I Have Lived and I Have Loved - Willow Winters Page 0,258

letting the anger dim.

“I just need a little more time. Just a little longer before it all changes.” He says the words so quietly, like they aren’t for me. Only for himself.

“Before what changes?” I ask him as he turns to leave. He looks up at me like he forgot I was even here.

He stares at me for a moment, debating on answering me before saying, “Everything.”

Chapter 17

Robin

The red light makes me angrier today than it did the first time.

A conditioned environment makes sense. If you want someone to remember something, you recreate it. You offer up any triggers, any objects or words that could have a mental association. Jay’s plan has merit.

But it makes me angry because it takes me back there. Back to when I was helpless. Back to when I didn’t fight. If I had known how it would end, I would have killed the bastard. I would have found a way. I would have killed him before he could hurt Jay anymore.

My shoulders are squared as I sit on the bed though. My back’s against the hard cinder block wall. It doesn’t slip by me that John’s back is to the drywall, and he’s the one who’s forced to stare at the block wall. The same fucking stone that tortured my vision for four straight months.

“Do you feel comfortable?” John asks as he leans forward and puts his hands between his knees. I try to keep my eyes from moving to the blinking red light, but I fail.

I swallow the lump in my throat. “I could be more comfortable,” I tell him and then look back to his steely gaze, “but I’ll be fine.”

“You seem…” his brow furrows and he leans back with an uncomfortable expression. “Better today,” he concludes, finally settling on the words he wants.

“I’m more certain of what I need to do,” I look into the swirls of gray clouds as I tell him and bring my knees up to my chest. It’s an odd behavior I’ve seen patients do, but I like it when they do it. It makes them vulnerable, which inherently means they’re not defensive.

My eyes drift back to the red light, and I wonder who's really running this session. It needs to be me.

“Can I tell you something?” I ask John although it’s a rhetorical question.

He nods his head once, not breaking my gaze and says, “Jay said you had something to tell me.” My blood turns cold and I swallow the unforgiving lump in my throat, lowering my head to the comforter. I pull it up tighter around me, not wanting to address what John’s said at all. So, I don’t.

I pick at a loose thread. It’s a habit because for so long, all I had was a blanket to pick at. This one is thicker, higher quality and clean, but it’s a blanket nonetheless.

The thin thread slips between my fleshy fingertips before sliding past my nails as I start my story. “This story is about a girl named Marie.” Just saying her name makes my heart squeeze in my chest.

Her face flashes before my eyes. Beautiful green eyes that were so clear and so pure, I felt she could see to the very depths of my soul. Her skin was pale and her hair was always combed just so. She kept it perfectly straight as though she were put together, but she wasn’t in the least.

“Marie?” John asks me, and then crosses his ankle over his knee. The movement makes me look up as the memory of her voice echoes in my ears. “Doctor Everly.”

I nod my head, hating how real her voice sounds.

It takes me a moment before I’m able to speak. “She had a very abusive father. Her mother fled in the middle of the night when she was only six and left her there.”

The pain is nearly consuming as I talk about her in the past tense, but that’s where Marie will always be. Never again to be here with me.

“He hurt her?” John asks, and it disrupts my thoughts. I part my lips to exhale and answer his question. “Badly.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” John says with true sympathy. “You knew her well?”

My hair brushes my cheeks as I nod and say, “I was her shrink.”

“For almost ten years he systematically abused her in every way possible.”

“That’s horrible,” John says although his voice is absent. I feel the need to look up, to look into his eyes to see what he’s thinking, but