Page 51 of Deadly Knight
“Alright.” She settles into the oversized chair across from me, dragging her notepad closer. “Whenever you’re ready.”
I shift on the couch, keeping the fidget toy close by, rolling the stretchy rubber ball to distract myself from scratching at my arms. More often than not when addressing the past, I slip into old self-harm tendencies, so Ava’s recommended working myfeelings into the innocent items she keeps in a basket beside the couch.
“Friday evening, I went out with Nora to a magic show. Another staff member and her husband also had tickets, so Nora invited them to attend with us. Then she invited the new guy, Caleb. I’ve seen him around the building but never spoke to him until then, and well…he’s nice. Charming. Loaned me his sweater when I was cold, and then walked me home afterwards.”
Her head ticks to the side. “Willingly, I hope. He asked, you accepted?”
“Pretty much, though after a mental battle of wills I had with myself. Had to remind myself that not everyone has a hidden past.”
“That is true.”
“It was nice talking to him,” I admit with a small smile that has me gripping the ball tighter. “But he reminds me of someone. Something about his appearance, the way he looks at me…right down to my reaction to him.”
Nora presses her lips together and jots a quick note. “Someone…?” she prompts, her voice trailing at the end.
She knows whom I’m talking about. I know whom I’m talking about. We both do, but she’s waiting on me to put it out into the air.
“Dimitri.”There. I said it.In session, I force open the cracks in my wall since letting the past in during these controlled times and environment is the only acceptable time to do so. After the appointment, I patch it up and carry on.
Her eyes flash up, brows meeting the hairline of her updo. “Is this good or bad?”
She’s asking how I feel about it, prompting me to fill in the blanks rather than drawing her own conclusions. It’s a counselling trick to encourage the client to open up without being led on to reply a certain way.
“That’s my question for you. It’s an ‘I don’t know what to think or how to feel.’ The reminder terrifies me. Feels like it’s dragged a box from my closet and cut it open, and all my memories are escaping.” I pause, hesitating about the next part. “Then last night, I hadthedream again.” She knows which dream; I’ve spoken about it enough.
“Hm. Did you pull yourself out?”
“Yes, but not with any of my usual tricks. Instead, that night, I dreamed ofhim. A memory of the first time we had sex.”
Another note. “You haven’t recorded a dream of him in over a year.”
That’s concerningare the words she doesn’t add.
“Exactly. Like Caleb reminded me of him enough to dredge it all back up. It might only be a one-off thing.” I hope. “Maybe last night was a bad day, but I’m worried.”
“Because…”
“Because Caleb is nice and normal, and I like him. As much as you can like a person after a day, anyway. I’m not saying he’s interested in me, but if he is, memories of Dimitri shouldn’t interrupt what could be. It isn’t fair.”
Sympathy flashes across her expression and, given the number of years I’ve been seeing Ava, I know it’s not fake.
“I want you to ask yourself if you can separate Caleb from Dimitri, or will you always compare the two? Maybe even like parts of Caleb because they remind you of Dimitri?”
Can I? Yes. Without a doubt. Caleb and Dimitri are nothing alike. One’s nice, while the other torments my soul in every delicious way. One surrounds himself with kids, the other in an ancient organization. Caleb onlyremindsme of Dimitri in appearance, but he’s his own person. In many ways, the complete opposite.
Except the opposite isn’t what you crave,the old and unwelcome voices slip in. I ignore them.
“I think so.”
I hope so.
I want to.
Ava’s face is impressively blank, which causes me to wonder what’s in her head. Instead of asking, my hand grips the ball again, rolling it between my palms. She watches me, her eyes narrowing on my arms slightly. I expect her question before it comes, and it’s without judgement she murmurs, “You’ve been harming yourself more than usual lately.”
“I try not to,” I whisper, shame settling heavier on my shoulders.
“I know. What you’ve gone through, what you continue to—it’s no light thing, Katya. Therefore, it’s normal to relapse occasionally. Life wouldn’t be challenging if we only ever moved on. You know as well as anyone, trauma doesn’t work that way.”
