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I retook my seat. “Might as well get this out of the way instead of trying to ignore the elephant in the room.”
“I didn’t know there was one.”
I rolled my eyes. “You won’t do cliché, but you’re not above playing dumb.”
A smile spread across her face. “That’s not what I was doing. I’m not here to force you to talk about things you don’t want to. You should know that by now.”
I knew she was right. Patient led therapy; that’s how she conducted things. At times, she would try and push if I got on a certain topic, but never too much. She didn’t need to. Dr. Carr had a way of getting some information out of me simply from a look, or by using those questions meant for self-reflection she was so fond of.
“So, you don’t want to know what sent me into a panic attack?”
“I think you want me to know, but you’re not ready to talk about it yet.”
“If that was the case, I wouldn’t have brought up the topic at all.”
More note taking before she flipped back in her notebook, checking her notes from our last session. Looking back up at me, she pushed her glasses up on her nose, made another note, and then she took the opening I’d stupidly given her.
“Last time, we’d just entered new territory about your relationship with Seth when you cut the session short. You’d equated your relationship to that of Pavlov’s experiments. Saying Seth had systematically conditioned you to get the responses he wanted. One of those things being the name Ginger, something Malcolm calls you, and you said Seth tainted it. How did he do that?”
My eyes closed. A lump formed in my throat. The memory of the first time Seth called me Ginger quickly escaped its cage, running full speed into the forefront of my mind. The feeling of terror from that night was just as intense today. I began twirling Malcolm’s ring around on my finger.
“He…um…he…” My hands clenched and unclenched as I tried to get the words out. I popped up from my chair, shaking my hands as I walked in circles. My heart rate increased. I took long, slow breaths, swallowing repeatedly, fighting against the nauseous feeling. I’d let him use me that night. I’d asked for it, trading my body in hopes it would appease his anger. My nails dug into my palms, I squeezed my eyes shut, and pressed my lips together, needing to shove that memory back where it belonged.
“Calida.”
The sound of my name startled me. Dr. Carr stood beside me, with a tissue in hand, and concern showing on her face.
“You’re shaking. Sit, have some water. I’m going to call this done for today, but I want you to stay and take the time you need.”
Dr. Carr led me back over to my chair. After opening a bottle of water for me, she gathered up her notebooks and went to her desk. I pressed my hands together between my legs, willing the trembling to stop. In the background, Dr. Carr worked on her computer. I focused on the faint clicking sound of keys being pressed. The trembling subsided. Reaching over, I grabbed the bottle off the table and took a long drink.
I rolled the bottle between my hands, watching the gentle sway of the water created from the motion. I took another drink, draining the remaining contents. Heart rate steady, but the nauseous feeling remained. Picking up my purse, I walked over and dropped the bottle into the blue recycling can next to Dr. Carr’s desk. She stopped typing and looked up at me.
Again, I twirled the ring around my finger. “He…he used the name when he was angry at me. It would signal a punishment was coming.”
Dr. Carr closed the lid of her laptop as she stood. “Are you okay to continue talking about this now?”
I shook my head. “You asked me the question. I just wanted to answer it.” I gave her a small wave before exiting.
As I pulled out of the parking deck, I knew home was the last place I wanted to go. I wasn’t sure if Dorian was there or not. Regardless, I didn’t want to be in that house with those painful memories fresh in my mind. Driving down Peachtree, BrickTop’s came into view. My hasty decision to head there drew angry honking from the car I cut off to get over. I pulled up to the valet station, and one of the attendants quickly made his way over to open my door. Once inside, the hostess informed me there’d be a fifteen-minute wait for a table, but that wasn’t necessary. I only needed the bar.
There was an empty stool near the wall, a perfect place for me to be separated from the rest of the corporate lunch crowd filling the place. The bartender smiled in my direction, letting me know she saw me. I picked up the menu, and looked over my choices while she tended to the other patrons.
“What’ll it be?”
“Um…I’ll try your Manhattan, please.”
“Need to see some ID.”
Once she was satisfied I was of legal age, she stepped away to make my drink, returning a few minutes later. The initial bitter burn of the bourbon made me cough; she wasn’t sparing on the alcohol, that was for sure. My thoughts went back to my session as I sipped my drink.
Was Dr. Carr going to suggest I go back on my meds? I didn’t want that, but the episodes were becoming more frequent. I massaged my temples, feeling a headache coming on. I was drained. Keeping up appearances was becoming harder to do, and that fact scared me. I’d been doing well, had found a rhythm to my life. A routine that had kept me focused and made each day possible, leaving nights my only real enemy. The balance I’d worked so hard to obtain had begun to shift and I needed to figure out how to get it back before everyone saw through my façade.
Catching the bartender’s attention, I signaled I wanted a refill. I sat, sipping on my drink thinking about everything and nothing. The lunch crowd came and went, and yet still I sat.
“I think you’re ringing.” I looked up to see the bartender pointing toward my purse, the vibrating noise finally registering with me.
“’ello.”
