Page 154 of Never Die for a Sinner
“You didn’t have to,” Proctor counters.
Touché.
“Look,” I sigh, ringing my hands in my lap. “My father was a dick. He used to beat my ass for anything he could. You want the truth? I’m glad the fucker’s dead . . . but it has nothing to do with my mother.”
“So, if it has nothing to do with your mother, perhaps it has to do with the girl? Do you know who she is?”
I swallow past the burn in my throat. “No.”
“This girl . . . it could be a representation of someone you’ve failed. Perhaps your mother, though you were too young to do anything about your mother’s death. This girl could be part of you that you’re trying to save.”
He has no fucking idea just how right he is. It’s almost scary.
“Why would I picture my mother, though?”
I can’t believe I’m asking him this, but I have to know. Since having the nightmare, I’ve thought about it nearly every night. I can’t get it out of my head, no matter if I fall asleep next to Ava or alone. It’s like my mind is hell-bent on torturing me with the images until I either go insane or drink myself to death.
Lately, the only way I can sleep and make sure I don’t do something stupid is by downing a couple drinks before I climb into bed with her. If not, I wear myself out enough that I have no choice but to sleep through the night.
I know she’s noticed the way my hands shake sometimes. How I’m never far from a bottle. I fucking hate it, but I feel powerless without it.
“I think you need to address the elephant in the room.”
“Which is?”
Proctor eyes me, studying. I fucking hate it.
“Your parents failed you. In return, it created trauma that you are projecting into your life now. I’d say you need to go in that room where your father died, clear it out, and find a new purpose for it.”
Immediately, I’m shaking my head.
“I’m not going in there.”
“Then it will continue to haunt your nightmares until you do.”
Fuck.
It would be simpler to slice that part of the house off. Blow the shit up so there’s not a cold chance in hell that it can be used for anything, ever again.
“What am I supposed to put in there instead?”
Proctor shrugs, his eyes twinkling deviously. “Could be a library. A sitting room. Whatever your heart desires. What’s important is replacing the bad memories of that space with good ones. Maybe even with this mystery girl you know nothing about.”
Dick.
“Have you worked on the homework I gave you?”
No.
“Yeah, uh . . .” I haven’t even thought about his bullshit homework. I clear my throat. Five things I’m grateful for. Fuck. “My house. My family. My car—”
Proctor holds up a hand, signaling me to stop.
“I don’t want five material things you’re grateful for. I want to hear about five feelings you’re grateful for. Five things that resonate with you.”
Jesus fucking Christ.
“What the hell does that even mean?”
