Page 115 of Nikola
Could my uncle be right?
46
SKYE
Isat in my papa’s office, Dr. Freud right across from me. It was January and rare flurries fluttered outside the window as we watched each other. Despite coming all the way to Trieste to give me sessions, which seemed extravagant, she appeared fresh and ready for another long day.
Honestly, the whole therapy thing seemed silly and unnecessary.
But my papa had set some New Year’s resolutions, one of them being to make his family happy, and he thought this was part of it. I played along because I knew how much it’d hurt him to learn about that short, dark period of my life.
Dr. Freud was the kind of woman that we all strived to be: smart, intelligent, and took no shit from anyone. And I really meant anyone. When Papa suggested he should be my ASL translator, she flat-out refused him. It might have something to do with the fact that she’d treated criminals for most of her career and was married to one.
Either way, Papa couldn’t bully her into getting what he wanted.
Her intelligent gaze met mine, and she smiled reassuringly. “You find this pointless, don’t you?”
I shrugged, then leaned over my pad of paper and wrote,
Honestly, yes. A dumped woman hardly calls for a therapy session. It’s an everyday occurrence.
Dr. Freud didn’t know ASL, which made these sessions even longer, much to my dismay.
Once she read my scribbles, she lifted her head and stated, “I think these sessions are more to keep Dante’s sanity. He blames himself.”
I let out a frustrated breath, then got to writing again.
That incident was a mere passing dark moment in my life. Hardly something that could shatter a person. I forgot about it once I found a family with the Nikolaevs and my parents.
“Sometimes those dark moments linger in the shadows, waiting to strike.” My mind instantly flitted back to my panic attack when I snooped around Nikola’s dorm. “Ah, you remembered something.”
I waved my hand, then wrote,
It’s nothing.
“Let me be the judge of that,” she stated firmly.
My cheeks heated before I squared my shoulders proudly. I had nothing to be ashamed of. I focused on the words as I wrote them on the pad.
I got accidentally handcuffed, and instead of turning kinky, I panicked.
She read the words, but her expression remained unchanged.
“I’m not surprised,” she said, her words spoken slowly. “Sometimes it’s useful to replace those bad memories with the good ones, but the process has to happen gradually and with someone you trust explicitly.” Nikola immediately came to mind, if only he’d look past the physical and focus on what we had. “Also, if you find that person, you want to be honest with them so as you get… kinky, they can look after you. Take care of you.”
Okay, maybe Dr. Freud was as good as my papa claimed.
I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.
She read my note and flashed me a kind smile.
Did you help my papa with his own memories of torture?
She glanced at my question before answering. “I can’t answer that. All I can tell you is that your papa’s only concern is you, and he’ll gladly ignore all his demons to ensure your happiness.”
I didn’t need her to tell me that because I already knew it. I saw it every day.
Maybe you should have sessions with him, not me.
