Page 67 of Actions and Reactions
“This is the common room. It’s where group therapytakes place and where you can spend your free time besides the garden and your bedroom.”
I see a four-person game table, four big couches, armchairs, two bookshelves full of books, and a few cabinets, plus a small kitchenette with a coffee machine.
I go right over there and start making myself another cup.Davefollows suit.
When we’re done, he leads me to the garden, which is really peaceful, though there’s a bite in the air that was certainly lacking in Las Vegas.
Seasons are more of a thing here, and it is fall already.
I make a mental note to ask Lottie for some real winter clothes, since I’m going to be here until mid-December.
Dave sets a meandering pace, and I don’t protest or steer us anywhere, I just stay beside him, walking once around the garden and then following him to the building on the other side of where we came from.
It’s set up kind of like a motel, with the doors right there and the second floor accessible by a staircase to the side. He leads me to the second door from the left and opens it for me. I see a small sign that says “Dr. David Hunter, M.D., Ph.D,” and then walk into a warm room with bigger windows than my own. They look out at another garden on the other side, and it’s even got a covered kind of terrace with two chairs out there.
Inside, there’s a big couch with a simple wooden coffee table in front and two armchairs on the other side.
The other wall is covered by full bookshelves, andthere’s a big desk with a monitor, laptop, about fifteen folders, and a notebook in front of them.
“Please sit,” he says easily while he walks to one of the armchairs. I go to the couch, just to sit further away from him. “I spoke to Dr. Denise, and heard her reasoning for diagnosing you with delayed-onset PTSD. And she told me why you don’t believe that diagnosis is correct.”
“All right.” Why the fuck am I here, then?
“I’m guessing you know she believes she’s right, and that we do too, as well as your family?”
“Why else would I be here?”
He smiles and looks down to open his notebook, then holds his pen at the ready. God, this is going to be dreadful, isn’t it?
“I want to hear what you think your life has been like. No one else can dictate what you’ve been through but you, not really. You’re the owner of your own narrative, so please tell me the story of Silas Wayne.”
“It’s Silas Richard Wayne.”
“Your middle name is important to you, then.” He’s not really asking, but I answer anyway.
“It is,” I confirm, and let out a sigh. Maybe it’s easier to just go along with this. The sooner he realizes I’m not suffering from trauma, the sooner I can leave. “It’s my grandfather’s name, my father’s father. He’s a good man. A great person all around. One of my favorites, really.”
“All right, so please, tell me everything.” From his response to the face I pull, I guess I succeeded in making it look like “are you fucking kidding me?” But then he holdsup one hand. “I know it’s not simple, but you clearly think I’m wrong, and everyone else is wrong, so you have only something to gain by telling me everything. Right now you already feel like everyone’s against you, so why not try?”
That is possibly the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, but then Mom and Dad’s faces pop into my head... how scared they looked at the hospital. Then Vinny’s, so obviously heartbroken.
If not for me, and to get the satisfaction of proving I’m right, then I need to do this for them.
“Right.” I clear my throat and lean back on the couch, then thread my fingers together as much as I can with the cast on. I make sure my leg is perfectly bent, then look out the window. “I was born in LA, and I’m twenty-two. I have a sister who’s five years older than me, and I spent the first fifteen years of my life believing I was going to be a professional hockey player. Dad played hockey, and so did his best friend, Uncle Hulk.” I see him taking notes, but quick ones, since he looks back up periodically and keeps eye contact. “Uncle Ruko and Aunt Lyla aren’t my uncle and aunt by blood, but they lived next to us and they’re like family. They have two kids—Vinny who’s my age, and Lex who’s four years younger than us. We all skated together growing up. We all wanted to be professional hockey players.
“My sister started playing professionally when she was seventeen, and she just retired a couple of years ago after a string of bad injuries. Vinny plays for Vegas, where I work as the head of PR, and Lex is more than likely going toenter the draft next year. I didn’t become a professional hockey player,obviously, because I had an accident when I was fifteen where I broke my leg all over and the doctors told me I could never play contact sports or put my leg through that kind of strain again.
“So I went to college, got my degree, started my career in PR, and then made a good enough impression on the right people so that when the opportunity presented itself I was offered this job.”
Dave looks at me for a long moment when I’m done, and it’s fucking unnerving.
“That’s a good start,” he says mildly. “Now, let me ask you some questions.”
He asks for specifics on everyone I mentioned before, and he goes on to ask me about other friends... which I don’t have. Other hobbies... also none. Other interests... nope. Why do I think this happened now... because I was stressed and angry. And on and on it goes.
I don’t look at my watch or the clock by the door, I just keep talking and answering every question he throws at me until he takes off his glasses and rubs at his eyes.
“Did Dr. Jody tell you about the schedule?”
