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“But…” Dahlia sat back in the chair, unsure of how to respond. She did have to feed, didn’t she?
“Almost all instincts can be tamed,” said the therapist. “Channeled, at the very least.” She gave Dahlia a big smile. “I can schedule something for the hospice for next week, I think? I’ll have my secretary get in touch with you?”
“I’m afraid of trying it,” said Dahlia.
“Of course you are,” said the therapist. “It’s a terrifying thing I’m asking you to do. But I also have a sense that you are quite a brave woman, aren’t you? After all, you got the courage to come to see me.”
Dahlia knew the woman was manipulating her. She’d been trained in that kind of positive talk as well, fostering resilience within a patient, yadda yadda.
Damned if it wasn’t effective, however.
DAHLIA WAS ASTONISHEDat how easy it was. It was almost too easy. It was almost acrimehow easy it was.
Itshouldn’thave been easy, she thought, not after years of giving in to her hunger, to that massive appetite within her that demanded she feed.
But when she went to the hospice, she was immediately triggered.
She resisted changing form until she was in the parking lot alone with the therapist, who talked her through it in a low and steady voice.
Then, Dahlia stood there, flaming wings outstretched, and she felt all of her power streaming through her, and she felt the urge to feed well up in her.
And she thought about Niles being passed out, thought about that awful feeling in her chest that she had hurt him.
And she didn’t.
And then, she waited, and the urge got… less.
It didn’t go away, not entirely, but she was in control of it, and the longer she was in control of it, the less strong it seemed.
She ended up flying into the air, circling around, cawing a few times and then alighting next to the therapist and letting her wings extinguish.
The therapist was pleased.
“We’ll come back,” said the therapist. “Next time it will be easier.”
“I can’t believe how easy it was this time,” said Dahlia.
“Your connections to others are always going to be more powerful than your destructive hungers,” said the therapist. “We wouldn’t have come so far as a civilization if this weren’t the case.” She gestured around. “Think of something as simple as this building or those cars. Think of the incredible amount of cooperation that’s required to make such a thing possible.”
Dahlia furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?’
“Well, you can buy materials to build a house, yes? That’s something you can do on your own. And maybe, if you’re skilled, you could even nail up the boards yourself, though most people would like to hire experts. But even those experts didn’t cut down the trees and mill them into boards. They didn’t mine the metal to make the nails or forge them. They didn’t ship the materials across the country. Think how many individual efforts it takes, so many different people working together, for nearly every aspect of our lives. We are social creatures. Our social bonds are strong.”
“Huh,” said Dahlia, shaking her head. “I never really thought about it like that.”
“I’m not saying that society can’t be destructive. Obviously, it can. When we shun others or exclude them because of real or imagined differences, or when we shame people, or even when we take too many of our natural resources in an attempt to drive riches. Our social bonds bring darkness too. But in your case, this, it is healing.” She beamed at Dahlia.
Dahlia’s lower lip trembled. “Can I give you a hug?”
The therapist chuckled. “Absolutely.”
xxi.
NILES STAYED LATEat The Daily Bread the night he knew Dahlia was going to be working. It was maybe a cowardly call to do that.
She had told him she was going to be in touch.
She had not been in touch.
