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Chapter One
My nerves are shot.
I don’t want to be here, but it isn’t my choice; it never has been. I’ve been forced to see a professional my entire life. This time it’s to deal with my grief. At least that’s the bullshit my parents fed me. It was a decision they came to together, which is a miracle these days. Communicating is not their forte, and being sober is an even greater challenge for them. Yet somehow, they managed to speak to each other long enough to sentence me to this purgatory. My parents mean well, but at this point the only one that can help is my sister. I need her.
She’s gone.
Eyes fixed forward, I watch as the woman’s red lips move, but I don’t hear the sounds or words she speaks. The incessant tapping of the pen she holds has my complete focus, and it promises to sever the thin string holding my sanity together.
I’m not ready to talk about what happened, but she is hell-bent on forcing me to relive every brutal minute of it. It’s a memory I’m trying hard to repress. It’s too painful.
My gaze finds the silver wall clock positioned just above Dr. Tilney’s head. Ten more minutes.
“Marina, did you hear me?” Dr. Tilney manages to make her question sound like a scold.
I groan in response, sitting further back in my seat. For as sterile as this office is, the chairs are oversized and comfortable. So much so, I just want to close my eyes and sleep through the rest of this hellish session.
“Marina, I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”
Lowering my eyes to meet hers, I muster the strength to speak.
“I don’t want your help. Iwantto sleep.”
Dr. Tilney’s eyes narrow slightly, and that damn pen finally stops, suspended in air as the good doctor ferrets out the meaning in my words. She probably thinks my words mean something more. It’s likely she believes me to be suicidal like Maggie, my sister. I’m not; I’m just tired.
“Are you sleeping well?” She switches her tactic.
I know this game. I’ve been playing it all my life. From as early as I can remember, I’ve been seeing someone from Dr. Tilney’s practice. I rarely make it a year before I’m back through these doors, subjected to the same old mind games. As much as my parents would like to forget, I suffer from the same plight as Maggie. The only difference was that I learned to deny I saw the same monsters, while she refused, desperate for help.
“Marina,” she repeats.
I shrug. “Define sleep.” Her face remains stoic, so I relent. “No, I’m not sleeping. I’ve been having nightmares,” I cringe at my slip.
The worst thing I could’ve done is admit that. Telling a shrink you’re having nightmares is the worst idea when you’re me. I’ve had to get really good at formulating my stories on the fly. Dr. Tilney has radar for bullshit, so perfecting lies has become my sport of choice throughout life. But this time, I don’t have to lie. I haven’t been having the same endless dream from my childhood. It’s different this time.
It’s so much worse.
“Again?” She doesn’t miss a damn beat.
They never really stopped.
I’d never tell her that for so many reasons. The most important of them all is that it would prove I inadvertently killed my sister. Lies of omission are still lies, and mine caused Maggie to jump.
“Tell me about them,” she demands, and I relent.
“They aren’t the same as before.” I take a deep breath and chew on my lower lip. I need to feel pain. Pain is better than sadness.
“Go on,” she prods.
“They aren’t... monsters,” I blow out a puff of air. “This time they’re about Maggie.” I close my eyes and like clockwork, the dream resurfaces. Every last detail spilling out behind my lids. I can’t escape it, so I decide to play nice and relay exactly what I see to Dr. Tilney. “She’s lying on a gurney. They begin to zip the bag up, but her eyes open,” I take a deep breath. “She looks right at me and whispers, ‘I love you.’”
Dr. Tilney purses her lips, which could quite possibly be more annoying than the tapping.
“The same words she spoke before she jumped from the cliff.”
I flinch at the verbal smack in the face. All memories of that day are burned into my mind, playing on a constant loop. It’s another reason I’m not sleeping. If it’s not the monsters or my sister laid out in a morgue replaying on a loop, it’s that horrible day. Every night, I see her. Yellow sundress. Long blond hair blowing in the breeze. Her head turning to look at me. The words whispered on the wind...I love you. The sad smile right before she turns away from me and jumps.
“I don’t want to talk about that.” My voice is edgy, and Dr. Tilney knows she’s hit a sore spot.
