Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91504 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91504 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
And then he’ll have to report that to the medical board.
And then I’ll never get out of this mess.
Though maybe I don’t care. I don’t need money. Our apartment is paid off, and I can shoplift for food and the necessities. Imagine that? No, actually, I can’t. Maybe I would teach if I lost my license for good. I could work at Columbia. Dye my hair platinum blond—Gabriel seems to have a penchant for that look. Then we could grab lunch and laugh together over salads.
Lord, I’m losing it.
It’s the awareness that I have to pee that eventually gets me up. And while I’m standing, I might as well put shoes on. Wash my face. Draw my coat over my shoulders. It’s literally a forced, step-by-step process to get myself back out of the house when it’s time to leave for my appointment. I take the train two stops, count the stairs up from the subway while climbing them, weave through the maze of people. I’m exhausted, mentally and physically, by the time I arrive. Too much thinking, too much stressing, causes potentially toxic by-products to build up in the prefrontal cortex. I’ve explained it to patients with paranoia a hundred times. Though I’m not the doctor today.
“Meredith, a pleasure, as always. Come in, come in.” Dr. Alexander’s typical greeting. But his usual polite smile wilts as he lays eyes on me. His brow furrows. “What’s going on today? You seem…” He searches for a word that won’t offend me.
I never judge a patient’s appearance or make assumptions about their mental state of being. Better they tell me those things. But he’s misstepped, and I let him struggle through it.
“A little off?” he finally finishes.
“I am.” And because I have nothing left to lose, I am honest with him for the first time since our initial session. “I’ve been following Gabriel still. I lied to you.” I tell him about the storage unit Gabriel goes to every day. The intimate meals with women. My quest to find the graves of his family. Gabriel’s smiles, his laughter, the collision at the alley today.
“I just have to see it,” I say.
“See what?”
“The hurt. The pain. I know it’s under there somewhere. Under his smile.”
Dr. Alexander’s eyes roam my face. “You don’t believe it’s possible for him to be happy? That he could have healed. Like we’ve talked about.”
“How could he be healed? And what’s in the storage unit? Why would anyone go to a storage unit every day? You can’t house live animals in them. So why?” I finish my sentence and have to take a moment to catch my breath.
“Meredith, I would like to consider why this matters. He is not your concern. What he does with his time is not your concern. So why does it matter why he goes there or what’s inside?”
I open my mouth, rapidly formulating a response. “Because…” But even in my own head it sounds weak, though I say it anyway. “I have to know. I need to know.”
“Know what?”
I sigh, exasperated. “I don’t know.”
He waits, gives me time to think, add to my response. When I don’t, he shifts in his seat. “Humor me for a moment. What if Mr. Wright is happy and has moved on with his life? How would that make you feel?”
“I would be thrilled for him, of course. But he can’t possibly—”
Dr. Alexander holds up a hand. “One moment, please. Let’s see this through. If Mr. Wright could move on, wouldn’t that help you move on?”
“I suppose…”
“Do you feel like you deserve to move on, Meredith?”
Of course not. How could I? But I see what he’s trying to get at. He thinks I’m refusing to accept that Gabriel is happy as some sort of self-punishment.
After a long bout of silence, he smiles. “I’m going to answer my own question here. You do deserve to be happy, and I think this is a topic we need to discuss more in the future. For now, perhaps we can consider the consequences of your actions for a moment. How did it feel to almost get caught today?”
“It scared the living hell out of me. But also…” There had been something else, too. He hadn’t recognized me, and I was glad for that, but some part of me had been disappointed. I don’t tell Dr. Alexander that. “It felt like the high you get from gambling,” I finally say. “Like it could go either way.”
“Hmm…”
That was the wrong answer. Not what a mentally stable person would say. I know that. But it’s the truth.
“I’m concerned that without more going on in your life, you’re designing risky games to play. Sure, it’s not drinking or drug use, but it’s no less dangerous. Do you want to get caught, Meredith? Get in more trouble than you already are?”