even care. I woke up at six o’clock but bother leaving the bed.
Around five at night, my sister opened the door softly and scurried up to my bed. She was too quick for me to even have a chance to close my eyes and pretend I was sleeping. She stared at me with her eyes intense. She was worried—I could tell. And I’m a terrible sister for not trying to comfort her.
My mom came in around eight to get me to eat. I told her to leave it on the side—that I was just extremely tired, even when we both knew that was a lie.
Thoughts of Eric kept me in bed. I was far in the deepest state of mourning. A strange state of sadness. I thought about everything. It was his fault. It was his! Why did he do this? Why did he leave?
A little later, Janaki came over. She didn’t knock but instead pushed the door aside and sat down next to me on the bed. We were both quiet for a minute, staring into each other’s eyes. I didn’t expect her to say much…just sit there.
“You miss him.” She never fails, does she?
I nodded.
“Then what happened?”
I shook my head and closed my eyes.
She whispered comforting words. I felt a little better. But I didn’t open my eyes.
“I didn’t really understand him. He had a lot going on…I didn’t even know him.” And I was hoping so much that she would let this conversation drop, but she pressed on.
“Let me guess, I was right about you totally liking him?”
I gave her a disproving look, possibly hurtful as well. “Jana, please.”
She looked down at her lap, struggling to take her backpack off. “Want to hear about the misadventures here, without you?”
“Misadventures?”
“Dottie, everyone’s been a mess with you gone. You don’t think we care about you?”
No, I knew they would care for me—just as I would care for them in reversed roles. Janaki put her backpack in front of her. She motioned for me to move over a bit so she could lay out whatever she wanted to show me. I sat up, leaning against the headboard.
“So, Kade really wanted to see you at the hospital,” she started off.
I was curious. “Why didn’t he?”
She smiled mischievously. “Your parent’s wouldn’t let him.” I was about to open my mouth and say something, but she went on. “They didn’t want to complicate things. You were better at taking the news than I thought you would be. Well….” she gave me a once-over. I sat there wearing gym shorts from my school and a ratty gray t-shirt a size too big for me. Both were old and defiantly looked worn out, but that’s the glory of comfortable clothing. “Maybe you just hid your true emotions to explode them in your room.”
I gave a weak smile. “Poetic words.”
She continued to search in her bag. “Kade was kind of mad, like you were rejecting him yourself, which you weren’t because you were unconscious at the time.”
“Couldn’t you have said something?”
“I reassured him,” she noted, nodding. “Oh, and guess what?”
“What?”
“I broke up with Jake.” She said.
I gasped. “No way.”
“M-hm.” She whipped out a notebook from her bag, opening it up to the first couple of pages. “We broke up on the day I decided I was going to go out and look for you.”
“Which was…?”
“The day before I was going to go look for you.”
“Which was…?”
She gave me this look of disbelief. “Three days ago, Dottie. And guess what, again.”
“I’m not good at guessing games.”
“My parents are no longer splitting up.”
My eyes widened. “That’s great, Janaki!”
“Yup. And it’s all thanks to you.”
“What did I do?”
“Well, I said I was going to run away to find you. If I didn’t go that wouldn’t have brought them together again. Couldn’t have done it without you.” She put the notebook on my lap. “Here.”
“What is it?” I asked, looking at her strangely. I turned my face to the notebook, which had endless words scrawled from page to page.
“Letters between me and Jake.” She smirked and I almost gagged.
“Why are you giving this to me?” As disgusted as I was, I let the book sit on my lap and didn’t fling it across the room.
“To make you be yourself again.” She scooted closer to me on the bed. “Come on,” she teased, “Read a couple of pages and tell me how stupid I really was.”
And so I did.
19. THERAPY
I walked into the small office. There was a body arched beneath the reception desk, fiddling with something under. A bunch of posters covered the wall, explaining the vast majority of psychological issues.
The therapist’s office was exactly what I thought it would be: dark, chilly, and narrow. I didn’t even want to be here—I was forced. Mom steered me towards the desk.
“Hello.” She greeted.
“Just a second,” the person answered. Her blond hair covered her face as the she held a baby dressed in a pair of pink pajamas. She then cradled the baby in her right arm, using her left hand to brush the hair away from her eyes.
No way. “Caroline?”
Her eyes met mine. “Dottie!? What! I’m so glad your okay!”
“You two know each other?” Mom asked, exchanging a glances between us.
“Yeah,” I replied. “We met at Olive Garden. Except you used to be a waitress…?” I looked at her for an answer.
She nodded. “They let me go,” was her dull and plain response.
“I’m so sorry,” I said.
“Don’t be,” she said hastily. “They couldn’t handle a pregnant woman—well, at least not the manager. But it wasn’t just that.” She leaned forward. “To tell you the truth, I’m not a good waitress.”
“No.” I shook my head and smiled.
“Yeah.” She rocked the baby in her arms “Caught me red-handed nibbling off of some costumer’s plate. I was pregnant and hungry, you can’t stop me!” She giggled.
“Caroline.” A wary and bored voice called from the room behind her.
“Oh crap.” She whispered. “Sorry for taking up the precious time you need to talk with my mother.” She glanced at mom and pushed some papers towards her, “You need to sign these forms.” She gave her a pen. “If you want, you can sit and read them over.” She pointed her finger to the chairs in the corner.
Mom nodded as she took the papers and sat down.
“So you’re mom is my psychologist?” I said.
“Oh yeah. Totally,” she laughed. “Don’t let her intimidate you. She’s a real sweetheart underneath. Ever since I popped this one out last month,” she held the baby out to me a little, “she decided to let me work here.”
“Who was the original reception?”
“My sister,” she said, “but she moved to New York for college and all.” She shook her head. “She’s back now. For Christmas.”
“Of course.” I said.
Something buzzed on the desk and she said, “Doctor Daniels is ready for you now.” The baby cooed in her arms.
I walked into the backroom. It’s was just how I imagined it. A nice comfortable chair with a table and loveseat across from it. A large bookshelf filled with endless literature. A computer desk in corner. Yep. Average everyday office.
I saw Dr. Daniels sitting in the yellow chair, a clip board in her hand. She had a mug of coffee in her other hand, taking a sip, and then setting it down on the table.
“Take a seat.” She stood up, motioning to the blue loveseat. “Would you like anything? Coffee? Water?”
I shook my head. “No thank you.”
“Okay,” she said and sighed. Not because she was annoyed, more of a long, drawn out exhale she kept in. “You came back.” She stated.
I gave her a weird look. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
But she ignored that remark, fishing a pen out of
her pocket, and clicking it ready. “Why don’t you tell me what happened from your point of view.”
I sat there in silence, watching her as she tapped the pen lightly on the clipboard.
“Anything you want to say, Dorothy?” She asked.
A shape pain hit me in the pit of my stomach. I knew that wasn’t normal. “Please don’t call me that.” I mumbled quietly, realizing what I meant by saying that. “I mean,” I added quickly, “Most people just call me Dottie.”
“Fine. Dottie it is.” She said. “You are aware that your parents are very much convinced that you have Stockholm syndrome, right?”
“I know,” I said harshly. Her eyes widened as she heard my voice. She probably agreed with my parents—that I’m now messed up. That he must have done something. “I don’t have it.”
She looked weary now. Her eyes fading from the acknowledgement that I was stuck on my idea. Dr. Daniels didn’t say anything back to me for a while, which made me happy that I could at least shut her up for a little bit. I crossed my legs and arms, twisting my head to the right, testing her.
“All right,” she said firmly. “We’ll start with the first time you met him.”
“Wait…are you serious? I mean, isn’t this supposed to be about me or something?”
“It is about you,” she looked at me with her soft blue eyes. “But we are reconnecting with the fact that you might have Stockholm syndrome. That involves the kid.” I’m pretty sure that she knew his name, but maybe she could see how uncomfortable I was being when she mentioned ‘him’. “You want the time to move faster, just tell me everything.” She demanded, her eyes squinting fiercely.
I sighed, defeated. But she was right—my parents sent me here for that. Even when I said I didn’t have it. But they were unconvinced. I was so stupid to say I would be going