Page 57 of Actions and Reactions
I stand and go to Mom first. The strong grip I feel on my back makes me realize she’s probably scared, and that’s the last thing I want, ever. So I pull back with some force and look down at her.
“I’m going to be okay, Mom. Don’t worry.”
“I know, honey. I know.” She pats the spot on my chest she’s staring at and then steps back so I can hug Dad too. No words are needed between us. I know he’s scared too, because I’ve seen it in the last week, but I hope I can get my shit together enough in a few days so they’re less worried when they see me on Sunday.
When I step back, he clears his throat then looks down. I wonder what’s on his mind for a second, but then he takes off his watch—a Patek Philippe he bought after his first contract was signed with the LA Empire—and he hands it to me.
I take it of course, I’ve always admired it, and strap it onto my wrist. Then I hand him my smart watch back, and he shakes his head and puts it in his pocket. Yeah, I knew he wouldn’t wear it.
Next comes Lottie, and she smiles big before throwing her arms around me.
“Why don’t you try making some friends, huh? I feel like you might need them.”
“I’ll do my best, Lottie,” I murmur, then I take one last look at them and just leave the room.
I hear Dr. Jody’s footsteps behind me and she catches up in no time.
We stop at a set of double doors, and she swipes a card on the reader then pushes one open.
The hallway isn’t what I expected, more homey or like a hotel than a psychiatric hospital for sure, but there are a lot of doors. Dark wood that contrasts nicely with the beige of the walls. We stop at the fourth and I see there are no card readers on this one, which gives me peace of mind even though I can see there’s a lock on the handle.
“This is your room. Your clothes should be in there. Please write down everything you want to get from your luggage.” She hands me a piece of paper and a pencil. “And if there’s anything else you want to ask your family to bring you on Sunday, please let us know so there are no issues when they want to bring it in.”
“Yeah, sure.”
I walk in and it’s a pretty simple room. Nothing on the walls, a reasonably sized window, a sink, a double bed with white sheets, and a nightstand with a lamp.
“Thank you,” I remember to say, and spin around to look her in the eyes. They’re gray, maybe a bit greener than Aunt Lyla’s, but they still remind me of her, and of Vinny, even though he has Uncle Hulk’s green eyes.
“No problem. Can I have your phone?”
“Right.”
Someone who’s standing just beside her, that I can’t see, hands her this small metal box, and she puts my phone in there then locks it and hands it back to whoever they are.
“Phone time is every day at three, and dinner is in just one hour, at seven. You’ll have your first individual therapy session tomorrow after breakfast, which is at eight, and your therapist, Dr. Dave Hunter, will give you your schedule.”
“Perfect.”
I do my best to keep my smile intact until she leaves and closes the door behind her. Then I just stand there and look around.
This is very obviously a private center, and I know how incredibly lucky I am that my parents are paying for it. It does make me wonder, though, and hope despite everything, that maybe I won’t be bombarded with real-life trauma and shamed for my inability to cope while having the perfect life.
If other patients also have the perfect life, then maybe this won’t totally suck?
I can hope.
15
Ivan
“They’re flying out tomorrow,”Mom says conversationally over breakfast.
I don’t have to ask whotheyare, and the easy tone doesn’t soften the blow.
I force the air out of my lungs and nod before going back to inhaling the omelets Mom made for me. It’s one of the few things she can cook perfectly, and what we’ve been having for breakfast for a week.
Fred leaves me some options for breakfast, but they’re few since I can always get breakfast at the rink or the arena.
