"I don't want to talk about it. Please leave me alone."
She didn't back off. "Do you have any idea who did this? We heard you had a fight with Bridgette just before her kidnapping. Do you think that had something to do with it?"
"Go away!" I clenched my teeth, waiting in front of Cavin's door for him to show up for his scheduled conference time.
"Just tell us what happened. Our readers deserve to know."
I spun on her, knocking the camera out of the guy's hand as I scowled at the girl. "They deserve to know? Why? Who the fuck gave them, or you, any rights to my goddamn life? My goddamn story. Get the hell away from me!"
She smiled a predatory smile and took furious notes while the guy with her complained loudly about his broken camera.
Cavin showed up then, taking in the scene quickly and turning on the reporter. "I believe Miss Travis asked you to leave her alone, and if you print any of this exchange in any way, I will personally make sure you are kicked out of Harvard and lose all opportunity to work in journalism again. Do you understand me?"
Her face paled and she turned to leave, dragging her pissed off photographer with her, but not before I grabbed the notebook out of her hand. "I'll keep this, thanks."
As the anger drained out of me I began to shake, my heart racing and palms sweating as the world became too loud, too chaotic and I couldn't hear anything but the cacophony inside my head. My skin crawled until I wanted to tear it off and step out of it and I couldn't stay still. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.
Cavin's arm settled over me as he guided me into his office and made me a cup of tea. "Drink this and just breathe."
When my mind calmed enough to see more clearly and listen to him, he handed me a card. "I've taken the liberty of making an appointment for you with an old friend of mine. She's the best counselor I know and she even treated Alice once, years ago."
I took the card, studying the name on it. Lauren Schultz. "What did my mom see her about?"
"A cat, actually. She had this kitten she loved more than anything. When he died, she took it hard. Lauren helped her work through it. She specializes in PTSD and overcoming emotional and physical trauma. I think she'll be able to help you."
I nodded, knowing I needed help. Knowing I couldn't keep going on like this. "When's the appointment?”
He looked at his watch. "In twenty minutes. Come on, you can let me drive that fancy new car you pulled up in."
***
We arrived at Lauren's office just in time. Cavin waited outside while she offered me tea and my choice of seats in her comfortable office. I chose a chair, unwilling to lie down as I unloaded all my problems to a stranger. She took the chair across from me as I looked around her office. "It's nice here. I like the artwork on the wall." She had an eclectic selection of classic prints from the impressionist and expressionist eras.
"Thank you. I try to make it a comfortable place for my patients."
"Professor Cavin said you knew my mother, Alice Travis?"
She nodded and smiled, her green eyes bright and happy, contrasting dramatically with her dark hair and clear skin. "I did. She was a remarkable woman."
I shifted in my seat. "I went to a counselor once, when I was a teenager. After the murders. I didn't much like it, though, and my foster parents stopped making me go. So I'm not sure what we're supposed to do here."
"There's no 'supposed to' here. We just talk and I see if I can help you handle some of the incredible difficulties you've been faced with lately."
"So, where do we begin?" I asked, picking invisible lint off my jeans.
"Why don't you tell me how you've been feeling since you were attacked and kidnapped?"
She clicked on a recorder and my throat went dry. I sipped on the tea she'd given me and began to tell her about the headaches, the anxiety attacks, the colors and sounds and overwhelming anger I'd been feeling.
She nodded, making appropriately comforting sounds as I spoke, her voice and demeanor professional and calm. At one point, she got out a bottle of perfume and sprayed it in the air. The sweet smell ticked my nose. I began to relax and share more, until I'd told her everything.
"It sounds to me," she said, "like you're suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, which isn't uncommon after what you've gone through. That, combined with what's just happened with your best friend, can be very hard to handle. I know your doctor has you on medication for your head injury, but I'd like to prescribe an anti-anxiety medication as well, to be taken only as needed when things start to feel too overwhelming."
I agreed and she put away her notebook and stood. "Our time is up, but I hope you'll continue to come see me so we can work through this together. I liked your mother and it would be an honor to help her daughter."