Page 62 of Just My Puck
“How was your Christmas?” he asks.
I take a deep breath. “Honestly, it was great. Caleb took me to his parents’ house, and we had a lovely time. I’ll admit, it was kind of weird, intruding on their family time, but I was grateful to be there.”
“Did you encounter anything familiar, like the lily? Have you smelled that scent again?”
“I actually bought a lily-scented candle,” I say. “So, almost every day, but aside from that sense of comfort, nothing has come to mind. One of the throw blankets at Caleb’s parents’ house seemed familiar too, and I felt something weird when a friend said the word ‘dawn’ yesterday.”
“That’s wonderful progress. It looks like your brain is opening up more and more. What exactly did you feel when you heard the word ‘dawn’? What does ‘weird’ look like to you?”
I gnaw at my bottom lip. “I don’t know. Familiar, but also like it carried a lot of weight.”
“Was it a good feeling?”
“Not really,” I admit.
“Anything else?” he asks, studying me.
I open my mouth, then close it. What would he think of me if I told him what happened this morning? No sane person would suppress their memories. Then again, he is my therapist. Maybe there’s something seriously wrong with me, and he can help.
“You can tell me anything,” he reassures me. “I will not judge you, Aria. This is your process, and you’re moving at your own pace.”
I take a deep breath and gaze outthe window. “I have this scar on my knee. I see it every day when I wash myself, but this morning, something happened.” I swallow, wetting my dry throat. “A memory resurfaced. I was in a playground. It was close to my house, but I couldn’t see it. There were other kids around, and I was happy, carefree. As I was running, I fell and hurt my knee. It bled out badly, and I cried.”
“What happened next?” he asks, still scribbling in his notebook.
“Nothing. I blocked it out.”
He frowns in confusion. “You mean you couldn’t remember the rest?”
“No. I probably would have,” I say, wringing my hands. “But I didn’t want to. I blocked it out on purpose.” I pause, my stomach clenching. “What does that mean? Am I crazy?”
He holds me with his gaze, his eyes steady and reassuring. “It’s not unusual for patients in your situation not to want to remember once they start building a new life.”
“I kissed Caleb yesterday,” I blurt out, and my cheeks catch fire. Does my therapist really need to know that? “And, well, he kissed me back.”
“Are you happy about that?”
“I am.” I can’t help but smile. “I’ve been crushing on him for a while. I know you’re going to say it’s not a healthy relationship because he doesn’t even know the real me, and we have this weird co-living situation, but nothing has ever felt this good. And in a way, he does know me. He knows the me that exists now. Isn’t that what matters?”
“It does matter,” he says with a resolute nod. “And for the record, I wasn’t going to say it’s an unhealthy situation. You’re both in this circumstance knowingly, so why would it be unhealthy?” He pauses, crossing his legs. “That being said, it’s still important to know who you were and where you come from, Aria. Blocking out your memories will not help with that. If they want to come back, they will, and I encourage you to embrace them.”
“But what if my life sucks?” I say, almost pleading. “The life I’m building here is perfect. And I know it sounds weird, but I’m pretty sure I never had it this good.”
He smiles softly. “Knowing your past doesn’t have to change that. You’re in control of your life, your future. You can decide to leave behind the old you and start over, but you owe it to yourself to remember. And you owe it to your potential loved ones too.”
My stomach constricts. He’s right. I’ve been incredibly selfish, distancing myself from my past. I might have everything I need here, but what if there are people out there devastated over my disappearance? Ican’t just ignore that. No matter how much it might hurt when the truth comes out.
26
“You’re the sweetest man alive, Caleb Hawthorne.”
Caleb Hawthorne
Practice with the guys was great—despite Wally still being in the UK—but I’m eager to get home to Aria. I stop by the florist and choose a beautiful arrangement before continuing home. When I swing the front door open, I can’t help but smile.
“What’s that?” she asks, a touch of pink coloring her cheeks. She’s sitting on the couch in the living room, her notebook in hand.
“Just wanted to make today a little more special,” I say, giving her the flowers.
