Restore Me (6 page)

“Who do you want to visit with? Giant whales? A
complicated teen that gets tossed out of private school?”

Talking to Hemingway about book selection is
just plain nutty, but I need a distraction badly. There’s no way to
dress that up to make it better. Talking to my dog about books is a
whole lot better than sitting around feeling ass hurt over Zombie
Damon dismissing me. After a complete mental breakdown, he finally
decides to speak to his assistant. Not his girlfriend. His fucking
assistant.

If Captain were alive, I’d make up some excuse
to go talk to him. He never turned me away. Not once. Thinking
about Captain has me thinking about my heartbreaking dream.
Captain’s right. No one likes being in the dark. I don’t like it in
the literal sense and I damn sure don’t like it in the figurative
sense.
In the dark.
I guess I’m in the dark since Damon
dismissed me like some annoyance.

Maybe he’s in the dark, too.

***

Versan’s
receptionist waves me in, and I know I should say something, but I
walk right past her and into his office. One look at him and my
level of irritation goes through the roof.

He’s as cool and collected as always, sitting in
his shrink chair. “Come in. Make yourself comfortable,
Josephine.”

“For fuck’s sake, please call me Jo!” I snap,
plopping down on the patient couch. It’s tan suede and deliciously
comfortable, especially compared to Damon’s crap couches.

He nods in resignation and leans back in his
seat. “Okay. I’m sorry,” he says cordially.

There’s that stupid feeling of guilt that I
hate. He sounds so
nice
that then I feel bad for snapping at
him. I look down, feeling a tad shameful as I settle into my seat
and put my bag on the floor.

“You seem agitated this morning. Care to discuss
it?” He flips open the object I dread most about these visits, his
leather bound notebook, his fancy ass pen poised to take notes.

“Not really,” I lie. But I do want to get it off
my chest. I’m so damn frustrated I could ninja kick a stranger in
the head right about now.

“I think you should. It may help.” He cocks his
head to the side, looking at me like I’m some sort of science
experiment.

“Okaaaay.” I draw out my response like a true
smartass then adjust the hem of my tank top just for something to
do.
I’m fidgeting like a gutless wimp.
Stalling isn’t going
to help me here. “Yesterday was tough is all… After you left, I
fell asleep and had a weird dream, and then Damon decided to make
me feel even more invisible. Brian brought us dinner and they hid
out in his office. He still won’t say a word. Not to me anyway. He
talked to Brian. He didn’t sleep in his bed. So, yeah I’m a little
edgy. I’m flying blind here.”

“Let’s talk about the dream first.”

Sounds fucking peachy, Sigmund Freud.
I
nod reluctantly, giving him the green light to analyze the shit out
of everything.

“Tell me about it.” He crosses his legs and gets
comfortable. Ready to write.

“Well, I dreamed that I was sleeping and Sutton
woke me up. He said that I wasn’t alone and that he would never
leave me. I was freaking out because I couldn’t find the light. He
told me that no one likes being in the dark. He said that just
because I couldn’t see him it didn’t mean he wasn’t still there.” I
sum up the dream and shrug like it means nothing, when in reality;
I’m hanging onto my composure by a thread. Yesterday morning I was
begging for some emotion, for some tears; right now I wish I could
put a lid on this shit. I’m all over the place.

“Do you think maybe you’ve manifested this dream
out of a subconscious fear?”

“A fear of what? The dark?” I feign confusion
while the good doctor looks on quizzically.

“Not of the actual dark, Jo. When I say the word
dark, what are some things that come to mind? Go ahead. Tell
me.”

“Um…Cold. Alone. Unprepared. Blind.
Disadvantaged. Weak. Vulnerable,” I mumble. I’m staring right at
him but my eyes don’t focus at all.

His pen scribbles away and I can’t seem to think
about anything but the words that just popped out of my mouth.
Unprepared. Vulnerable. Weak.

“I want you to think about why you associate
those words with darkness and next appointment we’re going to
continue with the subject. Right now, I’d like to move on to how
you and Damon are interacting.”

I guffaw sarcastically at his choice of words.
“Interacting? Um, not the word I’d choose. But it’s your show here,
so go for it.”

“Why wouldn’t you use that word?” Versan seems
taken aback, which I don’t understand at all. He’s seen Zombie
Damon! He’s tried to “interact” with him.

“Because he’s acting like I don’t exist! I
thought him being in…s-stress shock or whatever you called it was
bad, but this is worse. He acknowledged Brian. He even talked to
him! But me? Nothing.”

“Why do you think he’s doing that?” he asks,
looking down at his accumulating notes.

“I don’t know. Maybe he blames me for causing
this mess. Maybe he hates me. I can’t blame him for hating me. I
should’ve given him a chance to explain; to tell me his side of the
story, ya know?” I’m nervous and I want to do something with my
hands.
What the hell is that?
I settle for resting them,
palms down, on my jeans and try to keep them still.

“I don’t think he hates you, Jo,” Versan’s voice
holds the tiniest hint of compassion. “I think he’s depressed;
severely depressed. Both of you need to understand that he has a
long road of healing ahead of him. Both of you do.”

I hang my head. “I get that now. I didn’t
realize how bad it was. How bad he was. It’s my fault he did what
he did. I’m bad for him. Just say it.” My knee starts bouncing up
and down. Versan notices it, of course, and jots something down
without even looking at the notebook.
Fucking shrinks!

“If you’re looking for me to tell you to give up
on him; that you two aren’t good for each other, I won’t. I know
that would make this far easier on you, but I’m afraid I can’t do
that. What do you know about his parents?”

Finally! A question I know the correct answer
to.
“I know his mom ditched him and his dad is a raging
dickhead who lives in a bottle.”

“So you can imagine how he feels about being
abandoned.”

I nod and feel like hiding my face in my hands.
“I hate that he feels that way and I really hate that I caused
this.” I stand quickly, the need to move overcoming me. I pace back
and forth for a few moments and Versan just watches. Probably
counting how many times I cracked my knuckles or something. I drop
back into the couch and look in his eyes, making sure he makes eye
contact.

He stares back at me; he knows I’m going to ask
something important. He even sets his pen down.

“Can I ask you something, doc? Why can’t I tell
him no? Why can’t I refuse him? It’s been this way since the moment
we met. It drives me insane.”

“I don’t think that’s the right question to ask.
It’s not why can’t you refuse him, it’s probably more like why
don’t you
want
to refuse him? Have you asked yourself if you
ever really wanted to tell him no?” His voice is calm and soft, as
usual, but this time I suddenly feel like he actually understands
me; understands what’s going on with Damon and I. I guess this guy
is good.

“I’ve never really thought about it that
way.”

“The connection you two share is profound. That
much is obvious. The tragedy you both went through has linked you
together. Forever. He’ll always be the boy in the other car that
hit yours. For the rest of your life, you’ll be the girl who lost
her family, the girl he tried to save. That’s a fact that will
never change. What you
can
change is how you decide to deal
with it. If you two are willing to work at it, I think you can have
a healthy, thriving relationship.”

“So you’re saying this is a fight or flight
sorta thing?”

“In a way; yes.”

“Okay. I guess,” I shake my head and check the
time. I have loads to think about and a drive should help. “Time’s
up, doc.” I grab my bag from beside my feet and stand.

Versan walks me to the door leading out of his
office, putting a soft hand on my arm. He’s never done that before
and I almost flinch away.

“Jo,” he whispers, “it’s okay to not be
okay.”

I stand stock still, absorbing what he’s just
tossed out there.
Is it really okay to be fucked up?

“I hope you’re right.”

“I hope you realize it one day. I’ll see you
next time, Jo.”

I take my time getting to my car. I have plenty
to think about and I’m in no hurry to get back to cold, distant
Zombie Damon. Brian’s with him. He came over early this morning and
said that Damon wanted to catch up on things for work. Of course, I
wouldn’t know this since he won’t even look in my direction.

I walk numbly across the parking lot to my car.
Damon is completely and totally embarrassed about my hideously ugly
car. Frank has been reliable if nothing else and I like his
patchwork paintjob; it’s unique. I slide the key into the ignition
and wait for the tired engine to turn over. With my seatbelt in
place, I lean forward and rest my forehead against the steering
wheel. I’m spent and it’s only a few minutes past ten o’clock in
the morning. Over the past month and a half I’ve gone through a
gamut of emotions; most of which I’ve never experienced. I damn
sure have never been in love and subsequently heartbroken, then
faced with losing it all. I flip the air conditioning on to cool
off. It’s a wasted effort because I know the damn thing only
partially works. It blows musty warm air into my face and I
cringe.

“I really should just drive Captain’s car.” I
sigh heavily and put Frank in gear. My thoughts swirl out of
control as I drive mindlessly, with no destination in mind. I don’t
know where to go. I could go to work, but I’m still battling the
grief that consumes me every time I walk into the store. I could go
visit my parents and Captain, but taking the leap from visiting
once a year to twice is a bit daunting. Before I realize it, Frank
comes to a stop in the guest parking lot of Grams’ old folks’
home.

***

The cool air in the
wide corridor feels nice against my face as I make my way towards
Grams’ suite. Her door is open like it always is and I give it a
half-assed knock before stroll in. Grams’ face lights up then
immediately falls in disappointment.
Fan-fucking-tastic
.

“Nice to see you too, Grams,” I say in true
smartass fashion.

“Well, get your narrow behind over here and sit
down!” she demands, pointing a bony finger at the chair next to
her.

I scurry over to her like an obedient kid. “What
the hell, Beatrice?!”

She cuts her blue eyes in my direction and I
swallow my urge to laugh, raising my hands in surrender. I know she
hates her given name. I’ve never called her by anything other than
Grams.

“Sit down and look natural, for the love of God.
He’ll be here any minute. You stink! Spray on some perfume!”

My eyes widen at her insult and a smile breaks
through my sadness. “Damn. Excuse the hell out of me. I’m a little
sweaty. My car has shitty AC. Who exactly are we waiting for?”

She’s watching the door expectantly and I can’t
help but wonder who the hell she’s so excited to see. Surely she
isn’t waiting on Edward and it’s most likely not Damon. Maybe they
got a cute new orderly or something.

“The maintenance man!” She claps her hands
together excitedly. “Never mind that, though. I wasn’t expecting
you to come here today. Glad you did, though. How’s my
grandson?”

The mention of his name makes my shoulders tense
and my brows knit together. I don’t know what to think about his
current state. I don’t know what to do about his obvious aversion
to me. I’m all kinds of twisted up on the inside and for the first
time since I fell into those amber depths of his I’m regretting
this dating thing. I have to tell Grams
something
positive.