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I scoff, irritated. “I don’t know, Doc. What do you want me to say? I don’t know anything. I play the fucking drums for a living.”
“All right. Well, I’ll tell you something about therapy. People come for lots of reasons and rarely is it because they are crazy. In fact, most of my patients are very normal people who happen to have one or two quirks they need ironed out.”
I glare at the very expensive celebrity psychiatrist I found through a friend who used to have a drug addiction. “One or two quirks, Doc? I have a metric fuck-ton of quirks. You could fill a 747 with my quirks.”
“Oh?” His bushy eyebrows lift. “Such as what?”
I laugh. “Where to start. Jesus, how about the fact that I killed my parents and little sister? Is that a quirk? Can you fix that, Doc?” I drag a hand through my messy hair and drum the other nervously on my leg.
“So, you killed your family? Did you use a gun to do it?”
“What? No!”
“Okay. A knife?”
“Christ, Doc. No! They died in a car accident. Fuck, I wouldn’t murder them. I fucking loved them!”
“Oh, well you said you killed them. I could only assume you meant murder.” The doctor stares at me. His light eyes hold no judgment, no pity, no emotion of any kind except interest. “So you were driving the car, then?”
“What? No! We were hit by a drunk driver.” My leg begins to bounce in time with my fingers.
“I see. So you didn’t kill them. I must have misunderstood.”
Now I’m pissed off. I bring my hands to my head and grip my hair, pulling in frustration. “You’re not listening, Doc. I called them to come get me! I took ecstasy at a party and the entitled douchebags I was with left me passed out on the beach alone! My family was in the car, on that road, because of me!”
The doctor leans forward, smiling, clasping his hands together. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
Abby
“Justin, you look great!”
The young man in front of me is a far cry from the one I first met. This man is smiling, flashing adorable dimples I never knew he had. His dark blond hair is shining and healthy, carefully tousled into a faux-hawk. He’s gained some weight and must be working out because his face is fuller and his chest and shoulders look wider.
“I feel great, Dr. Kessler.” Justin crosses the room, arms open, and wraps me up in a hug.
“I’m so happy for you, Justin.” I blink back tears. I can’t cry in front of a patient. It would be totally unprofessional, even if they are tears of happiness.
“Me too, Dr. Kessler.” Justin steps back, releasing me. He drops into
his usual chair, sprawled out like a typical young college kid.
“You had a birthday recently. How did that go?” I listen, thrilled as Justin describes the good time he had on his birthday.
“I had a test coming up, so you know, I couldn’t go out all night and party. Plus, Dr. Mendel said I can’t drink alcohol with my meds.”
“And you’re only twenty, Justin,” I tease.
He grins. “Yeah, that too. But I went to the beach with some guys from my dorm and we had a blast.” Justin looks ready to burst with excitement.
I laugh at his enthusiasm. I’ve never seen him like this, and it’s definitely not mania. Justin is happy.
“So I guess the retreat we found helped?” I ask, referring to the private mental health resort in Arizona that specializes in treating bipolar disorder.
“It was awesome, Dr. Kessler.” Justin bites his thumbnail, his brow scrunching for a moment. “To be honest, I hated it at first. Being forced to go to all those group therapy sessions sucked. But once I heard other people speaking, how their problems sounded just like mine, it didn’t seem so bad.”
I smile. “That’s great, Justin. What else would you like to talk about?”
“Well…” He ducks his head and his ears turn bright red. “I might have a girlfriend.”
