Dr. Tyler looks up. “It’s not a cop out. Everyone has their reasons. Is that yours?”
“I suppose,” I admit, and the feeling of admitting it is huge. I don’t know why. But there is something freeing about saying it out loud. “I took drugs to cope with the void that I feel.”
Does that make me a *, after all?
Dr. Tyler looks interested. “Did it help? Did it fill the void?”
I stare at my hands. “Yes.”
“When the drugs wore off, did the void come back?”
“Yes,” I answer quietly.
“Is the void still there?” The doctor is definitely interested now, his dark eyes staring into mine. I look away, at the wall, at the clock.
“Yes,” I answer honestly.
It’s quiet now, the only noise coming from Dr. Tyler’s pen scratching across the page. I have the urge to reach over and grab it, to snap it into two. But I obviously don’t. That would be crazy and I have no reason. I don’t know where my sudden anger is coming from. I flex my fingers against my knee.
“You don’t like talking to me, do you?” Dr. Tyler observes without lifting up his head.
“No, I don’t.”
“Then why are you here?”
I think about that, trying to come up with a somewhat polite answer.
“Because Mila asked me. And because I’m tired of the messed up dreams.”
The doctor looks at me, his eyes kind. “What exactly bothers you the most about the dreams? It must be something substantial to get you to come see me.”
My foot bounces up and down with nervous energy.
“I don’t know. I think it’s because my mom seems to want something and I’m not able to give it to her and it seems important. And because she turns into Mila and that freaks me out.”
The doctor smiles. “I wouldn’t worry about that aspect. Many people associate others in their dreams and it doesn’t mean anything significant, at least regarding that person. Most of the time, it’s symbolic of something else entirely. If I had to guess and at this point, it’s an early guess, but if I had to guess, I would say that your mother turns into Mila because you have a deep-seeded fear that Mila is going to leave you like your mother did.”
Shock slams into me and I suck in my breath. It’s quite a concept and one that I hadn’t thought of.
“My mother didn’t leave me,” I manage to answer. “She died. There’s a difference.”
“Yes, there is. But to a seven-year old boy who has been uprooted from everything he knows, there’s not much difference. And it was at that point, when you were seven, that that idea was formed. In your head, she left you. And it was perfectly normal to feel angry about that. It’s one of the normal phases of grief, actually. But since you blocked it out and didn’t deal with it, you’ve never successfully gone through those stages. You might be stuck in the anger phase.”
“Fuck,” I breathe.
“Indeed,” the doctor answers. “You’ve got some work ahead of you.”
He scribbles some more and I pull at my collar as the room seems to get hotter and hotter. Then thankfully, my hour is over.
On the way out, the doctor scribbles something on a little paper and hands it to me.
“It’s for Xanax,” he says. “If you get the urge to use something again, to block out the stress or anger, get this filled instead.”
I give him a hard look.
“I told you. I don’t need this.” I start to hand it back, but he holds up his hand.
“Take it,” he urges me. “Just in case.”
I roll my eyes.
“Whatever.” I crumple it as I shove it into my pocket. “See you next week.”
Chapter Fourteen
Mila
Why in the world did I agree to help with the lunch rush at The Hill? For one thing, there isn’t a lunch rush, not during this time of year. And for another, I should’ve known that Maddy only wanted to get me here to lecture me.
“I don’t like it,” she tells me now, referring to Pax. And me seeing Pax again last night. “He’s not good for you. He’s going to break your heart and leave me with the pieces to put back together.”
I stare at her. “We’ve been through this. Your opinion has been noted. Is there anything else?”
I stand in front of her desk with my hands on my hips and what I hope is a defiant expression on my face.
Madison purses her lips, then shakes her head.
“No.”
“Good. I’m going to go finish my side-work, then I’m out of here for the day.”
“Can you come back and help tonight?”
I shake my head. “No. You didn’t schedule me and I have plans.”
She glares. “With our resident drug dealer?”
I glare back. “He’s not a drug dealer and it’s not your business.”
“You’re my sister, so it is my business,” she tells me snappily.
I don’t bother to answer, I just head out to the dining room. Tony is whistling at the bar and I edge up to him, perching on a bar stool.
I smile at his tuneless song. “Tony, you’re always happy. Why is that?”