by Urban, Ami
“No,” I said, sitting up straight and trying to calm my shaking body. “I’m okay. I guess I just—”
Nodded off.
Shut the fuck up, Silas.
“Fell asleep,” I finished.
Lisa’s eyebrows knitted together, forming a crease between them. “Let’s get you home.”
The moment we left her office, Scott was on his feet. The saccharine smile he gave my wife was enough to make me vomit. But I was too shaky.
“You leaving already?” He asked, shifting his gaze from hers to mine for a split second.
Lisa tossed him a polite smile. “Yes. Did you need something from me first?”
I didn’t like the way she phrased that. Asking him in the first place really ground my gears to dust, but she used the singular “me” and not “us.” Why?
It’s obvious, you moron. She’s got you right where she wants you.
I scratched at one ear, urging my former boss’s voice away. Scott leaned against the reception desk outside the office.
“Um… Kind of. I hope you don’t mind…”
The moment Lisa shook her head was the moment I think a blood vessel burst somewhere inside me.
God, please let it be an aneurism…
I rolled my eyes and kind of stepped in front of my wife. “I mind, kid. Beat it.” I wanted so badly in that moment for his face to fall, but that smug look remained. And it took just a second to figure out why.
“Jack.” Lisa’s hand was on my arm. When I looked back at her, I swore I saw frustration. It was! The same exact look she gave the kid when he misbehaved. “You and I have time. Scott doesn’t get to see me every day. If he has an issue, we need to talk about it immediately. PTSD is a—”
“Yeah, I know.”
Oh, shit. You did not just interrupt the fucking dragon!
“But Tuesdays are our days, Lisa.”
She said nothing for a few seconds, her face unreadable. Yeah, Silas was probably right. I pissed her off. But what the fuck, man? This punk-ass kid takes priority over me? No way.
“Scott.” Lisa leaned to the side, so she could see him around me. “Please go into my office and take a seat. I’ll be with you in a moment.”
Oh, the fucking look he gave me while slipping through that door. I wanted to punch him in his stupid face.
Do it. You still have time! Just fucking ball your fist…
Without even thinking about it, I did.
Hit him! Come on! He’s coming between you and your wife!
“Jack!”
I tore my gaze away from the closed door. How long had Scott been gone? Had I nodded off again? My wife looked pissed. Both hands were on her hips, her mouth was a straight line and her eyebrows were low over her eyes.
“I know I don’t need to tell you how embarrassing that was.”
Whoa, whoa, whoa. Say the fuck what?!
“Hey, don’t talk to me like you talk to your kid, okay.”
She inhaled through her nose but said nothing.
“I know what I said was dumb. But it’s our day, Lisa.”
“Jack, there’ll be other days.”
Okay, now you can hit her.
Fuck you. How about I bring you back from the dead and shove the jagged edge of a serrated knife up your asshole?
That’s what I thought.
Once I had a moment to sort through my own thoughts, I went right back to me being her second priority. And that’s what I wanted to say, but it wouldn’t fucking come out.
“Yeah, but today is Tuesday.”
God, you’re dumb.
Lisa’s chest rose with another breath. Her eyes shimmered just a bit when she spoke. “Jack, I gave you two weeks.”
My head was abnormally quiet.
“What?” It felt almost like my heart had stopped right in my chest. “Is that… Wait, hold on…” I put up both hands before she could interject. “Are you saying you took time off work to…placate me?”
“No, of course not!” Her resolve was faltering ever-so-slightly. For some reason, I grabbed onto it. A dick move.
“Then what? Because you felt guilty?”
“No!” She sighed, dropping her arms to her sides. “Well, I suppose I did.”
Oh, right. So, the moment shit gets rough, you bail, Silas? Man, fuck you. Dead you sucks. I could only rely on alive you.
I stooped over, my knee creaking. But I shuffled closer to her, not wanting any passing nurses to overhear our argument. Maybe I got a little too close to her face. I can’t remember.
“That’s really fucking great to know, Lisa. I’m really fucking glad you’ve absolved yourself of all guilt for ignoring my needs.”
“Jack—”
“No, listen. We’ve had this schedule for fuck knows how long and you know it’s the only thing keeping me from having a nervous breakdown. Or did you not know? Because I’m pretty sure I told you that many times.”
She wasn’t looking at me anymore. Which was rare for her. Her gaze was on my chest – a clear sign of submission. So why did I keep going?
Because she wasn’t fucking saying anything.
“It’s good to know that little fuck’s PTSD is more important than mine.” And because she’d been so quiet the whole rant, I decided I didn’t care what she had to say anymore. Instead, I spun around and headed for…somewhere else.
From the desk of Dr. Lisa Reynolds – May 12
“Everything cool, Dr. Reynolds?” Scott smiled at me from the sofa Jack had occupied moments before.
I almost didn’t hear his words. My thoughts were racing with the interaction I’d just had with my husband. I thought everything was okay. I thought he was feeling better. He’d told me his pain had subsided greatly. And things had been wonderful.
Except they hadn’t, had they? On the surface, everyone would say we looked like the perfect couple. Affectionate and caring for one another while spending copious amounts of time in the bedroom. But when was the last time we’d had an in-depth conversation about the way his time in the hospital had affected him?
And when he was coming down from the opiates, things weren’t so amazing, either. He’d become short in the late afternoons. Complaining of headaches oddly enough, he’d snap at myself or the kids for making noise or other things. Of course, he’d apologize right away and show us he felt genuine remorse.
And I realize those are the signs of a domestic abuser, but I assure you, my mind cannot be manipulated that easily. Studying as a psychologist afforded me many skills in communication and understanding motivations. Jack’s were clear. I’d just been blind to them.
Or perhaps I was done mourning the loss of a child and he wasn’t.
“Everything’s fine, Scott. Thank you.” I noticed a take-out container on the corner of my desk. “Oh, did you bring me something?” I went over to it, one hand clutched over my chest. Excitement brimmed in my mid-section.
“Yeah. Pizza.”
I opened the container and a wonderful smell filled my senses. I admit I went for it rather devilishly, but I’ve been known to stress-eat. And it was delicious as usual. Scott was a wonderful chef.
“Pesto and Roma tomatoes.”
“It’s wonderful, thank you.” I gobbled up the entire thing in record time. Scott chuckled a bit as I sat behind my desk, tossing the empty container in my trash can.
“What would you like to discuss today?” Folding my arms on my desk, I laced my fingers together.
“Actually…” He shifted in his seat. “I kind of had a feeling you and the old man weren’t getting along. I figured I’d save you.”
A tendril of frustration curled around my midsection. But I shooed it away. Jack had every right to express himself and he deserved a pass for his situation. It was also out of character for him to speak to me that way.
“I’d rather not discuss my personal life when we meet. These sessions are about you.”
He mimicked the subtle tilt of my head. “But… How do you expect me to open up if
we don’t talk about our personal lives? I want to trust you, Dr. Reynolds.”
Now, I’m not an idiot. I wasn’t born yesterday. I understood what Scott was doing. It was a classic case of transference. I’d been the only one who knew what he’d gone through and we had a history. Of course, he was going to develop some kind of feelings for me.
Before I could begin explaining the situation, I felt a pang of guilt about Jack. He’d been right. He’d wanted me to go home with him and instead I gave my attention to Scott. I hadn’t learned anything in my time off, had I?
I made a show of glancing at the wall clock above Scott’s head. “I’m sorry, Scott. We’re going to have to pick this up tomorrow.”
His brow drew down immediately upon the words exiting my mouth. “Oh. Okay, then.”
May 12 – Jack Reynolds
Sometimes, man. Sometimes things could only get so shitty. And when Lisa shut herself off like that, it made me want to hit something. How fucking hard is it to keep a schedule? We’d been doing it pretty fucking good…well…for months. I needed to talk, and she never understood that. Fuck her stubbornness.
Is that why you just shot another ten?
Fuck off. You don’t know anything. Losing that kid was the worst moment of our fucking lives. The least she could’ve done was shed a single tear. Am I the only one grieving? Shit. I’m coming up on thirty-six and got no kids to show for it. My bloodline ends with me and that’s just fine and dandy for her, isn’t it? She already has a kid. She’s done. In that moment, I doubted whether or not she even wanted our baby.
Before my brain had a moment to catch up, I realized I’d stood up and was kicking the shit out of a poor mesh garbage tin. It didn’t have a chance. That thing crumbled like a fresh baked cookie.
No, I’m not hungry. Fuck you, Silas.
But my head was an empty field. My blood felt like fire in my veins, constricting my chest until I felt like I’d explode. And I guess I kind of did. Like a nuclear friggin’ blast, man. A hot, explosive tornado of destruction that didn’t stop until my fist made a crack in one picture window.
“You okay, Dood?”
Brendon’s voice snapped me out of my fit. I turned to face him as he stood at the back door of the old OR. I finally felt the dull throb in the knuckles of my right hand. My fists were clenched so hard I could feel my fingernails digging into the soft flesh of my palm.
Count to ten. Count to ten. Count to ten.
“One. Two. Three. Fuck.” I felt all the energy leave my body, deflating me to about half my size. The moth-eaten sofa sagged under my weight. A cloud of dust and smoke puffed into the stale air around me as I sat.
Brendon remained standing in the doorway, looking from me to the mangled bin, no doubt wondering if I’d shot up enough to make me crack. God, they were so fucking worried about me taking too much.
“I’m not high, asshole.”
Yes, you are. Sky fucking high.
“I-is that the problem?” His voice came out weak.
I let out a sigh. “Yeah, maybe.”
As if nothing ever happened, Brendon straightened his posture, plastered on the goofy smile, then produced a handful of rolling papers and a baggie of weed.
“Don’t ya worry about a thing.” He sat next to me on the couch, placing his equipment on a broken gurney in front of us. “‘Cause every little thing… Is gonna be alright.” He made quick work of one spliff, presenting it to me with his left hand while the other was reaching in the backpack he’d brought.
“What’s in there?” I gladly took the joint from him then rooted around in my pocket for a lighter. But found nothing.
You’re a fucking idiot.
Oh, there you are… Joy.
“I brought…” Brendon moved a few things aside and produced a silver thermos. “Coffee.”
“No fucking way,” I said after lighting up with the flame he’d given me.
“Way.” He’d said it like a valley surfer dude. Like, totally. “Lah-fee saav-yay.”
My hand paused while unscrewing the thermos. The joint dangled from my lips as I gazed at him, heavy smoke folding upon itself from the tip like a yard of silk. “Say what?”
He exhaled through his nose while smirking. “Life saver.”
“You’re weird.”
He shrugged. “I know.”
We were silent for a moment as I took another drag and Brendon worked on rolling another joint. The THC was starting to kick in, relaxing each body part as I thought about them. Calf muscles drooped. Then thighs, back, stomach, balls...
“Dood. What were you mad about?” Brendon didn’t look up from his work. “It took me ages to find that trash bin.”
I sneered and gave a sarcastic laugh. “Don’t ya worry about a thing.” I hoped he liked that shit thrown back at him.
He let out a huff, but I couldn’t tell if it was genuine or not. “Your eyes were black, Dood. You looked legit fecked up.” He leaned back, snatching the lighter back from me, and lit his own joint.
“And your coffee sucks.”
Black and white converse made an appearance as Brendon threw his feet onto the gurney, crossing his ankles and leaning back into the sofa cushions. “I know. I grow it all myself. Stands to reason my weed is good but my coffee is shite.”
“Do you always pronounce things wrong?” While anger was still present in the recesses of my mind, relaxation bloomed. So, I let my guard down.
He still didn’t look at me, but I saw his brow lower. “I don’t. Shite is what the Scottish say.”
“Rutherford is not Scottish.” I don’t know why I wanted to challenge him. But it was fun.
“Oh, yeah. I forgot to tell you guys that it’s actually MacRutherford.”
Okay. That was solid. We both laughed. And for a while, we shot the shit. He’d come into the old operating theatre after his hospital shifts and get stoned, listen to music or whatever. It was the only room in the hospital that wasn’t actively being used. Probably because it was littered with garbage. But that was kind of what I liked about it. Brendon, too. It was quiet, and we could make it our own.
“So, really… Why ya trashin’ the camp, Phil Collins?”
He was full of dad jokes. “Yeah, I’m not gonna talk to you about my marriage.”
“Ooh!” He turned to me, excitement sparkling in his eyes. “Spill your guts.”
“No.”
A crease appeared between his eyebrows. “Pwease!” His bottom lip jutted out in a pouty, stupid way. “Never marry. Never ever divorce.”
“We’re not getting a divorce,” I said with more force than intended. It shut him up immediately. He almost looked a little frightened.
“Ok. Sorry.” He put his hands up as if in defense.
Silence.
“If only—” A knock on the double doors interrupted what I was going to say. After a quick glance at one another, almost wondering if we were actually together in the same place, we gave the all-clear. Lisa stepped into the room.
A weird feeling came over me. It was a mixture of the relaxation of relief coupled with the sudden intensity of dulled anger. The funny thing was that she noticed nothing else but me. It was as if her gaze already knew where to go.
“Hi, Jack.”
“Hijack? Oh, she’s hijacking the room. I better go. See ya!” Brendon didn’t even look at me before fleeing past her.
Coward.
“Hey,” I said, feeling immediately guilty at the tone of my voice. But instead of apologizing, I decided to let her go first.
“I realize I spent more time intending to listen to you than actually listening and for that, I’m sorry, Jack.”
Anger left my body all at once in a long whoosh. My chest tightened with guilt for being so pissed. For kicking the shit out of the garbage can. For doubting one fucking second of our relationship. She must have sensed the change in me because she came closer.
I let the last ounce of fury leave me through a sigh. No one in my life had ever apolog
ized first after an argument. This was brand new to me.
You’re so Goddamned whipped.
“I was really mad.” The words escaped me before my brain could stop them. And when I reflected on them, they sounded almost scared.
Lisa nodded, taking a seat beside me. She took a brief, disapproving glance at the weed, but moved forward. “It’s very easy for me to forget that not everyone responds to tragedy the same way I do.”
Tragedy? What a load of shi—
I looked into her blue eyes, realizing in that moment that it was a tragedy for both of us. I’d been thinking I was in this alone. So alone it was hard to sleep.
“When I took a step back from my own behavior, I realized anyone would have reacted much the way you did,” she explained after placing a gentle hand on my thigh. Her hands were warm. “How do you feel?”
“A little better,” I said.
“No.” She adjusted her position, so her legs were tucked underneath her. “How do you feel about the way I’m acting about the situation?”
I felt a small spike in my blood pressure. “Well, calling it a situation isn’t a great start.”
She nodded. “Noted. What would you like me to call it?”
What a fucking stupid question.
I could feel myself becoming more flustered.
How the fuck are we supposed to know?
Her hand was on my thigh again, distracting me from the anger. “What do you refer to it as in your mind?”
Now that was a better question. “I just feel like you aren’t affected by it as much because you have Rex.” The entire sentence came out in one long held-in breath.
She actually smiled. “Now we’re getting somewhere.” She paused. Maybe she was gathering her thoughts. Her expression was blank – as it usually was when she was contemplating what to say. Her musings were never spontaneous. She always knew the right words, even if it took her a moment to find them.
Finally, she nodded. “I can understand that. It did seem that way, didn’t it?”
I looked at her after sitting idle since she’d joined me on the sofa. “Yeah. It did.”
“I’m sorry, Jack.”
“Do you even want to get pregnant again?”
Pause. “Truthfully, no. The entire process is horrid. But…” Her hand was now on my arm, sending a nice flutter down to my gut. “If we’re having our child, then of course I’d do it again.”
