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Logically, I realize this isn’t a long-term solution. But I can’t get myself out of bed.
The upside is that I’ve finally had time to analyze Grams’s manuscript. I’ve started putting it into screenplay format, and it’sgood. Like the page-turning, all-immersive kind of good, and I can envision it as a killer movie.
There’s a knock at the door, and I assume it’s room service, although I don’t think I ordered anything. Did I?
Yes, it’s a bad sign that I can’t remember.
When I open the door, Skye is standing there with her luggage. Her face contorts when she says, “Good God.” Shemarches in with her bags, saying, “You’re worse off than I thought.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Do you really have to ask me that?” She plucks a potato chip out of my hair. “And how long has it been since you showered?”
I strain my brain, and I’m not quite sure. But I say, “Not that long.”
“Right.” Skye lets out a long sigh. “Here’s the plan. You’re gonna bathe because you’re a wreck. Then you’re going to get this room organized while we go get lunch. And then, when you’re ready, we’re going to do an early life regression.”
“A what?”
“You’re suffering, Riley. Usually when someone has a fear, or in this case, something that’s psychologically interfering with their life, it’s usually from a childhood trauma. So we’re gonna go back and try to figure out something that triggered this. Okay?”
I love Skye, but I can’t deal with this right now. “Ireallydon’t want to do that.”
Skye takes my hand and pats it. “You can’t stay like this forever. Don’t you want to feel better?”
“No.” I blink. “Fine. Yes, but I just don’t think I can handle anything right now.”
“This is one small step. You don’t even have to leave the comfort of this castle.”
“Fine.”
After a shower, maid service, and lunch where I nibble on a burger from McRoy’s, Skye and I are back in my room, and I’m already feeling a little better. Just getting out and having some company has made a huge difference.
“I think I’m ready now,” I say. “For the young life regression.”
“Good. Let’s do it.”
Skye has me close my eyes and answer some questions about my childhood. Common stuff, like what my favorite activities were growing up. What some of my happiest memories are. I understand why she’s doing it because I already feel my mind becoming more open.
After a stretch of meditative silence, Skye says, “Now we’re going to move into some things that are not so nice. You ready?”
No, but I guess I have to be. “I’m ready.”
“Can you think of something someone did or said to you that deeply hurt you? That changed the way you thought about yourself?”
I feel exhausted already, and we haven’t really even started. “I don’t think this is going to work.”
“Riley. It does work, but you have to try.”
“Okay.” I sigh in defeat. “My mom’s a piece of work.”
“What did she say or do that hurt you the worst?”
My mind flips through the files of my memories, and I take a minute because there are so many things she said that hurt. The constant disapproval of my clothing, hair, friends, and career choices. I say, “Before senior prom, Mom told me my dress ‘wasn’t flattering to my figure’ and I spent the entire night feeling insecure about it.”
“Good, Riley. Keep going—tell me more.”
My brain is flipping, and somehow, my subconscious knows the precise thing that cut the deepest, except it takes a minute to access the memory. It’s something I’ve never spoken out loud before. “I don’t talk about it.”
