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“What do you mean, Grace?” Dr. Silk asked gently.
But I could hear the doubt behind her words, and the judgment lurking underneath.
“She died. And it was my fault.”
The air in the room relaxed now that it was clear that I hadn’t committed full-on murder.
“Grace, I thought you told me your mother died in a car accident,” Dr. Silk said gently.
I nodded. “She died in the hospital three days later. They couldn’t save her.”
“That wasn’t your fault.”
“It was,” I said, squeezing the edge of the couch.
I wanted Sam here, on my right. I wanted Noah on my left. I longed for… I don’t know, someone to face the same direction with me while I let everything ugly about myself escape.
But there was only me, and Dr. Silk looking at me like I was something harmless and simple and loved like a purebred pet.
“You can’t cause car accidents, Grace.”
“I did. I know in my heart that I did,” I said breathlessly, already regretting getting this out in the open. Man, she was going to think I was crazy when I told her everything…
“When you were ten years old?”
I nodded.
“What makes you think you caused the accident?” she asked patiently.
She was using her doctor’s voice now, and I could practically see all the diagnoses flying behind her eyes, just like they did when she first diagnosed me with Generalized Anxiety Disorder.
When she gave Disgrace her fancy, medically-approved name and prescribed me the antidote.
“I used to have uncontrollable thoughts when I was younger,” I admitted.
“What kind of thoughts?”
“Unwelcome thoughts.”
A shadow crossed her face, but I could tell she was doing her best to remain impassive and neutral. Or, maybe it was my imagination.
“What did these thoughts say?”
“I know this sounds crazy. I thought I was crazy. It was a never-ending stream of ‘I wish my mom was dead.’”
The room fell dead-silent, save for the distant ticking of the clock in the waiting room.
“It didn’t feel like it was from me,” I said.
“Did you get impulses too?” Dr. Silk asked gently.
“Sometimes, but not always. Like, sometimes I’d have to make sure things were done a certain way so she ‘wouldn’t die,’ to sort of… undo it, like touching the doorknob three times, but that was rare. Mostly it was just that phrase pouring into my head.”
“And you believe those thoughts… killed your mother?”
“Of course I did, I was ten years old, and I heard this thought in my head that said ‘I wish my mom was dead,’ and then she died!”
For the first time ever, I felt uncomfortable here on Dr. Silk’s couch. I felt like she might be judging me, writing me off as crazy.
