t like that he thought he knew me after such a brief conversation.
“It was the only time during this whole discussion that you smiled.”
Was that true? It didn’t matter. “At one point I think I loved him, but I was so young.” I shook my head. “That's a lie. I still love him. But I’m not sure if it’s because he’s the last thing left from my past or because my feelings are real.” I shook my head again. “It’s probably both.”
“And how does that make you feel?”
“Abandoned all over again.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s moved on with his life. Even though he stood there and told me he was still in love with the real me.”
“The real you?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“If these feelings are causing you pain, it does matter.”
“Heartbreak is the least of my problems right now.”
“I think that maybe a lot of the pain you’re feeling is stemming from this issue of abandonment. Is there anyone else in your life that you feel has abandoned you?”
“Everyone. No foster family wanted me. I went from house to house. Do you have any idea what that’s like when you’re already barely holding on?”
He shook his head. When I didn’t continue speaking, we just stared at each other. I wasn’t sure for how long. But it was like he was examining my confession.
“Who else gave up on you, Alison?” he finally pressed.
“It felt like the state gave up on me. My grandmother died. My parents died.”
“Death isn’t abandonment.”
“It is when you’re eight years old!”
“I’m sure your parents loved you. I’m sure they wish they could be here right now.”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“And why do you say that, Alison?”
“They’d be ashamed of who I’ve become.”
“Are you sure it’s not you who's ashamed of who you've become?”