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But she couldn’t see that I was blocked; tainted. I couldn’t handle anything to do with romance or love right now—I had too much baggage. Too many horrible things were pinned on my soul from—
Something unpleasant squirmed in my gut, and I had to force my mind back to the present. Back to this room, back to this controlled environment where it was okay to justbe.
We filled the rest of the time by talking about easier things. Dr. Silk assured me about a dozen times that everything would be alright and that no one was going to die, which I knew wasn’t true, but it helped nonetheless. It helped because of how she made me feel: that I was doing everything the right way, and that I was right on track.
Maybe one of these days, I’d believe it.
I breathed deeply as I set off for the pharmacy, and the delicate, clean scent of blooming lilacs swirled into my lungs. If I could control my breath, I could control my anxiety.
As soon as the soles of my Sperrys touched the sunny spring street outside, I felt a ripple of reassurance pulse through the world. Whenever I finished an appointment with Dr. Silk, I always left with a sense of lightness, reassurance, control, and a blue paper rectangle with Xanax spelled out in loopy cursive.
Dr. Silk had given me the option of going on full-blown antidepressants, but I’d read too many horror stories online about the debilitating side-effects. And from what I’d heard, they only really helped some of the time. But, I reminded myself, that evidence was anecdotal, and I might just be looking for a reason not to take them.
The truth was, I was afraid.
I didn’t want to lose my sense of self or have to be tired all the time. I was a high school math teacher—I had to stay sharp and vigilant if I wanted to control my classroom, let alone get through the day.
It was a better solution for me, at least, to have a bottle of Xanax nearby in case of a very bad brain day. I tried to refrain from relying on it too much though, because I knew:
1. It was addictive, and
2. I didn’t like feeling like a loose noodle.
Some people were happy when they could be lazy. Some were happy relaxing and doing nothing.
I was only happy when I was accomplishing something.
You mean when you’re running, Disgrace taunted.
I grimaced and hurried toward the pharmacy.
***
When I got to the window inside, I pawed through my purse and felt a pang of sadness. This purse—a vintage Gucci—was the most expensive thing I owned (and probably wouldeverown), and it was the last present Grayson gave me before everything went wrong.
Some gifts were relics of the good times in a relationship. Others, like this purse, were apology gifts.
The bigger the gift, the bigger the apology.
This purse was big to me, but small to him. Go figure.
My fingers closed around the prescription and grazed that fancy pen I’d found in Dr. Silk’s couch. That’s right—I’d forgotten all about that…
After I handed the pharmacist my ticket to happy land, I sank onto one of the stiff chairs near the window and pulled out the pen.
Back in Dr. Silk’s office, I thought this was a normal black fountain pen. But now that I saw it shining under the flickering light, my eyes traced the intricate designs engraved on the casing. I rotated it, squinting. Were those vines etched into it? It looked like a subtle, complicated floral pattern twisting down the tube. At the center of each flower was a tiny, sparkling red gemstone.
Oh no.
This was definitely a collector’s pen—something rare and expensive.
I knew fountain pens could get up into thousands of dollars—sometimes hundreds of thousands of dollars. I only had one fountain pen at home; something Effie had given me for my birthday. I used it for bullet journaling sometimes, loading it with different colored inks to scribble in my scheduling and plans. But that pen was plain—nothing like this.
This felt like most of the gifts Grayson had given me: heavy, expensive, and something I’d never be able to afford on my own.
I closed my eyes and saw that man with the intense eyes and tattoo sleeves leaving Dr. Silk’s office. Maybe this belonged to him?
Suddenly I felt my mind kick into gear, nursing my guilt. This pen in my hand was a treasure—what if it cost that guy a fortune? What if he went back to Dr. Silk’s office looking for it, couldn’t find it, then tracked me down?
