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There was also the issue of what to do with all his things back at the Victorian but he was ignoring that for now because he couldn’t stand the thought of a pair of movers traipsing through the Victorian, packing and carting away his things to a storage warehouse, leaving Ian with less than half of what he had before.
“The relationship has run its course,” he supplied when Dr. Dhawan still hadn’t replied. “Really. I’m fine.”
Still nothing but silent skepticism from her.
After a harrumph, he said, “I want to try to be healthy without him.”
“Why?”
“What if I get bad again?” In more ways than one.
“Recovery isn’t linear. Maybe you do well for a while and you have a setback. That’s okay. But as long as you take your medications and continue your therapy—as long as you’re honest about how you’re feeling, you’ll continue to get better, and stay better, too.”
“Ian could find someone else, someone stable, someone he doesn’t have to worry about dying in one body of water or another. If I let him go, he can have that.”
Alek hadn't told her, or anyone, that Ian framed him, and not just because no one would believe him. At the end of the day, framed or not, Alekhadbeen suicidal and he would have killed himself that night. He couldn’t fault Ian when he would have done the same if the roles were reversed, though he’d have tied Ian to the bed and force-fed him medication, which was a far better idea that required no separation. That wasn’t to say, however, that he hadn’t spent the first two weeks of purgatory plotting Ian’s untimely demise.
“What’s the worst that can happen if you get back together with Ian?”
That was one of her therapy tricks, asking what the worst-case scenario was, so she could try to convince him that the worst wasn’t really so bad, but it didn’t work when it came to Ian. The stakes were too high.
“I could hurt him again. I could ruin the rest of his life.”
“An altruistic answer, but I’m asking about you, Alek. What you want. What you think. What is the worst thing that can happen toyou?”
Alek looked at his hands. “If I go back… If I love, then I can lose. He could leave and if he leaves…” he trailed off, his thoughts derailed by the fox in a grave and a specter of himself standing in the rain at the edge of the cliff he’d planned to jump off.
“You worry you won't be able to survive it?” she suggested.
Tears gathered, clouding his vision. “Saying goodbye once was hard enough. It’s over. We’re over. I won’t go through it again.”
There was a heavy pause wherein Alek worried she wouldn’t accept his answer, that she’d argue until he couldn’t talk through the tears, but she flashed a half-smile.
“If things with Ian are over, then we need to pivot our focus.”
Silently thanking her, Alek cleared his throat and leaned back against the headboard. “Pivot away.”
“Very well.” She looked at her notes. “Have you read your uncle’s letter yet?”
“Not yet.” Alek groaned, burying his fingers in his hair. “I’m sorry. I… I’m still afraid.”
“It’s very brave to admit when you’re scared.”
Alek’s cheeks warmed, and like every time she complimented him, he wanted to argue with her, that he hadn’t even tried to be vulnerable, that being a coward was the opposite of being brave, but he’d earned enough lectures from her about accepting compliments that he kept his mouth shut.
“What are you afraid the letter will say?”
He could have lied. He could have said he was worried that after all this time his uncle had left him nothing but a list of instructions on how to plan his escape, but he wanted to tell her the truth. Talking about his past was still about as uncomfortable as he imagined urethral sounding to be, but there was something to be said for therapy because it took his thoughts and feelings out of his head in a way that music used to, but unlike music, with Dr. Dhawan’s help, he’d then take those thoughts and feelings and put them back together into something that didn’t hurt as much.
Dr. Dhawan’s version of his abridged life story was a perfect example. Alek made her retell the story during several of their subsequent sessions, filling in more details so that he could argue against her contrasting points, but she’d argued too, until he finally started to admit that maybe he hadn’t been the villain in his story. He was no hero, either, but perhaps he’d merely been a bystander, a passive observer, as it were.
“I don’t want my uncle to be my father because that would mean he didn’t love me at all.”
Dr. Dhawan’s pen stopped mid-stride. She gestured with her pen that he should continue. A silent why.
“If he loved me, how could he have lovedher? My mother was cold. She didn’t hug. She didn’t touch me. I don’t know if she ever loved anyone, let alone me. When my uncle died, she knew. She knew he was dead and she didn’t spare a passing thought for me before she killed herself. I was a child. I was alone. If I hadn’t found that box, I still would have escaped, but she couldn’t have known that.” He shook his head. “She didn’t love me and if my uncle could love someone like that, he couldn’t have loved me either.”
“You’ve made an important insight,” Dr. Dhawan said. “It wasn’t only your uncle who left, was it? Your mother had already abandoned you without going anywhere.”
