Page 16 of Give Me Redemption

“But you’re helpless.”

“Yes.” We’ve gone over this already; I don’t know why I have to keep talking about it. I could be out doing my job, but the chief insists I go here every week to “get things off my chest” he says. Exhaling, I look down at my black watch. I’ve been here for thirty minutes.

“Is that how you feel in real life?” she asks.

“What? Paralyzed?” I ask.

“No. Helpless. When it comes to her situation, do you feel helpless?”

“Of course, I do.”

“And do you regret the fact that you snuck out and went to hang with friends that night instead of being there with her?”

“What kind of question is that?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

Cathy holds up her hands. “I’m not judging you; I’m simply making sure you understand your feelings.”

“This is bullshit and a waste of time. I understand my feelings perfectly well.” I stand up. “I’ve got to get back to work. See you next week and we can talk about the same shit.”

“Our time isn’t up,” she says as I walk to the door. I grab the door handle, looking back at her.

“Yes, it is.”

I exit the door, pulling it closed behind me. “She’s on fire today,” I say to her next fucked-up patient. He lifts his thick brows, looking up from his phone. I walk to the front desk and pay for my therapy that I didn’t want to have before I push open the glass doors and step out into the city street. I exhale, feeling my shoulders slouch as cars pass by. My run this morning didn’t help with the anxiety I get knowing I have to come to this place.

I walk to my car and hop in, cranking it and blasting the AC. Taking my hair down, I run my fingers through it, massaging my scalp before I put it back up into a bun. I pull the sun visor down and look at my reflection.

Tired eyes and a shitload of freckles I don’t care to cover with makeup. Nothing’s changed. I flip the visor back up. Reaching over, I grab my shades from the passenger seat and slide them on before putting the car in gear and heading back to the office.

The days are long, and the nights are longer, but that’s been my case since I was a teenager. I’ve suffered with night terrors and a heavy dose of regret for as long as I can remember.

Do I regret not being there?

What the hell does Cathy even mean? Of course, I do. If I would have been there, then maybe she wouldn’t be gone.

Fucking regret. “I want you to understand your feelings,” I mock the woman with caked-on makeup and an office that could bore a monk. I can’t believe Davy is making me do this shit. It’s ridiculous. I already know I’m messed up. I don’t need to pay someone to tell me.

My phone rings and I hit the answer button on my steering wheel.

“Hey, Mom,” I say as I come to a red light.

“Hey, baby girl. How did it go?” she asks.

“Ah, you know, same crap, different week.”

She sighs. “I think you need to give this a chance, Harlow. It could help you.”

“Not you, too,” I say with an eye roll.

“Yes, me too. I talked to Frank.”

“Mom, you did not talk to Davy…Frank about this,” I correct myself. In the Bureau everyone calls everyone by their last name. My mom calling Davy Frank sounds weird, but that is his first name.

“I did and we’re in agreement. You need to figure out how to get better. I should have made you do this years ago.”

“You tried,” I remind her.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t want to push you too hard. You blamed yourself, and it’s not your fault. You need to come to terms with that, sweetheart.”

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