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“Does the difference matter?”
“You tell me, Drew.” She smooths her hands over her skirt, making it cover her knees, and leans forward, elbows on her thigh bones. The move is slick and designed to be unobtrusive, but for some reason it reminds me of Lindsay.
Everything reminds me of Lindsay.
“Can’t. Won’t. Both. Look, Salma, if I try to tell her what happened to me that night, she’ll – we’ll – I – damn it.” I feel this getting away from me. My hand rips through my hair. It’s shaking so hard I feel my teeth chatter.
She waits me out.
“It’ll complicate everything,” I finally choke out.
“The truth usually does. And then it simplifies.”
I’m losing it. I’m losing it and fast. Blood that normally pulses through me at a steady pace is roaring in fits and starts, making my chest heave and sputter. All that skin covering muscle and bone feels like it’s floating in outer space, like gravity stopped working.
The world telescopes and pinpricks, then it expands and widens until I’m living in a funhouse mirror.
And I’m the clown.
“Drew,” Salma says. “The longer you wait, the harder this will be. I understand your concerns for Lindsay’s mental health, but they wouldn’t have brought her home from the facility she was in if they didn’t think she was emotionally strong enough to handle whatever the world throws at her.”
Salma has no idea how much that is.
“I -- ”
“And you deserve to clear the air. To own your experience. Until you can talk with her, I’m not sure you’re going to be able to move on.” She’s using shorthand. We don’t have to go through all the layers of the past because Salma and I have processed what happened. Jargon and shortcuts mean we can get to the heart of the matter fast.
Too fast.
“Move on from what? Lindsay?”
“Move on from your victimhood.”
“I hate that word. Victim. Let’s use the word survivor.”
Warrior.
She nods slowly. “It’s a better word. It is. But you were a victim before you were a survivor, and we need to honor that phase.”
Victim.
My fingers dig into the arms of the chair I’m in. The pain radiates into my knuckles and I welcome it. Fuck. It was a mistake to come here. I don’t have time to dig up my past.
My future is in jeopardy.
And Lindsay’s present is nothing but danger.
“I shouldn’t be here.” I feel a trickle of sweat run down the back of my neck. My underarms are soaked, like I’ve run a 10K.
“Drew. Drew.” Salma says my name firmly. “We don’t have to talk about anything. Not at all.”
She goes silent.
My heart beats. And beats. And beats, each thump for Lindsay.
Who is at home now, confused, being watched by whoever Paulson assigned to her, all my texts to her unanswered since I saw her yesterday morning in the kitchen. Who knows what Harry has her security team doing now. I know they’ve shut me out. That much is certain.
She slipped one through to me somehow, on Jane’s phone.
