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“I am,” the doctor replied calmly. “I’m looking at a young man, who, despite all of the trauma and horror he’s had to endure, has continued to focus solely on recovering and returning to her.” She smiled. “I’d say that makes this Molloy an excellent judge of character.”
“Hmm.”
“Maybe she needs you?”
“She needs to run a mile in the opposite direction of me.”
“But that’s not an option, is it?” she probed. “Your child deserves a father, and you of all people know how influential that role can be in a child’s life.”
You’re just like me, boy.
You’ll do more harm than good.
“He’s in your head again, isn’t he?” the doctor noted. “Your father?”
Fuck, she was intuitive.
“I don’t know if I can break the cycle, but I want to.” Needing to move, I stood up and paced the small confines of the room. “I want to so fucking badly that it keeps me up at night. It’s why I went back that night. Why I let Lizzie talk me off the edge. Why I didn’t throw myself off that bridge. Why I’m here right now.” Frustrated and anxious, I cracked my knuckles and walked to the window. “I know I’m not good enough, but I want to be.”
“How are the withdrawals?” she changed the subject by asking.
The withdrawals were the worst.
For days, I felt numb, angry and lacking in energy.
I didn’t want to speak to anyone, didn’t want to lift a finger.
“Better,” I told her, eyes locked on a group planting flowers in the gardens outside. “Manageable.”
“That must be a relief for you.”
“Will the memories fade?”
“Doubtful. But they will become manageable. Bearable. You’ll find a middle ground on which to rebuild your foundations. You’ll learn to cope. That’s why you’re here. To rebuild.”
“I can still smell her.” I released a shuddering breath. “I can still smell him.”
Deciding it was too painful to breathe, I kept poker-stiff, nostrils and airways on lockdown, waiting for the wave of sorrow to pass.
Praying it would do so quickly.
Finally, it did.
“When can I call her?” Turning back to face the doctor, I leaned against the windowsill at my back and said, “I need to talk to her.”
“Not yet.”
“I’ve never not spoken to her this long,” I admitted, feeling pissed off, but knowing that this woman was relentless. She wouldn’t bend. God knows, I’d tried enough times. “Please, Doc. She’s my best friend.”
120
School’s Out for Summer
AOIFE
“That was painful,” I declared, following my friends out of school after finishing up the last exam of our secondary school academic career.
Six years of preparation.
