Page 82 of Break Me, Daddy

“Good. I love you and I’ll be really pissed if anything bad happens to you.”

“I know. I love you, too, Lottie-baby.”

Chapter30

Frankie

Sitting in the same office she’d frequented once a week after her stint in rehab all those years ago, Frankie let her gaze travel the walls, taking in what had changed and what hadn't. Dr. Krauss had done some redecorating, painted the walls a calming shade of blue and added some more of those affirmations she was so fond of in mismatched frames, along with pictures of her family. She’d gotten married, had a couple of kids from the looks of things.

And then there was Dr. Krauss herself. Still the same, with her slightly haphazard messy bun and her kind brown eyes behind oversized frames. She looked, as she always had, like a very stereotypical absentminded professor, if you ignored the fact that as kind as they may be, those eyes saw far more than you were comfortable with more often than not.

“Frankie. It’s good to see you again.”

Snorting out a laugh, Frankie rolled her eyes. “Can’t say the same.”

A ghost of a smile tugged at Dr. Krauss’s mouth. “Can’t say I blame you. How are you feeling?”

“Like a fucking failure.” The confession surprised her even as the words slipped from her mouth. When she’d come to Dr. Krauss the first time around, it had taken weeks for her to get comfortable talking about herself, her feelings, all that happy bullshit they liked to pull out of you in therapy. She’d expected the same this time around, considering how long it had been she'd found herself in this office, but apparently they were going to hit the ground running.

Tilting her head just to the side, Dr. Krauss regarded her with those same kind, too-seeing eyes. “Why do you think that is?”

That surprisingly easy slide back into old habits continued as Frankie pushed up off the couch to pace the small office just as she’d done before. “Do you really have to ask that? You’ve seen my records.”

“I have. Relapse isn’t failure.”

“Sure fucking feels like it.”

“Understandable. Do you want to talk about the relapse? See if we can’t pinpoint what triggered it?”

“I know what triggered it. I’m a fucking failure.” Tears burning in her eyes, Frankie collapsed back onto the couch, tilting her head up to look at the ceiling, painted that same calming blue, so she wouldn't have to look in the good doctor’s eyes. “I started med school a few months ago. Flamed out rather spectacularly. They put me on probation.”

“That must have been hard.”

“It was. School has always been so easy for me, you know? But for some reason I just… couldn’t hack it.”

“There’s no shame in struggling with something new, Frankie.”

“That’s just it.” Sitting up, she leaned in, suddenly filled with a burning need to tell someone, to make someoneunderstand. “I didn’t struggle, not the way you think. When I put my mind to it, the material was… well, not easy because it’s fucking med school. But it wasn’t so difficult that I couldn't learn it.”

As always, there was no judgment in Dr. Krauss’s eyes. “So what do you think happened?”

“I don’t know how to explain, really. It was almost like I lost interest, I guess? I just hit this wall where I dreaded the thought of going to class and when I was in class I wanted to be anywhere else.”

“That’s not an uncommon feeling, even for people who are doing something they genuinely enjoy.”

“It was uncommon for me.”

“I see.” Frowning slightly, Dr. Krauss tapped her pen against the binder in her lap. “Let me ask you something. Why did you want to go to med school in the first place?”

“To be a doctor.”Duh. Why does anyone go to med school?

“And why do you want to be a doctor?”

Okay, that question was a little harder to answer. Frowning, Frankie leaned back against the couch again as she considered it. “I want to help people. Make a difference. I like… fixing things for people, I guess.”

“That’s an excellent reason to become a doctor. What was your specialty going to be?”

“Surgery.” When Dr. Krauss opened her mouth, Frankie held up a hand. “I already know you’re going to ask ‘Why surgery?’ And the answer is, I don’t really know. Other than my parents pushed hard for it and it was easier to give in than fight them on it.”

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