Chapter 52

Poppy

I was shoved into another sterile room that smelled like lavender and hope—two things I found equally repulsive at the moment. Lavender was absolutely not going to be my new go-to scent.

The couch is uncomfortably soft, making me miss my own less accommodating chair that didn't try to lull me into a false sense of security.

Dr. Peterson, with her ever-patient smile and clipboard, that I imagined, was filled with questions designed to pick me apart, waits for me to get comfortable.

Comfortable, ha! As if that was on the day's agenda.

"How are you feeling today, Poppy?" she starts her voice a soft, treacherous promise of empathy. "Remember, this is a safe space," she added, a cliché that made me want to roll my eyes.

Safe space? I snort inwardly. "Peachy," I reply, plastering a fake smile on my face. Hmm, maybe I should try peach-flavored items? "Why does everyone keep asking me that? If I were feeling good, I wouldn ' t be here, would I? Look, doc, I ' m talking," I gesture my hand in the talking signal. I force myself to smile wider, "I ' m grinning." It's fake as fuck.

Her lips twitch as if she's pleased. Was my anger a good sign?

Shit! It was. I remember after Mom and Dad died, the school therapist brought me into her office and explained the stages of grief. Anger was one of them.

I don ' t know how it feels to move on when Andrew is still here with me.

Dr. Peterson is silent for a moment, considering her approach, I assume.

"I ' ll be honest," she begins.

Good for you, Dr. Peterson.

"I ' ve been told what happened to you, but I would rather hear it from you. Can you tell me what you ' re comfortable sharing about your experiences? Whatever you ' re ready to talk about."

"My experiences," I raise a brow. "Well, I got a bikini wax once. Harper talked me into it. The problem was the girl I had had never done it before. She left the wax on for too long, so when she ripped it off, it took some skin," I fake laugh. "Harper had to take me to an urgent care. There was only a male doctor, and yeah, I had to show him the aftermath of war," I point to my nether regions. "So yeah, that was an experience. Was that a good one, Dr. Peterson?"

I'm...a terrible bitch. Victim of my circumstances. Being bitchy is easier than crying, though.

"You can fight, yell at me, push me away, curl into yourself, and see who is willing to remain by your side. I ' ve met Henry and Harper; I know Julian. They are all so stubborn. They are not going to let Andrew win, Poppy." She pushes her glasses up again.

Get them adjusted, or actually get contacts.

"So why are you letting Andrew win?"

Now who's the bitch.Going for the cheap shot, are we, doc?

She chuckles, "I ' m sure you ' ve got quite an imagination you're using right now. I know you ' re angry with me because I ' m pushing you."

"So stop!" I hiss. "Better yet, I'll stop." then I stand and leave.

***

I've had four failed sessions with the doctor, but today, well...why the hell not?

Julian ' s persistent; he kisses me every morning. Simple yet filled with the promise of a future. Harper brings me baskets of new scents. I told them all to stop with the pumpkin, although Julian still calls me that.

Henry, well, he brought me a box filled with broken items he could pull out from the debris of our house. I haven ' t looked in that box.

I ' m going to talk to Dr. Peterson today. I didn ' t take the sleeping pills last night, and I didn ' t sleep. Andrew was there with me, and Julian slept on the small couch in the room.

I opt for sitting on the floor and not that beanbag-like couch. I don ' t want to be comfortable because what I have to talk about isn ' t comfortable.

Dr. Peterson looks pleased. The bitch should; she ' s winning.

Am I a loser everyone gets to claim victory over?

"I... see his face," I admitted, hating the shiver that ran through me. " My ex. It ' s like he ' s still watching me. I hear him talking to me." I dig my nails into the Berber carpet, a piece of it snagging on the edge of my nail, trying to break it.

"What does the voice say?" She tries to keep her expression neutral.

"I'm not crazy," I shake my head.

"I didn ' t say you were," she quickly interjects.

Then what are you writing down?

"I don ' t hear him like a voice in my head. I ' m not hearing things," I clarify sharply. My exhale rumbles through me. "I hear his threats, his promises, and the memories."

She nods and scribbles some more on her clipboard.

"That sounds incredibly tough," Dr. Peterson said gently. "How does it make you feel when you see his face?"

"Haunted," I muttered. " Like, I ' m never going to be free of Andrew. Tell me, Dr. Peterson, do they still do lobotomies? Can you just scramble my brains around and erase him?" I snort a laugh.

"You see what just happened. I said 'brains' to make a joke. I make jokes because they make others stop probing. Harper and I started doing it after my parents died." I admit. "Anyway, I said 'brain,' and then I thought about Andrew ' s brains. Most of it went on Peter ' s gravestone. You know what?" I glance up at the ceiling. " Andrew killed the maintenance man, so now I ' m wondering if his brains are still there staining my brother ' s memory."

I look her in the eye, "Did anyone scrape off Andrew ' s brains yet?"

She presses her lips together, spreading her pink gloss over them.

I shrug. "I can't erase my memories. I don't think you can either. Maybe there is a drug out there that can make it all fuzzy, but then I'll just be a shell. What's the point of living as a shell?"

"Is that why you didn't take the medicine last night?"

I shrug again.

"True, memories can be persistent," she acknowledged. "You can make new ones, though. What are your thoughts on what healing might look like for you?"

I laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. "Healing? I just want a Band-Aid to cover up my wounds. You ' re the best, so they all say. So tell me what I need to do so I can slap a Band-Aid over this and move on."

" Band-Aids are temporary. Wounds fester," Dr. Peterson says. Finally, she looks up from her clipboard, meeting my eyes with a steadiness that irks me. "Poppy, healing is a journey, not a destination. It ' s not about forgetting or erasing—it ' s about reclaiming your space and your peace."

"Reclaiming peace," I echoed mockingly. "Sounds like a romance novel from the eighties," I jest. "You make it sound like a crusade. I ' m not the soldier; Julian is."

"In many ways, it is, and you are a fighter. We all are. It ' s ingrained in our DNA. You ' ve survived a lot of hardships, and you ' ll survive this," Dr. Peterson replies softly. "Can you think of any goals you might want to set for yourself, small or large?"

"Is not blowing my brains out a good one?"

Her pen freezes.

I roll my eyes, "It was a joke. I was joking."

"Do you think about doing that?" she probes.

"No," I slap my hands on my thighs. " I was joking."I brought the conversation back to Andrew...again.

Give her what she wants to hear if you don ' t want to be put on a psychiatric hold.

No more jokes. "I don ' t want to see his face. I don ' t want to bring conversations back to Andrew's memory every time I think or speak. That ' s a goal I ' d like to have," the truth of it settling like a weight in my stomach.

"Those are excellent starts," Dr. Peterson smiles genuinely this time. "Remember, Poppy, you ' re not alone in this. We ' ll take it one step at a time."

"I ' d rather just take a big jump and be done with it." Oh, fuck, she ' s misunderstood me again. "I don ' t mean like that." I close my eyes, keeping them sealed shut. "I meant I want to be fixed and fast. I don ' t want to talk about the past and rehash it."

"I get it. It ' s tough, but isn ' t taking one big step and not baby ones what you did in the past?" she observes.

"What do you mean?" I frown as I open my eyes.

She crosses her legs. "You ran, you took a big step, you made a huge life change instead of confronting your past. It didn ' t work out so well, Poppy. How about we not repeat our mistakes? Baby steps. Let ' s talk; let ' s heal so you can move on."