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“And if something is our fault?” the other newbie asked. She was gripping the arms of her chair tightly.
“I’d ask you to consider the truth in those words. Really consider it.” The counselor leaned forward. “We are all responsible for our actions, even those who act like they are incapable of rational decisions.”
The woman pressed her lips together, her blue eyes flashing before she ducked her head again.
Celia didn’t fully agree with the counselor either. Sometimes people were crazy, and your own actions could spawn theirs, no matter how irrational they were. She often wondered how her own craziness would manifest. It liked to hide away, making her feel semi-normal, but she knew it lurked inside.
“Do you still want to share your story, Cece?” the counselor asked, all pressure removed from the question.
Celia nodded. “From the beginning, I always knew I had to be careful around my mother. My father would say she had bad days. Or would blame the weather. Anything besides my mother herself. It wasn’t until I was older that I heard her actual diagnosis, though we just called it the crazy gene. My mother couldn’t process the world around her properly. Paranoia was a big part of it, with extreme self-loathing. My mother hated herself.”
Celia took a breath, the memories tumbling on top of each other. “As I got older, it was often my job to watch over her. It wasn’t that she couldn’t take care of herself. She could cook, clean—anything, really. I was mainly watching for those moments. The times when her crazy gene would kick in and she would try to hurt herself.”
Celia’s father had removed most things from the house, but he couldn’t remove everything. And her mother had been intelligent, far more intelligent than he was. She always found a way.
It was almost always aimed at herself, though. Her mother truly had hated herself. More than hate. People were out to get her because she deserved it, she always said. And she would finish herself off first, before they got there.
Celia had become good at gauging how much time was too much to leave her mother alone. And when checking in would be too often and likely cause an episode instead. There was that perfect in-between moment, and when she hit it just right, the day would run smoothly.
“That was why I was caught off guard that day. She was on her best behavior. It was almost like having a normal mother, the way she laughed and talked to me.” Celia wasn’t seeing the room any more. She was climbing the stairs, her steps light with the thought that her mom would be happy to see her again.
The tight hug on the top of the stairs had caught her off guard, she remembered. It had been too tight, chokingly tight, so tight that her ribs ached. The words, “I love you. I love you so much!” had been repeated over and over in her ear as the arms tightened further.
Celia had called to her mother with the breath she had left. “Mom?”
“It’s okay, sweetie, it’s okay,” her mother had said. Then her mother had released her, and that moment of relief had slipped in, though not enough for her heartbeat to slow. “You don’t have to worry. You won’t end up like me. I’ll take care of it.” And then the shove at her midsection, and the fall down the stairs.
“I ended up with a bruised back, a broken wrist, and a scar from a stitched-up forehead,” Celia admitted, her hand lifting to brush the raised skin, where the scar had mostly faded. “I was lucky that time. My mother had done it on impulse. It was when she really planned out ways to kill me that it got worse, and her final attempt is what led to me living with my aunt and uncle.” Celia rubbed her hands over her arms. “But even though later attempts were worse, most of my nightmares are still of that initial fall down the stairs. I think because I was so shocked by it. I had known my mother hated herself, but I hadn’t realized it extended to me until that day. And all because of the genes that she shared with me.”The crazy genes, she reminded herself. Her mother had wanted so badly to save her from them, yet here she still was.
“I didn’t say all of that to my fiancé, of course. Just the part about my mother pushing me down the stairs, and that it was on purpose. And the part about her saying it was in the genes. I had agreed to marry him, and I decided he deserved to know.”
“That must have taken a lot of courage, to tell him part of your story,” the counselor said.
Celia considered it. “I thought so at the time. Now I wonder.”
The counselor tilted her head, considering. “Wonder what?”
“I think I got the outcome I was hoping for. He left me. And all I feel is relief.”
The other newbie next to her lifted her head at the word.
Celia thought about Malcolm coming over, what he’d told her his police friends had said, and her lips twisted partially in humor, partially in frustration. “Though I could have done without the name-calling and the restraining order. I swear I’m not a stalker.” The smile dropped. “I was honestly so relieved that I had completely forgotten about my fiancé, so much that I had forgotten he lived in the same neighborhood where I’m staying.”
“That’s interesting,” the counselor said, though she glanced at the clock. “I’d be happy to dig into those feelings more with you if you decide to have one-on-one sessions with me.” She straightened in her chair. “Now, it’s important that we…”
Celia listened with half an ear to the techniques and suggestions that she’d heard a hundred times before. Throughout it, the dark-haired woman next to her seemed to be shooting her glances.
When the group session was over, a few people came over to talk to her, to give her that feeling that she wasn’t alone. It often helped, but Celia found herself distracted by the other newbie that hovered near her. The woman had said she was completely new to this type of counseling, and the bruises on her neck indicated there was enough of a need for it. Celia had the urge to reach out. Maybe for once her own story could make her strong for someone else.
By the time she moved past the other members, the other newbie had gone. She felt some disappointment, but mostly relief. She had very little to offer someone in need, not when she was struggling herself.
Throwing out her untouched coffee, she left the counseling center to find Malcolm, the person who had been strong enough to set her on a new path. Someone much stronger than she was.
Chapter 22
Trentoncouldn’ttakehiseyes off Celia. He told himself he was worried about her, but that wouldn’t explain why he was staring at her ass, picturing the way it felt in his hands as he lifted her in the shower, her legs wrapping around him when he sank inside of her.
He shifted forward on his bar stool to hide his growing erection. If he’d known having sex again would turn him into a randy teenager, he would have never done it.
