Take Me With You (4 page)

We’re the same that way, Belle and me. We thrive on routine. For so long I enjoyed the routine of being alone, but after meeting her and hanging out with her outside of school, the routine changed and became something else. When Kayden came along, it changed again and it’s something I still haven’t been able to deal with right. It’s half the reason I stayed away from her for those weeks last fall.

“Have you told her that?”

“Told her what? That it was nice hanging out with her?”

“Yes.”

“Why would I tell her that? I’m pretty sure she knows.”

The look he gives me, like he’s about to tell me something I should already know, it bugs me. I’m pretty good at picking up on people, but I’m not a mind reader. If he’s got an opinion one way or the other about me and Belle, I have no clue what it might be.

“You said on Friday that you felt like you were on the sidelines and I said that you were more than that. I think telling Belle how much you enjoy the routine of spending time with her might change things. She can’t change it if she doesn’t know.”

“She shouldn’t have to change the way she does things for me.”

“Isabelle is your best friend, correct?”

“Yeah, we’ve been over this already.”

“Then don’t you think as your best friend, she might want to know that there are times where you are uncomfortable around her? She knows your struggles as well as she knows her own. It stands to reason she would want to do everything in her power to fix things if they were broken.”

“Nothing is broken.”

That’s not exactly true. He does have a point. If I did tell Belle how I felt when I hang out with her and Kayden, she would go out of her way to fix it. It’s just the way she is, but I still don’t believe she needs to do it. This is my issue, not hers.

“I suppose I used the wrong choice of words, but there is no doubt that when you spend time alone with her, you’re happier then when you’re in the group. I think she needs to be made aware of it so that it can be fixed.”

Just like Friday, I’ve had enough of this conversation now. I don’t feel like talking anymore. I’m not gonna tell Belle how I feel, end of story.

The way I cross my arms over my chest and sit forward in the chair, it tips him off somehow to the way I’m feeling because he stands from the chair and places the notepad he’s always got in his lap back on his desk before turning to me.

“How about we leave it there for today? I’ve given you some things to think about and you’ve told me how you’re feeling. It’s a good place.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll see you Wednesday, same time.”

Nodding my head, used to the routine of our visits, I grab my backpack and head for the door. Keeping my head up this time as I head down the hall, I shuffle along slowly until I come around the corner and see the waiting area.

This is where the routine changes. Today, instead of taking the bus home, my mom is gonna come pick me up after she’s done running her errands. So catching sight of the empty seat in the right hand corner of the room, I head for it, slumping my body down, pulling my phone out of my pocket, ready to kill some time with some game apps while I wait.

It’s only when I hear the front door to the office open, expecting my mom to run through, realizing she’s running late that I see her again.

Amy, and if the look on her face is any indication, she wants to be here about as much as I do.

Amelia

For all her talk about this being what I need to do in order to change things, she sure didn’t think it out all the way. After harassing her for well over an hour, repeatedly telling her what time my appointment was, she took her sweet ass time getting up and moving and now I’m pretty sure I’m late.

I shouldn’t even care about this, but after the way the last appointment went, I do.

It sucks admitting it, but Dr. Thompson has a way of asking questions that you don’t even realize until it’s too late that you’re giving away too much information. You’re giving him access to the deepest, darkest parts of yourself, the things you want to keep buried.

Admitting that things were going to get worse if I didn’t get out of there, it opened the door for him to ask what I meant and for me to admit that I’m haunted by the past, by things I’d much rather forget.

~*~*~

“Explain to me what you mean by haunted.”

“I thought that was obvious.”

“In my line of work, individuals experience things in different ways. What your definition of haunted is, may not be the way I would experience it.”

Is he serious right now? Other than talking about ghosts or something, there’s no way it can be all that different from what anyone else might experience.

“The way you looked at me a few minutes ago, it’s a trigger.”

“A trigger for what?”

“It reminds me of someone that I would much rather forget.”

“Who?”

“My dad.”

Shit. I need to stop talking. If this keeps up I’m gonna end up spilling everything out and that’s the last thing I want.

“Does this also have something to do with the reason you no longer go by your given name?”

“Ding. Ding. Ding. Give the old geezer a prize.”

Where I expected him to react to me, what I said, he didn’t. Well, he didn’t unless you consider his laughing a reaction. Since it wasn’t what I was going for, expecting him to be more angry than happy, I’m not sure what to do with it.

“Sorry.”

“For what?”

“I shouldn’t have called you that.”

“I’ve heard worse, I assure you. Your reaction, it’s quite common believe it or not. I was expecting that kind of response.”

“Why?”

“You’ve admitted more than you wanted, so in an effort to deflect, you resort to what’s most comfortable. Name calling.”

Let the head shrinking begin. He’s right though. I was admitting too much.

“I’m going to ask you a very pointed question and I want you to answer me honestly. Whatever the answer is, believe me when I say that it will never leave this room unless you speak of it yourself.”

Shit. This doesn’t sound good. If he’s giving me the confidentiality warning, it means whatever he’s going to ask is gonna be huge. I already feel on edge just being here, the last thing I want to do is take the leap off.

“Has anyone every told you that you had to keep things a secret? Threatened that if you told, bad things would happen to you?”

No. No. No. No. I’m not doing this. The guy hasn’t even spent an hour with me and he already knows a hell of a lot more than he should. If I answer this the way he asked me to, he’s going to know even more and all hell is gonna break loose.

I need to get the fuck out of here.

Shifting in the chair, aware of my jacket laying on the floor and deciding how quickly I can grab it and get it on before it stops me from leaving, I slide up from the chair.

“Amy, what is it?”

“I can’t answer that question. I’m sorry. I just can’t. I need to go. Right now.”

Shit. My eyes are wet. I can feel them coming. Damnit. I can’t do this here. No one can see me break.

“You’re safe here, Amy. He can’t get to you now. Please sit down.” He says, his voice so calm it’s breaking through my frayed nerves and soothing me.

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Your question. Yes.”

“Thank you Amy. I know how hard that must have been.”

He has no idea. My head is spinning, I can feel the tears threatening to fall from my eyes and I swear to god my legs are about to give out on me and I’m gonna end up falling on my ass right in front of him. Hard isn’t the right word for what admitting that is.

“I need to go.”

~*~*~

Things going that far, it should make me wanna stay as far away from here as possible, but here I am, rushing through the door completely out of breath, praying I didn’t miss my appointment. It’s got nothing to do with it being reported back to the worker or even the cops. It’s because despite my denial, I need it.

Taking a breath the minute I’ve made it through the doors and the receptionist smiles before pointing to the seats, I turn and that’s when I see him. In the corner, his eyes on me.

Eric Carmen.

Shit.

Chapter Four

Eric

The way she barreled through the door, I expected her to be yanked right into the office and away from me altogether, but after a few seconds of her just standing in place, her eyes never once leaving my general area, she starts walking and before I know it, she’s sitting beside me.

If I thought where she chose to sit down was crazy, what she does next completely blows my mind.

“Did you tell anyone?”

It’s nothing major, just her being concerned about her reputation at school, but she’s acknowledging I exist, so to me it’s the biggest thing to happen in weeks. Also the strangest.

“Tell anyone what?” I shrug, acting like I genuinely have no clue what she’s talking about. A move she gets as she tosses me a scrap of human decency in the form of a weak smile.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

“Wow.”

“What?”

“You didn’t stutter.”

It’s so common, me doing it that when it doesn’t happen, it surprises people. She’s not the first person to have this reaction and I’m pretty sure she won’t be the last. If she knew a damn thing about me, she’d realize that the stutter usually only happens when I’m in situations I have no control over. Otherwise I’ve got no problem.

“I don’t stutter all the time.”

“That’s bullshit.”

There she is. The girl I remember. The first class bitch. Of course it’s bullshit to her. She doesn’t have a clue that there’s more to me than what she’s seen.

“It’s not.”

“Yeah, I’m seeing that.”

Yesterday when I bumped into her, taking her in, believing that she was gonna take my being here and use it against me, I don’t feel it now. The urge to bolt, it’s still there, I mean I know who this girl is and the damage she can inflict at any point, but for some reason I can’t explain, I’m not as desperate to leave as I was before.

“So, um.” She starts, breaking off before finishing her thought.

“What?”

“Is the school making you come here too?”

Taking note of the information she just gave me without realizing it, I shake my head in response to her question.

“So why are you here?”

“Are they making you?

“You always answer a question with a question?”

“No.”

“Daniels made a call to someone that’s making me come here.” She answers easily. “Your turn.”

“My parents are making me.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah.”

I watch as she starts pulling at her sweater even though this time, the sleeves are all the way down and there’s no part of her skin showing other than her hands. I want to ask why on a day like today, where the weather is hot enough to make me wanna completely strip down, she’s wearing a sweater, but of course I can’t do it.

“You alright?” I ask instead, her hands now moving from the sleeves of her sweater to rubbing on her jeans, like she’s nervous. I recognize it because I’m the same way.

“Yeah, of course. Why do you ask?”

I point to her hands and she just nods in response.

“I do that when I’m nervous so I thought I’d ask.”

“Why do you care?” she snaps, taking me by surprise. A few seconds ago, her tone, it was calm. It’s obvious I’ve hit some kind of nerve calling attention to what I caught her doing.

Way to go Eric, give the girl more shit to use against you later.

“I don’t. Care, I mean.”

“Then why even ask?”

I shrug, but something about it doesn’t feel right to me. I’m acting like I don’t have a reason for asking but I do. Screw it. I’m just gonna be honest, even if it earns me shit the minute her friends get wind of it.

“You doing that, fixing your sweater and then rubbing your hands on your jeans, it reminds me of what I do, that’s all.”

“Oh. Okay. Sorry.”

Did she just say sorry to me? Is this really happening right now?

Before I can think to ask, she speaks again and if the sorry wasn’t enough to throw me off, her honesty does it.

“I guess I am nervous. When I go in there, I don’t wanna say shit but he ends up getting me to do it and it’s kinda weird.”

I get that. He’s the same way with me. You would think after five years of coming here that I would catch on to the way he is by now, but it never changes. He still nails me every single time.

“I guess that’s why they pay him the big bucks.”

She laughs and despite knowing who she is, the stuff her and her friends have put me through, the way it sounds, it does strange things to me. It’s nice. It also makes me wonder why after a year in school with her I’ve never heard it before now. Sure, I’ve heard her laugh, but usually it’s more of a cackle while she’s torturing someone or calling me names. Not at all like this.

“Amelia Evans.”

Rose’s voice breaks through the moment and even though it’s not her name, Amy stands up and starts walking forward, completely throwing me off. Why is she getting up and walking away when it’s not even her turn?

It’s only when she tenses before turning back around and facing me, her blue eyes connecting straight to mine that I start putting everything together. Her name, its Amelia and she doesn’t like it.

“Hey Eric.” She calls out, making me completely abandon my dissection of the way she responded to her name and bringing my attention back. “Thanks.”

As she turns and walks away, disappearing around the corner before I’ve had a chance to really process everything that just happened, I settle myself back into the seat, hoping to god that my mom doesn’t make me wait much longer.

That’s not the only thought I have though. Thinking about everything that’s happened since I left Thompson’s office, I’m left with only one question.

Who the hell is this girl and what did she do with the real Amy?

Amelia

Why people insist on calling me Amelia I’ll never know, but the minute she calls my name, I jump to my feet and attempt to make the world’s quickest getaway before he can put two and two together.

The last thing I want Eric Carmen getting ahold of is even more information about me. I believe that he didn’t tell anyone about seeing me here Friday, his reaction, pretending like he has no idea what I’m talking about more than enough proof that he’s holding onto my secret, but it doesn’t mean I want him knowing anything else.

Especially not my name. God, why did she have to call me Amelia? Now he knows and it’s just another thing I’m gonna have to make sure he doesn’t let slip. Not even Tim knows and he’s been my friend for years.

Thanking him before I walked away, I have no idea what the hell that was about. I don’t thank anyone for anything, but here I am for the second time today, doing exactly that.

Truth is, he did make me laugh and even made me forget where I was for a few minutes and even knowing he’s just another special needs moron, I’m thankful for it.

God I’m such a fucking mess. Whatever that Doctor did to me the last time I was here has obviously messed with my brain. Having a conversation with Eric Carmen of all people is just wrong. It’s not something that I would ever do.

So why the hell did I like it so much?

“Amy! Nice to see you. I have to admit, after last week I wasn’t sure I would see you back here again.”

Well that makes two of us.

“Is it that obvious that I don’t wanna be here?”

“Not at all.” He smiles and something about it is different than the last time I was here. This time he doesn’t remind me of my dad. It’s a smile that makes me feel safe instead of afraid.

“If you’re comfortable with it, I would like to pick up where we left off Friday.”

“Okay.”

“Is it really okay, Amy?”

It’s really not okay with me and I’m sure he can tell by the way my voice cracked just getting the one word out, but there’s no going back now. If I’m gonna be made to come here and he’s gonna probe me for answers, I might as well give it to him. It’s not like anything said here can get out anyway.

I really am safe here.

“Yes.” I nod as I take the seat across from him, noticing as I do that the pad that was in his lap the last time is missing. “Where’s the pad?”

“I’m trying a different approach to this session. No pad this week.”

“Okay.”

“So tell me. How was your weekend?”

Thank god, an easy question. He’s not going to dive right into the hard stuff.

“Boring, but it’s always boring.”

“You didn’t get out and do anything fun?”

“Define fun.”

“Why don’t you tell me what your idea of fun is?”

Damn. There it is. He’s giving me another loaded question. I’m pretty damn sure he knows what my idea of fun is, at least what’s fun when I’m at school, so asking this, he wants me to admit to the shit I’ve done. The shit that landed me here to begin with.

“I like going for walks.”

“Where do you walk?”

“To the park mostly, sometimes I hang around on the jungle gym with Tim and the others and we just screw around, climbing, hanging off it, that kinda thing.”

“What else do you do for fun?”

“You already know so why bother asking?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“The reason I’m here. You know that my idea of fun is picking on the retarded kids at school; that I enjoy breaking them down and making them hurt. So why bother even asking? I mean; that is what you wanna hear right?”

I don’t wanna let on, but the way it felt saying all of that, made me sick to my stomach. Admitting the truth must cause that kind of reaction because it’s not one I’ve ever experienced before.

“Tell me something.”

“What?”

“You flinched right after you admitted to hurting kids at school? Why is that?”

Shit. He caught me. The sick feeling I had, I reacted physically to it and didn’t even realize it. Damnit. Now he really is gonna analyze my every move.

Time to deflect.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Alright. We’ll move on from that.” He stops, taking a breath before continuing. “You’re correct. I am aware of what you do during school hours, but that is not what I was trying to get you to admit. You did that all on your own, which tells me a lot.”

“Oh yeah? What does it tell you?”

“Even though you’re aware that I know what you’ve done to your peers, you still needed to get it out. What that tells me is that on some unconscious level you’re not as okay with it as you seem to think.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Explain why you think that is.”

“If I wasn’t okay with it, why would I do it in the first place? If I didn’t want to pick on them, hurt them then I just wouldn’t do it. It’s that simple.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Alright, then it’s your turn to explain.”

“Based on what I’ve learned about you since you showed up here Friday, I believe there’s more to it than just you garnering enjoyment from the torture of your fellow students.”

What he’s learned about me? We barely spoke about anything the last time I was here. I broke down on him pretty quickly and booked it out of there as fast as my legs could move. He can’t know nearly as much as he thinks about me. It’s impossible.

“If you know me as well as think, why do you think I do it?”

“After what you went through as a child with your father, the pain you felt at his hands, one a child should never have to feel, you’ve turned it around and decided to put it on the people you go to school with instead of the person that deserves it most.”

“Wrong. God, you have no clue. I do put it on the person that deserves it most!”

I’m shouting and he’s not reacting at all. His face is still even, expressionless as he watches me lose it in front of him. Why isn’t he reacting? Telling me what I’m doing is wrong and I need to settle down? Why isn’t he saying anything?

God the silence is killing me.

“Who do you think deserves it most?”

Reaching for my sleeves, sliding them up slowly until they’re all the way up tight around my shoulders, I push them out in front of him, my face expressionless, but my body now beginning to shake under the weight of what I’m about to do. This is something I’ve never done before, but since he wants to know, I’m gonna fucking show him until he turns away in disgust.

“Me alright! I deserve it most!”