The Patient Page 3

This was the first time I’d seen him show anger while talking about her. It was a good emotion for him to experience. Healthy.

  “Yes, we’ve discussed the roles we all play. For instance, I believe I’m here to help those who struggle.”

  He snorted, the force clearing his nostrils, leaving a mark on his hands, which he rubbed on his pants.

  I handed him the box of tissues while trying not to gag.

  “So you are saying you’re here for me.”

  I nodded.

  “I’m here for her. That’s it. That’s my role.”

  “You’re more than that, Tyler,” I said, but his quick downcast glance told me he didn’t agree.

  That was what made our sessions difficult. That was where I was left feeling all I’d done was fail him over and over again as his therapist.

  I wished he had more self-confidence, more trust in himself, more . . . just more.

  He fidgeted in his seat, his attention diverted from me to every possible item placed in the room.

  “She’s changed, you know? Every time I reach for her, she’s not there. Not emotionally, at least. When she looks at me, it’s as if she sees a ghost, unrecognizable. But I’m not the one who’s changed. It’s her. I don’t know what to do anymore . . .” He scrubbed his face with the palm of his hand. “I know you think I jump to conclusions, that I tend to make things out to be worse than they are, but it’s true. It’s all true.”

  Yes, those were thoughts I held, but I’d never actually said them to him.

  “Tyler, I believe your truth is very real to you, and I would never suggest otherwise.”

  He eyed me as he thought about my words. I saw the thought process all over his face.

  “I thought we worked together, worked well,” he said, not addressing my comment. “But where she used to be loving, now she’s cold as stone . . . and I’m . . . I’m scared,” he whispered. “She . . . she doesn’t like that I’m up all the time, at all hours. She says it’s not good for me, not healthy, that I need to sleep, so she gave me something, but I can’t take it. I won’t.”

  “Did you bring it with you today? Whatever it is she’s giving you to sleep?”

  “No. I can’t. She’d notice and ask me why. How would I explain that to her? She doesn’t like it when I accuse her of something, so I try not to, even when I know . . .” His voice trailed off to the point of silence, which stretched on longer than it should have.

  “Tyler? What is it you know?” He was stuck in a loop, and we danced around it in every session. It was as if a brick wall had been built directly in front of him, and he couldn’t find a way around it.

  “She’s different. Not the same anymore.”

  “Everyone changes. It’s okay. We’ve discussed this.” I was getting tired of butting my head against that brick wall.

  “You don’t. You can’t understand. I want . . .” He clutched one of the decorative pillows I’d recently bought tightly to his chest and rocked back and forth, back and forth, as if that would protect him from whatever imagined demons he faced. “I can’t.” He shook his head. “It’s not safe. Not here.”

  “You’re perfectly safe here, Tyler. I promise.”

  He looked around wildly, a mad glint in his gaze.

  “Nowhere is safe. Not from her. I want to be someone she considers an equal. But she doesn’t.”

  “How does she react when you try showing her that you are?” I asked. “Her equal,” I clarified.

  His shoulders hunched. “Haven’t you heard a thing I’ve said? She gets angry. That’s why I can’t talk to her, why I have to blend with the shadows. I’ve stopped watching for her. I can’t do it anymore. What she’s doing is . . . I just can’t. Instead”—he swallowed hard and ran his hand over his face—“instead, I just watch her.”

  What did he mean, he stopped watching for her and instead just watched her? That one word made a world of difference. Was it a slip of the tongue or intentional?

  I leaned forward. I couldn’t help myself. “What do you see?”

  He wouldn’t say. He just tightened his lips, his fingers white as they clenched around that pillow.

  Tyler continued to rock there for nearly ten minutes, pillow clutched tightly to his chest, like a small child.

  “Tyler? Ready to talk?” I gently nudged him.

  He blinked. One, two, three, four long seconds passed. His tight grip on the cushion relaxed, and his chest expanded as he took in a deep breath.

  “I’m okay.” His smile, full of trust, looked innocent but felt as fake as the Rolex on his wrist. I heard it in his voice. He’d donned a mask, become something or someone he thought I wanted him to be. He wasn’t okay; we both knew that.

  “I know you are. I just want you to remember, this will always be a safe place for you, Tyler.” I played along. “How about we go back a bit and talk about . . .” My voice drifted as he reached for the glass of water I’d left on the coffee table. He sniffed at it, and his nose wrinkled before he set it back down.

  “Is something the matter?” I asked.

  “The water . . . it . . . it . . . smells funny.”

  I reached for my own glass and took a sip before I pointed to the water jug on the side bar in my office.

  “The water is infused with cucumber.” I’d left a few slices in the water.

  “Cucumber?”

  “Is there an issue with the water?”

  “You’re not trying to poison me?” His voice rumbled like a lawn mower in the middle of summer.

  I held my hand out for his glass and sipped, careful to not leave a lipstick stain before I handed it back.

  “It’s safe to drink, Tyler. I promise, I’m not poisoning you.”

  His gaze never strayed from mine as he sipped, not until half the water was gone.

  “Maybe that’s what she does,” he said slowly, as if the idea that he wasn’t actually being drugged caught him off guard.

  The claim of being drugged to sleep wasn’t new, but it was the first time he seemed to be open to the idea that he could be wrong.

  “You don’t think she’s drugging me?”

  Paranoia. Since the beginning, I’d believed Tyler suffered from PPD, paranoid personality disorder, where suspicion and mistrust of others colored every aspect of his daily life.

  I let that idea sit with him for a bit as I made notes.

  “But why do I feel all groggy when I wake up?” he asked.

  “How often do you wake up feeling that way?”

  The look on his face gave me the response I needed.

  “All the time.”

  I set my notepad down beside my water and leaned forward, my elbows resting on my knees to create a more relaxed yet serious pose.

  “Tyler, your sleep patterns are erratic, and your body simply cannot function properly. Sleep is so important to your mental health and physical well-being. It’s possible that once your body knows it can rest, you’re simply waking up too early or from a deep sleep. I’d suggest not setting your alarm and allowing your body to wake up naturally when it’s ready.”

  No matter how minuscule these steps seemed, each one made a world of difference.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Have you kept your sleep journal up to date like I asked? Do you ever find yourself jolted awake?”

  He nodded.

  “That’s you waking from a deep sleep, and your body can’t make the adjustment as quick as you need. I think that’s why you’re groggy, unfocused, unable to concentrate, and feeling like you could sleep all day.”

  “Next thing you’re going to tell me is I don’t need to be following her. But you don’t know her like I do. I know the real her. The control freak, the—”

  He stopped himself; a hand rose to cover his mouth, as if he could physically block the words from being spoken, then dropped back to his lap.

  His mouth gaped like a fish desperate for air, but no sound came out. He tried again but with the same results. The desperation in his eye
s punched my heart.

  Tyler was a man stuck in the cycle of emotional and mental abuse by his girlfriend, and yet, no matter how much we’d worked on his self-image and self-worth, he wouldn’t leave her.

  He said he couldn’t. I told him it was his choice to make. He claimed to have no choice.

  I couldn’t make him. That wasn’t my role. My patients came to me for help, to be built up, to learn strategies so that when they were ready, they could move on.

  “Tyler, in all our sessions, you’ve never mentioned why you’ve stayed. Is it love? Does she add something to your life you couldn’t get on your own?”

  His lips tightened, and I caught a flash of anger on his face, but it was gone in an instant.

  That glimpse forced a shiver of fear through my body.

  “Let’s discuss the anger I’ve noticed today.”

  Crack-crack-crack-crack. He cracked his knuckles, one bone at a time.

  “I’m not angry.”

  Riiiight.

  “Do you love her?”

  There it was again. That look. The tightening of his lips, the way his nose flared, the twitchy vein in his cheek.

  What was I missing? Was this the true Tyler? The one he’d never shown me until now?

  I glanced at the clock on the table behind where he sat. It was only a slight flicker of my gaze, but Tyler noticed.

  “Is there somewhere else you need to be?” He issued a challenge with his gaze.

  I met his challenge and didn’t back down.

  “Sorry,” he conceded. “I just . . . you must be tired of me by now, listening to me talk about my failings over and over.” He sounded so contrite, but the look in his eyes was anything but repentant.

  “Do you love her?” I asked him again.

  “Love doesn’t matter. Not with us. She needs me. She needs me,” he repeated, this time with more conviction.

  He leaned back on the couch, his legs sprawled out, and he played with a button on his shirt.

  “What about you, Tyler? Do you need her?” I noticed the quick change in his behavior and reactions. From anger to confidence to uncertainty.

  “I think . . . so.” He hesitated. “I mean . . . things have changed or . . . are changing, but . . . it’s a two-way street. I can’t survive without her, but . . . I’m trying to be the man I used to be. The one she wanted before . . . just . . . before.”

  “Before what?”

  He looked away.

  “How does it make you feel to go back to that man you once were?”

  He swallowed hard but still wouldn’t look at me. “Scared. She’s the type of person who feeds off that fear, and I need her to start respecting me.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

  This was all new. Deeper than we’d ever gone before. I wanted to believe it was real, that he’d finally let down the facade that had been hiding emotions from me, but a part of me wasn’t so certain.

  Respect and trust were two issues that continued to pop up. There was this innate need in him to be both trusted and respected.

  The bell on my phone sounded, alerting us both that our session was over. I was tempted to prolong our time, but he jumped up from the couch.

  “I . . . I need to go. I promised her I’d be back. I . . .” He worried his hands together and swallowed hard.

  Before I could say a word, he slipped past me and left. He looked back once, and I noticed him hesitate, as if debating whether to come back in so we could continue discussing this fear he’d revealed. But then he turned and disappeared from view.

  Chapter Five

  MONDAY, AUGUST 5

  I needed to escape.

  That driving force washed over me until I was drowning, dying, caught in a riptide, unable to breathe, and my lungs were crushed from the burning weight of that need.

  Sometimes following my sessions, the emotions were too much for me to carry, and I needed to get out.

  Like today. Tyler’s session had suffocated me. His energy was monstrous, like a growing shadow that crept along a wall as the sun inched farther in the sky, its shape looming over me until I was as tiny as an ant.

  Tyler complained of feeling invisible, but right then, I wished I were.

  Ants, despite their size, are surprisingly strong. I wished I had that strength, not physically but emotionally.

  I was going to meet Tami for coffee. She’d bring the coffee, and I’d bring the dessert.

  The park, where I tended to escape most days, provided a sense of serenity, solitude, and a stillness I craved.

  Tami called it my sanctuary.

  Instead of walking, as I normally did, I needed to run. Instead of peace, I was on the cusp of a panic attack.

  Tonight there was no sanctuary, no safety net as I entered the park. I couldn’t shake off the sense of dread as I passed beneath the Wonderland arches over the entrance.

  Wonderland was my escape. It had always been my escape, ever since I was a small child and found an old book with a gold-embossed rabbit on the cover in a box my father picked up at a garage sale. When my parents would argue, I’d take that book, climb a tree, and read for hours nestled between branches. Alice and all her adventures were everything I’d wished for my own life back then.

  I’d learned that simply existing wasn’t enough for me. In order to live life the way it was meant to be experienced, I had to push past my own boundaries and embrace every adventure that came my way.

  If I were living a safe life, I wouldn’t have moved to Cheshire, away from everything familiar, all because I knew I was needed here.

  Growing up, the life lessons became invaluable, and I’d tried to impart the things I’d learned to my patients. For Tyler, it was the idea of pushing past our boundaries and not living in the past. For Ella, it was accepting who we are and living with that acceptance rather than hiding from it. For Savannah . . . she was the epitome of Alice herself. Her refusal to live within the lines others had colored for her, her willingness to try new things and to dream bigger than was societally accepted—that made her the modern-day Alice in my book.

  The park was full of walking paths, hidden alcoves with park benches, flowering bushes, and Alice in Wonderland character sculptures.

  Rather than head directly to our regular meeting place, I took my time, focused on my breathing exercises. I clenched and unclenched my fists in rhythm to my breath until the tension in my body left. When my nostrils no longer flared, when my jaw and chest weren’t as tight, I slowed my pace and took in the scenery around me.

  Everything from the Mad Hatter to the Cheshire Cat was hidden between the bushes and trees of the park.

  You had to look to find them, but they were there.

  I wound my way through the circular pathways until I came to Alice.

  She always waited for me, her statue pointing the way to my favorite secluded place.

  Normally I smiled in greeting, but today I caught the look on her face as if for the first time.

  A warning carved in stone.

  She may as well have spoken out loud, with a caution to be careful—a warning that the direction I was about to take wasn’t the direction I was looking for.

  Tyler’s face flashed in my mind, and his voice was on repeat. I need you please I need you please I need you please.

  The need to purge myself of Tyler’s draining energy was strong. I couldn’t let him affect me like that. It wasn’t right.

  Something about him had been off today.

  His emotions had been all over the place, his thought pattern frantic, rushed, fearful. His need for love, to be noticed, to have a purpose, blinded him.

  We all had our own demons. I faced those demons with my patients on a daily basis. All but my own. My demons were stifled, stuffed so deep inside they were silenced by the force of my will.

  Today, those demons noticed a crack through the flash I saw in Tyler’s eyes, their shouts of joy and victory deafening after years of defeat.

  I had to fill that crack before it
grew even more, and the only way I knew was thanks to this park. This park and Tami.

  Tami, my port during the roughest of storms, waited for me at the end of Alice’s journey with the Cheshire Cat looking on. Her head was bowed as she stared at her phone, her forehead knotted so tight I winced from the headache she must have. She didn’t notice me as I walked up.

  With her there, the anxiety that had pushed me just moments ago, heavy and wider than the Rocky Mountains, relaxed to the size of a mustard seed.

  “Why do I have a feeling,” I said as I tapped her shoulder, “I didn’t bring enough chocolate?”

  She rubbed her forehead, her fingers trailing along the deep lines, and she sighed.

  “For days like today, there will never be enough chocolate.” She handed me a cup she’d set to the side.

  “I added something to our coffee,” she said. “Figured we could both use it.”

  I inhaled the waft of fresh beans along with a hint of Baileys and smiled. This was exactly what I needed. Fresh air, my friend, chocolate, and spiked coffee.

  I pulled a container out of my bag that held some cheesecake bites dipped in chocolate I’d pulled from the freezer.

  “God, I love you.” She took the container and popped one of the bites into her mouth. “I also have a surprise for you.” After she finished off another cheesecake bite, Tami handed me a small item wrapped in soft-pink tissue paper.

  My eyes lit up as I took the gift and unwrapped a silver spoon with the rabbit from Alice’s book on the handle.

  “I love it!” I leaned over to give her a warm hug and squeezed hard. Sabrina had these spoons in her shop, and I’d always wanted to buy a few.

  We sat in silence as we sipped our coffee, Tami slurping as she did so. She said it enhanced the taste, something she’d learned once from a coffee master.

  “Rough day?” I leaned back and relaxed my neck, my head tilted toward the sky. The stretch felt good.

  “That doesn’t even begin to describe it. The tip line is going crazy, and I’ve spent way too many hours chasing after ghosts and any little thing that scurries off into the night. Some people have the craziest imaginations.” Tami pocketed her phone. “All I want to do is crawl back into bed and attempt to wake up from this nightmare.”