Page 160 of Tiny Fractures

“You’re not going to let me out of your sight, are you?” I say, an edge to my voice as I open the kitchen cabinet to retrieve a glass to fill it with water.

“Not a chance,” he says matter-of-factly. His voice sounds tired.

To my surprise, Steve joins us in the kitchen not much later. I’m even more surprised when, at half past seven, my dad lets me know that Steve is coming with us to see Doctor Seivert.

When we arrive at her office, I settle in my usual spot while Steve and my dad sit in chairs on either side of me.

“What the hell is going on?” I ask when the therapist takes her seat across from me. “This feels like a full-on intervention.”

“I just thought you could use a little more support here today,” Doctor Seivert says. She doesn’t have her notepad on her lap, which confirms this isn’t a regular session. I’m starting to think she’s going to have me committed.

Instead, she nods for my dad to speak.

He clears his throat. “Ran, you’re going to Montana,” he says matter-of-factly.

I knit my eyebrows together. “What?”

His eyes flit to Doctor Seivert for help.

“Ronan, do you remember the beginning of our first session, when I told you that anything you tell me during therapy will remain confidential, that I wouldn’t share anything we talked about with anyone, with a couple of important exceptions?” Doctor Seivert asks.

I nod.

“One exception is when I think you’re a serious threat to yourself. When we talked yesterday, I became very concerned. You obviously know that I talked to your dad about what you shared with me.”

I look at my dad and then Steve, both of whom are looking at me with concern.

“I think that the fact that you’re at home, in the place where the trauma was inflicted on you for so long, constitutes a barrier to your healing. You being in that place triggers a constant fight-or-flight response. You have no control over it; it’s your nervous system hijacking you. Your mind and body don’t have a chance to come to rest, to process the trauma like we’ve been trying to do. And while immersion therapy works sometimes, it usually requires very controlled circumstances. So, I think it’s best if we remove you from the situation for a while. Allow you to learn some coping and grounding techniques before we expose you again to the thing that, in your mind, threatens your safety. You’ve never felt safe at home, so we need to get you to a place where you do feel safe, and my understanding is, from talking to you, that Montana is that place.”

She pauses, waiting for a response from me.

When I don’t provide one, Steve shifts in his chair, sighing deeply. “Is it okay if I say something?”

Doctor Seivert motions eagerly for him to go on.

“Ran, I don’t pretend to know what it is that you’ve been through or that you’re going through right fucking now. I feel like total shit that I couldn’t protect you, that I didn’t even know what was going on….” He swallows hard. “You have to go,” Steve says with authority. “I thought I lost you. I walked in on Mom, I saw you on the floor, I was on the phone with 911, you stopped breathing, and I had to do CPR. It felt like forever before the ambulance got there. I just kept pumping your heart. I thought I lost you,” he chokes again, looking at the floor. I can see his hands shaking. “I love you, little brother, and I can’t lose you. Dad can’t lose you, Shane can’t lose you. Zack, Vada, Tori can’t lose you. Cat can’t lose you! You have to go. Please.”

I know I have to go. I know I need to get better, for my sake and for theirs.

“How long?” I ask Doctor Seivert.

“However long it takes,” she says, maddeningly. She can sense my frustration at her vague response. “I’m sorry I don’t have a better answer for you right now. We’ll have to keep assessing the situation, but at least a few months.”

A few months? “And when am I going?” This time I pose the question to my dad.

“Tomorrow morning,” he says, finality in his voice. “I booked your flight yesterday evening, and I’ve been on the phone with your grandparents to get the logistics figured out. Your flight leaves at eight.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I say, more aggressively than I meant to. I stand up, beginning to pace the room as much as pacing is possible when you have a busted knee and crutches. “What about school, what about my life?” By which I mean, of course, Cat.

“You’re going to go back to homeschooling while you’re there. I think that will be better for you; provide you more flexibility to get rest. You won’t have to be on such a rigid schedule if you can’t sleep,” my dad explains.

Doctor Seivert chimes in. “We’ll continue to have our regular sessions twice a week remotely,” she says. “Ronan, I know you don’t want to leave your friends and your family, but I believe this is the absolute best thing if we’re serious about helping you get better.”

And again, I know they’re right, but what ultimately convinces me is that this will give my friends, my family, and Cat a chance to heal, to create some distance between my crap and their lives. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

“Okay,” I exhale, falling back onto my chair, my face in my hands. “I guess we’ll do this.”

Cat

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