by Ava Harrison
My body lurches forward.
My sweat stained clothes cling to my frail limbs.
That smell again.
It’s everywhere. The smell lingers in the room as if I’m stuck in a nightmare.
Copper. Always copper.
The door slams against the wall, the sound ricocheting through the room. “Are you okay?” Sydney’s eyes glow in the dark of my room as she rushes to my bed.
“I . . . I don’t know.” I wipe my damp cheek with the back of my hand and lean back into my pillow.
The same dream.
Always the same damn dream.
“You were screaming so loudly—it was blood curdling. I was so scared. Was it a nightmare again?”
“Yeah, but I . . . I can never remember the whole thing. Once I open my eyes it goes away. Just pieces and smells . . .” My whole body shakes with the fear of not knowing what is happening to me.
“Shh, you’re okay,” she coos while rubbing my back. “That must have been an awful dream.” Her hand continues to run circles over my back as my breathing regulates.
“I wish they would stop.” My shoulders sag in defeat.
“Do you think this is because of Richard’s death?”
I turn my face so our eyes meet. “Honestly? I don’t know.”
“Do you want to tell me about it? Anything at all that you can recall?”
“I don’t know what there is to say. I can’t remember. It is always so vivid, but the moment I open my eyes I only remember the smell . . . and, I guess, the screaming.”
“I’ve got to be honest, every day you get a little worse. Your screaming becomes worse and worse, and all last week at work . . . I could see you were having anxiety. Enough of this shit. You need to see someone. I think you need to call that shrink.”
“I can’t go to him.” I cross my arms over my chest, lower my head and close my eyes.
“Why the hell not?”
I don’t answer.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
Tentatively, I lift my head and meet her stare. “Well, I bumped into him yesterday at the hospital with Mom,” I manage.
“Wait, the hospital? What is your mom doing in the hospital?” She blinks. “Why am I only hearing about this now?”
“I wasn’t up for talking about it last night, I’m sorry. I just couldn’t last night.”
She studies me curiously, then her gaze lowers and I wonder if she’s hurt.
“Okay . . .” She lets out air from her lungs, clearly upset that I withheld information from her.
“It’s—”
“Well, you need to go to someone else, then.” She glances back up, and this time two deep lines of worry appear between her eyes.
“I don’t know anyone else.” I shudder inwardly at the thought of having to talk to anyone, especially him.
“Listen, I’ll ask around, but if I can’t find anyone else, just call him.”
I consider what she says and reluctantly nod. “Thanks, Syd.” My chin quivers. “It means a lot to me.”
“Of course. You’re my best friend. Like I said, if I can’t find you a different doctor, you have to call him.”
“Okay, got it. Thanks.”
Sydney’s eyes dart to the clock, then back to me. “It’s almost six. Want to get up and go out for breakfast?”
“You should go back to bed. No reason for us both to be up this early.”
She smiles at me brightly. “I’m already wide awake. Might as well grab waffles. You know you want some.”
I do want some. I let out an audible sigh and she laughs. “You twisted my arm.” I wink.
Hopping out of bed, I head for the bathroom to shower and make myself presentable.
When we finally get to the diner, Sydney opens the door and a chime goes off as we enter. It’s busy.
“Shit,” she says. “Guess we have to wait.” Usually neither of us comes this early in the morning, so we didn’t anticipate the wait. There’s a line right by the hostess booth and as I scan the room I don’t spot any open tables. A familiar scent wafts through the air. Confectioners sugar, coffee and the spicy flavor/scent of nutmeg.
Without warning, my pulse picks up as I’m transported back in time to only a few weeks ago. To the last time I was here.
Richard. I was here with him. His presence is all around me. His laugh filters through the space.
“Hey kiddo.” He leaned in and gave me a warm hug and a soft kiss on my forehead.
“Richard,” I exclaimed through a laugh. “I’m twenty-four. You can’t call me kiddo anymore.”
“Sure I can. You will always be ‘kiddo’ to me.” He laughed this time and my mouth split into a huge smile as I rolled my eyes.
“Fine.”
“Plus, I’m not allowed to show nepotism at the office. This is the only time I get to call you that.” All I could do was shake my head at him. He was right. He couldn’t play favorites, and I imagined calling me nicknames in the office would be frowned upon by the rest of the staff.
“I see you almost every day outside the office, too.”
“That you do, but normally when we see each other it’s in an office or with your mother. You and I have haven’t had time to really talk since you got your promotion a month ago. So, how do you feel about being the point person now?”
“It’s a transition. I still get nervous on the initial pitch, and it’s a bit hard taking lead on the clients, but I like it.”
“Good. You really are a natural, you know.” His praise made me smile.
“I don’t feel like a natural. It feels like I can barely remember what I’m supposed to say.”
“You are, trust me. I have seen many account coordinators transition into account executive. Not everyone can handle the new responsibilities, but you have a knack for it. You’ll do perfect on your new pitch.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I have faith in you.”
I let his words wash over me, they made me believe in myself. They gave me hope that I would succeed.
“Thank you.”
“Enough about work. It’s Saturday. What do you have planned for the day?”
“Sydney and I are going to the new restaurant that opened up in the meat packing distract.”
A small line formed in his forehead. It was almost unnoticeable but I saw it. I wondered what his problem with her was. She was a good friend to me and a fantastic worker. However, Richard always seems put off by her. One day I’d ask him what that was all about. But today was a good day. Mom was in a good place when I called, and I wouldn’t ruin my day by asking questions I might not like the answers to.
That was a little over four weeks ago. Two weeks later, Richard suffered cardiac arrest. I never did get to ask him. But I guess it no longer matters.
These swirling thoughts have my hands becoming clammy and my vision blurring as my pulse picks up. I will myself to breathe. To not let the fear win. From out of nowhere, my hand becomes encased by Sydney’s warm grasp. She squeezes once, letting me know she has me. Lifting my head, our eyes meet. Hers are full of love and compassion. She mouths the word “breathe” and I do. I breathe and step forward as the sadness fades away and I’m back in the present.
Being back at work becomes even harder as the days pass. By the time I return home, I resort to drinking to cope with my days and keep the nightmares at bay. My terrors and anxiety have gotten worse, and I still haven’t called the number I know I need to call. I’m not sure what my hesitation is. I guess I’m hoping Sydney finds me someone else.
Tonight I lie in bed sobbing. My bedroom door pushes open and I peer through swollen lids to find Sydney standing in the doorway. I don’t speak and neither does she. Her eyes are sunken in from worry as she gnaws at her upper lip.
“This is enough already. You are falling apart and it’s breaking my heart. Earlier today I spoke to Natalie.”
My mouth opens to object. Natalie works in the office with us. I can�
��t have her knowing that I’m falling apart at the seams.
“Don’t worry. I didn’t tell Natalie it was you. I told her it was for my younger brother.”
My tears dry as I consider this. It would make complete sense. Sydney’s brother is a notorious fuck-up in his senior year of some fancy prep school in the city. She’s always complaining about him getting expelled.
“She gave me the number of her therapist, Dr. Cole. We’re calling her first thing on Monday morning and you’re going to see her, understand?”
“Yes.” I sniffle.
“Good.”
Sydney is right.
Dr. Montgomery is right.
I need to speak to someone.
I need to fix whatever is broken inside me.
And I need to do it before it’s too late.
Before I turn into her.
“Are you nervous?” Sydney asks.
Am I? Hell yeah, I am. It’s been a few days since she got me the number of the therapist, and when I did nothing with said number for two days, Sydney took it upon herself to call and get me an appointment.
“Wouldn’t you be?” I grit out.
“Wait, is this really the first time you have an actual appointment to see a therapist?” I nod. “So, even when you were young and your dad died, you never saw anyone?”
“Nope.”
“You would think they would have made you.”
“Nope.”
She furrows her brows at my one-word answer. A tense silence echoes through the room.
“Do I really have to go?” I finally groan as I bury my head in my hands.
“Girl . . . I love you, but yes, you do. You looked like a walking zombie today at work. If they were planning to sack anyone, I wouldn’t be surprised if you were the first to get the boot.”
I pout my lip and roll my eyes. “Fine.”
“Good girl,” she chides as she throws her coat on.
“Where you going?”
“I’m walking you.”
My eyes widen.
“What?”
Sydney tries unsuccessfully to suppress a laugh. Her cheeks puff up until she finally fails and one escapes. “I’m walking you to your appointment.” Her lips twitch with amusement as she wraps a scarf around her neck. “What are you still doing lying there like a lump?”
Despite the fact I have no desire to see Dr. Cole, I find myself getting up and putting on my coat. “Lead the way, bitch,” I mutter under my breath, eliciting another round of giggles from Sydney.
Dr. Cole’s office is not at all what I expected. First off, it’s in Alphabet City. Secondly, it’s in the basement of a dingy building. Not that I need a fancy Park Avenue location, but this is kind of sketchy.
Sydney chews on her lower lip as she steals a look at the building. “So . . .this looks—”
“Like a dump?” I chime in.
“I was going to say interesting. But yeah, it looks like a dump.” She grabs my arm. “Come on, we’ve come this far. No backing out now.”
I follow her into the building and down the steps to the basement apartment. A chime goes off as we enter. When we step in, I know instantly this isn’t the right psychologist for me. The place is grimy and dirty. The sound of something shattering has us looking up. A man walks out dressed in wrinkled slacks and there’s a stain on his shirt. Not at all professional-looking. Not like Dr. Montgomery. I can’t see someone like this. I wouldn’t feel comfortable telling him anything.
“You must be, Eve,” he says. His eyes linger on me a second too long, making my back stiffen uncomfortably.
“There seems to be a misunderstanding. I’m so sorry, but we have to go.” The words tumble out as I grab Sydney’s hand and usher her out the door.
“Well, that was . . .” Sydney trails off, trying to articulate exactly what that was.
“Very unprofessional, right?”
“Yeah, totally. I’ll make a few more calls and see who else I can find. But first, let’s find the nearest subway and get the hell out of here.” She pulls me down the street.
When we’re back in Murray Hill, we decide to walk down Third Avenue to find a place to eat dinner. Sydney taps away at her phone the entire meal. By the time we’re finished and returning to our apartment, she had two more psychologists with spots open for me.
The next few days are a whirlwind of appointments. It feels as if I’ve seen every therapist in the tri-state area . . . Well, maybe not every one. One was unprofessional, one was an ice queen, and one’s voice just rubbed me the wrong way. I couldn’t imagine seeing any of them. I couldn’t imagine being comfortable enough to divulge my life to these people. I could imagine each of them judging, criticizing, and in the end I knew none of them would make me feel safe. There was still one I hadn’t called and even I was starting to chastise myself for that. What was my holdup with calling him, anyway?
Other than the fact he was handsome, there was nothing else stopping me. I couldn’t think of one reason I shouldn’t see him as my therapist. I was comfortable with him. He made me feel safe, and he was able to talk me out of a panic attack not once but two times. Both times he never judged me. He had compassion in his eyes and a genuine expression that promised he wanted to help me. The only holdup I could see was his looks, and that was starting to sound like a ridiculous reason even to me.
So what if he’s good looking? His looks shouldn’t play a part in my treatment.
There’s only one choice I can make in this situation . . .
I’m calling him.
I called him.
Well, I called Dr. Montgomery’s office.
Despite my hesitation, deep in my bones something tells me he is the only one that can help with my panic attacks. After the last three psychologists I met with, I no longer trust anyone’s referral. Truth be told, he was the only one who made me feel comfortable.
He made me feel safe.
His simple breathing techniques have already alleviated the aching pain that presses on my chest when I feel I’m losing control.
“So, what time is your appointment?” Sydney asks as she walks into my room. I’ve been standing here for at least ten minutes trying to decide what to wear.
“Ten.”
“Well, you better get ready, then.” A smile spreads across her features as she eyes my outfit.
I look down and survey my attire. “What? You don’t think I can go like this?” I wave my hand down my body to emphasize my pajamas.
“As beautiful as you are—and trust me, Eve, you are, I don’t think it’s appropriate to see your therapist for the first time in booty shorts and a see-through cami.”
“Yeah, you might be right. Okay, I’ll get dressed. Want to meet after my appointment at Café Europa? We can grab a bite.” Pulling out a chambray shirt, I hold it up for her approval, and she shakes her head yes.
“Why don’t you text me? I should be able to, but if not, you can fill me in on all the details when I get home later.”
I roll my eyes and huff. “This will probably be a waste of time.”
“Maybe not. You’ll never know until you try.” Her shoulders lift as she turns to leave, closing the door behind her.
Once she’s out of the room, I strip down and put on a more appropriate outfit. I pair my chambray shirt with black leggings and black riding boots. When I’m fully dressed, I sit on the bed and close my eyes for a brief moment. Seeing him again has me on edge. I have no idea what to expect. The questions play in my mind as my anxiety spikes.
What will it be like to talk to him?
Tell him about my nightmares?
Can I do it?
Will he judge me? He hasn’t yet.
He’s only been kind. Caring.
I breathe in deeply to calm the thoughts in my head. I can’t afford for them to drift. I need to be strong and not let my fear win.
My chin chatters from the frigid air as I stand on the corner and wait for the light to change. Cars rush by, but I see no e
mpty cabs. I look down the street and then at my watch. There’s no time to wait, so I decide to walk the ten blocks.
With every step I take, I feel the nervous energy within me build. Usually walking calms me, but today it doesn’t help at all. As I hurry down Park Avenue, I get lost in thought. My brain can’t wrap itself around the reason these nightmares have started, and I’m not even sure what’s triggering my recent panic attacks. I assume it has something to do with Richard, but at the same time I’m not sure. Scary thought. But as frightened as I am to find out, I’m more frightened to keep on living like this.
I can’t become my mom.
I can’t let my fear turn me into a woman who’s too scared to live her life.
After ten minutes, I arrive at the address on the card. The building itself is intimating and harsh. It towers high into the sky, the sun gleaming off the walls of tinted glass. With timid steps, I walk inside and immediately notice a broad Lucite desk in the center of the lobby. I head over and smile at the security guard for the building seated behind the surface, thankful he can’t see my hands shaking at my sides.
I brighten my smile to hide my nerves. “I have an appointment with Dr. Montgomery.”
“And you are?” he asks, narrowing his eyes at me.
“Eve Hamilton.”
“Look toward the camera, please.” He motions to a small lens protruding from the desk. After the camera flashes once, I turn my attention back to him and he looks down at a screen built into his desktop and starts to type.
“Please proceed to the elevator on the right-hand side of the lobby and press the button for the eighteenth floor,” he directs as he hands me my visitor pass.
“Thank you.”
I proceed to the elevator and press the button to Dr. Montgomery’s floor. Cheesy elevator music echoes through the air. As the elevator climbs, a pulsating knot forms in my belly. The idea of sitting across from this man and airing my dirty laundry is making me feel ill. I’m not sure I’ll be able to go through with this, but since I’ve come this far already, I decide to take the plunge. My lungs expand with oxygen to calm myself. When the elevator reaches his floor, I step out and search for his office. Once inside, a middle-aged woman sitting behind a desk greets me.
