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“Thank you,” I say quietly instead. “You’re a good man.”
I limp into rehab, leaning on a cane.
I breathe in the pain, and breathe out the anger. I am a dragon, and my air is fire.
They show me to my room, and it’s nicer than I had wanted, a corner room with a view of gardens. I hadn’t wanted anything fancy. I wanted a cot and a toilet. Leave it my father to ensure my comfort.
I toss my bag into the closet and I flop onto the bed, face-down into the pillows.
I stay this way for a long time. I don’t even know how long.
“Are you ok?”
There is a muffled voice, and I wave my hand for them to go away. They don’t.
“Are you ok?” They are more insistent now.
I sit up.
It’s a woman.
“I thought this was a men’s only facility,” I tell her, rubbing my face. She’s middle-aged, soft-spoken. She’s dressed well, classy. Hounds-tooth slacks and a cream-colored turtleneck. Her hair is pulled into a ponytail at the nape of her neck.
“It is,” she answered. “So don’t tell on me.”
She comes in, and pours a glass of water from a pitcher, then hands it to me. “You need to drink this. It flushes out toxins.”
I snort. “It’s going to take more than that,” I say, but I take the glass and gulp the liquid down. I set the glass down, and then it occurs to me. “You’re my therapist?” I guess.
She sits in the chair next to the bed.
“What if I am? Will you talk to me?”
“Not today,” I answer. “I’m very tired.”
“You’ve been through a lot,” she agrees. “Why don’t you rest tonight, get something to eat, and I’ll be back in the morning.”
It’s a firm suggestion, said gently.
“Ok. We’ll see how I feel in the morning.”
&
nbsp; She nods and slips out the door.
I pull Zuzu’s drawing out of my bag, and prop it on my nightstand.
Then I fall back asleep.
32
Chapter Thirty-One
My therapist is back in the morning, this time with two cups of coffee. She hands me one.
I sip at it, and I rub my face. She hadn’t even given me time to wake-up.
“This is an early session,” I point out. She smiles.
