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He studied her jade eyes, for the first time noticing the ring of rust that clung to the edges of her pupils. “That’s an apt guess with what you have to go on.”
“It can be triggered, even in adults, after a traumatic event, right?”
She was right, but he wouldn’t grant her instant gratification. Doing so would have been a disservice to her studies. That, and seeing Kenna sweat always left him buzzing with want, a rare occasion upon which a humanizing vulnerability shone through the academic queen’s veneer.
Dayton dared to lean in a bit closer despite his supersonic pulse. “You’re the student. Find the answer.”
She flipped through her beat-up copy of the DSM-5, flying through its endless highlighted and sticky note-flagged pages. Running a finger along a passage, she reviewed and verified the claim before presenting it.
“Based on what you’ve presented us, it seems like you have adult onset obsessive compulsive disorder.”
Dayton found her use of extraneous words in the diagnosis charming. Phrases like ‘adult onset’ bore meaning to them, but not to this patient.
“OCD?” Juan righted himself in the chair. “I don’t clean my apartment seven times a day.”
Biting his cheek, Dayton suppressed a smile. “Perfectionism is not the sole factor that’s indicative of OCD, Mr. Romero. That’s actually a harmful stereotype of the disorder. OCD is marked by a compulsion, a strong, repetitive desire to perform a certain task. In your case, it’s masturbation, but yes, in someone else it might manifest as reorganizing a sock drawer or disinfecting a toilet.”
Listening to Dr. Merino discussing their work delighted her more than she cared to admit. A flush of pink graced Kenna’s cheeks as she pretended to read over some notes while he wrapped up the session, but she found herself stuck, rereading the first half of the same sentence on a loop.
The thought alone of what she had resolved to do once they were rid of Juan had a faint headache infringing on her temples. Though it was foolish, reckless, Kenna had a plan.
She’d prayed all week for the bravery to execute it.
The second the door clicked shut, Dr. Merino turned to her, chin resting on his fist. “What’s going on with you lately?”
Being alone with him felt different after the handful of days they had spent together in the hospital. Muscles, more relaxed. Stomach, riddled with fewer knots. Pulse, less erratic.
But fear still sailed through her bloodstream as if it had attached itself to the elements of which it was composed.
“I’m zapped from my coursework.”
He squinted. “You have three classes this semester, and I’m sure you know the subject matter well enough to do the homework in your sleep. Cut the bullshit.”
Moments like this left chills pricking her skin; his convenient segues to topics she had yet to vocalize.
Kenna tucked a section of hair behind her ear and sucked in her bottom lip. She grabbed Dr. Merino’s hand, resulting in a wild stare on his part.
“It’s been strange readjusting to office hours given what’s happened. Your … incident. Are we supposed to overlook the fact that, now, every time we step into this room, there’s something thawing this space that was once so cold? Each day, this office feels less clinical and more familiar. We don’t exchange niceties. We get straight to work. And while you’re quizzing me on clonazepam or escitalopram, sometimes I want to stop you, because I remember you lying on the ground in the Ponderosa pines. I want to ask how you’re doing, how you’re feeling.” Her voice begged to crack but she forbade it. The aim was to appear sympathetic, not weak. “I can’t help but care after that, Dr. Merino. It’s only human.”
Eyebrows knitting together, his hand escaped her grip.
“I can understand how awkward this must be, and I’m sorry to have put you in that position but while we work alongside each other, we should remain professional.”
Kenna gathered her belongings with great deliberation. Her body and mind required the recovery period to stabilize from what had been said. Whatshehad said.
There was one thing left to do.
She hovered in the doorway and honed perfected embarrassment, fiddling with a sweater sleeve as her gaze refused to focus on Dr. Merino for more than a few seconds at a time. “I'm performing at an open mic night. 8 o’clock on Saturday, same place we do trivia. I was wondering if maybe you wanted to come out and see me play. Unless, of course, you think it would violate our professionalism.”
In the unending silence that slipped by, Kenna imagined all of the cruel things he might say. She waited for rejection, to be reprimanded, for revocation of the mentorship.
None of it came.
He gave an impartial nod. “I’ll consider it.”
20
PURGATORY
