Page 4

Early Saturday morning, I made the hour and a half long journey up to Columbus.

As much as I’d have loved to just sleep in and continue my dark denial, the reality was that I was sinking, and I knew it. I needed Dr. Chin to help me wade through the fallout of my life choices whether I wanted to or not, if for no other reason than to preserve the sanity of everyone around me.

Apparently, your mental health status didn’t just affect you.

The lot outside the Bureau had more cars parked than I’d have expected, but I guessed crime didn’t exactly take weekends off, and to be honest, I was relieved to see them all. The last time I’d gone there on a Saturday, I’d been manhandled by an agent until Dawson landed a haymaker on him. I was hoping to avoid a repeat of that.

It wouldn’t exactly help that aforementioned mental health status of mine to relive that gem.

Dr. Chin was waiting for me in the lobby with a smile on her face. “Good morning, Kylene. It’s good to see you,” she said as she crossed the ornate Bureau crest on the stone floor to join me. “How was your drive?”

“Uneventful, so I’ll take that as a win.”

“As you should. Now, shall we?”

I nodded in agreement, and she led the way from the lobby down the hall to another where her office resided. As we made a right, I glanced to my left and caught a glimpse of someone I could have sworn was Dawson slipping inside a room with his boss, Special Agent in Charge Wilson, right behind him.

I wondered if he’d finally found something on the AD to report. But he would have called me if he had…wouldn’t he?

“ Kylene ,” Dr. Chin called, breaking me from that unnerving thought. I turned to find her waiting by her office door. “Are you coming?”

“Yep! Sorry…right behind you.” I jogged over to her and followed her inside. She gestured to the chair I normally sat in, then took her seat across from me. Her smile was warm as she held eye contact with me for longer than I was comfortable with—especially in silence. Then she pulled out her little notebook, and a sense of doom snaked its way up my back.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you. How are you doing?”

“I feel like that’s a loaded question, but okay, I guess. Given the circumstances.”

Her mouth pressed together in a sympathetic smile of sorts. “I’ve been apprised of those events by Agent Wilson. We don’t have to talk about them if you don't want to. I’m most interested in how you’ve been feeling since then. He mentioned that you had a concussion. How are you healing from that?”

“It seems to be coming along. Screens don’t bother me anymore and I’m not having any headaches or visual issues. My recollection of that night feels stronger now, but I still have some holes in my memory.”

She nodded. “That’s not uncommon with head injuries. What did the doctors have to say when they evaluated you?”

I shrugged. “Not much. They said my memory should return over time and to be patient, which is not my strong suit, but I’m trying.”

“I’m glad to hear that you should recover fully from that. How about everything else? You’ve been through a lot, and it would be totally normal to be experiencing all sorts of emotions and feelings that aren’t typical for you. Have you noticed any?”

“I feel…detached a lot of the time. Like the world is happening around me and I’m just sort of there, but not really a part of it, if that makes sense.”

She nodded and jotted something down in the notebook. “How’s your motivation?”

“Nonexistent, if I’m being blunt. The pile of homework amassing around me can attest to that.”

“Are you able to find joy in anything? Your friends? School? Your grandfather?”

“‘Joy’ is a strong word. I mean…I like being around them. I laugh with or at them, depending on the situation…”

I paused for a moment, and Dr. Chin took definite notice. “I feel like you’re hesitating; like there’s a ‘but’ in there somewhere.”

“I guess there is, because none of it feels the same.”

Her pen scratched across her notepad. “You’ve been through an immense amount of trauma and loss, Kylene. It would be understandable to have some mental health repercussions from that.”

“Like what?”

“Well, depression, for one—”

“I’m not depressed,” I argued quickly. “I get out of bed every day. I’m able to go through my normal routine without interruption. I’m not sad or despondent—”

“And that’s good, but there are other signs—more subtle signs—that we don’t want to overlook.”

“Like what?”

“Change in appetite. Difficulty concentrating. Fatigue that seems out of character or sudden. Anxiety or irritability.” Check, check, check, and check . “Do you feel you’re experiencing any of those symptoms?”

“I guess so, but couldn’t some of those relate to PTSD? Or other things?”

“Yes, they absolutely could. There is definite overlap there. It could also be that you are just coming down hard from an extremely stressful period when your body has been in fight-or-flight mode without reprieve—like an adrenaline crash of sorts, but on a much larger scale.”

“Okay, so what do we do about it? What’s the next step?”

“For now, we keep meeting to talk. I’m going to give you some information on breathing exercises to help balance your nervous system. And I want you to journal. It can be an amazing tool if utilized well.” She hesitated for a moment after listing off my homework, and it put me on edge immediately.

“But…?”

“It’s not a ‘but’, really, Kylene, just another step if where we start off doesn’t seem to be improving things.”

“Which is?”

“If your situation worsens or you feel you need more help, I will need to refer you to a psychiatrist for further evaluation and potential medication if necessary.”

“Oh…all right.”

“Does that bother you?”

Yes . “No,” I said, shaking off her question. “It just feels extreme.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s extreme, but it would be an escalation of care, and one that many people need to take, either temporarily or long term. As I said, I don’t think we’re at that juncture yet, so my recommendations stand.”

I contemplated her words for a moment, silently taking it all in while she looked on, placid expression as neutral as ever. “I guess I’m just a bit surprised. I would never have considered that I could be depressed.”

“This is not an attempt to label you with something that makes you uncomfortable. In truth, I’m not concerned with giving you one at all. I want to help the person sitting in front of me get through a difficult transition in her life however I can. If labels make you uneasy, we don’t have to use them.”

“No, it’s fine, I think. I mean, PTSD never bothered me because it made sense. This one just doesn’t feel like it fits, you know?”

“I do, and it doesn’t have to. For now, our goal is to see if we can get you a better sense of normalcy while we work through things. Is that okay with you?”

I nodded. “Yeah. That sounds great.”

She smiled at me, then picked up the notebook she’d set aside and put it on her lap. “Where would you like to start?”

* * *

We spent the bulk of our time together hashing out my real feelings about everything that happened the night of the state pageant and the incident on the bridge. She asked about Gramps and my friends…and Dawson. About school and college and my plans for next year. Tears were shed. Deep breaths were taken. And as much as I low-key hated to admit it, I felt better. Lighter. Maybe there really was something to this therapy stuff after all.

Then she opened a can of worms that shit on it all.

“Let’s switch gears for a minute,” she said, adjusting the pillow behind her. “I’d like to ask about your parents.” Great . “Have you seen your father recently?”

“No, I haven’t had a chance to.”

“Have you spoken to him on the phone?”

“Nope.”

She quickly jotted something down in her book, and it was all I could do not to jump up and see what it was. “Do you feel like you’re avoiding him?”

“I wouldn’t say avoiding him.”

“What would you call it?”

Dammit . “I’m just really busy with school. We talked about that already.”

“And I believe that, Kylene. I’m just trying to figure out why you haven’t gone to see the person whose incarceration has fueled nearly everything you’ve done since he was put away. It seems an extreme shift, and I’d like to discuss the why behind it—see if there’s something there.”

“Things with my dad are…complicated right now.”

“How so?”

I let out a heavy breath. “The last time we saw each other, we fought about his case. About what really happened and why he’s really in prison. Things were said…” I flinched inwardly as the way I’d yelled at him and stormed out replayed in my mind. “We didn’t exactly part on good terms.”

“And how do you feel about that?”

“How do you think I feel?” I snapped before taking a breath to calm my knee-jerk anger. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize. Please continue.”

“I feel shitty about it. It’s clear my dad won’t tell me things I’m desperate to know, and I’m not sure I can forgive him for it.”

“That must be difficult for you.”

“It is…my dad is one of my favorite people. Knowing that he’s withholding information that could help get him out—help reunite us—is a hard pill to swallow.”

“Does it feel personal?”

Yes . Yes, it did. “I guess so, in a weird way.”

“Do you trust your father?”

“Of course I do.”

“I wonder if, in this particular matter, you may have to defer to his judgment, even if you don’t believe in it.”

“I’m not sure I can.”

She smiled sympathetically. “Kylene, is it possible that some of this change in behavior that you’re experiencing could be grief?”

“ Grief ? Why would it be grief? He’s not dead.”

“No, he isn’t, but it seems as though your dream to get him out might be, and that could feel as heavy and as real as his actual death to you, especially after all you’ve been through; after all you’ve done to see him freed.”

Her words impaled me. I clutched my chest where they’d punctured a metaphorical hole and tried to breathe past the burning ache they’d left in their wake. Because she was right; I had been grieving this whole time, and I hadn’t even seen it.

And somehow, putting a name to how I felt actually did make me feel better, because this time it actually fit.

“I never thought of it that way, but I think you’re right. It makes so much sense.”

“Sounds like we’re making some progress, then,” she said as she glanced at her watch. “We don’t have much time left today, but I was hoping that we could talk about your mother a bit next time you’re in. I’ve noticed you never really speak about her, and I think it might be helpful for us to explore why.”

“There’s no real mystery there, Doc. She bailed as soon as my dad went to prison. I haven’t heard from her since—even after I was nearly killed three times. And before you ask, it made me angry. Really, really angry. She didn’t just abandon my dad, she chose to ultimately leave me behind too.”

“Was it out of character for her to act that way?”

“I would have thought so, but it seemed really easy for her at the time, so…maybe I didn’t ever really know her. Maybe I’m grieving that loss too.”

“That’s a very mature observation, Kylene, one I’d like to pick up with next weekend, if that still works for you.”

“Sure.”

“But you know you can reach me if you ever need anything…if anything starts to feel like too much.”

“Yep, I know. Thanks.”

She placed her little notebook down, then stood. “I’ll walk you out.” She waited for me to stand, then led the way across the small room as though I needed a guide. Hand on the knob, she stopped for a moment as though she’d just remembered something. “Oh, I wanted to tell you that if you ever need to cancel again—even if it’s last minute—you can just send me a text if you’re unable to talk. There’s no need to go to the trouble of having someone call on your behalf.”

Something cold slithered down my spine. “Someone called?”

Her brow furrowed. “Yes. The last time we were to meet, a man called and said you wouldn’t be able to make it. Am I mistaken?”

Thoughts raced through my mind, none of them helpful, while I stood under the scrutinizing eye of Dr. Chin and tried to figure out what the hell was going on—without sounding an alarm, of course.

“Ohhh,” I said as though I’d just completely forgotten, “yeah, I’m sorry. That was the day before everything went sideways. You’re right. Gramps called for me because I had a fitting I’d forgotten about, and he didn’t want me to forget anything else, like canceling our appointment.”

Her expression lightened before she reached for the door again. “I understand. No worries on my end. I just wanted to let you know you could text me if it’s easier.”

“Duly noted,” I said with a smile as she opened the door. I tried not to run through it the second it swung wide. “I’ll see you next Saturday. Thanks again for everything.”

“My pleasure, Kylene.”

I walked toward the hallway leading to the lobby, doing all I could not to rush as fast as my thoughts. Pacing myself, I walked past closed office doors while my heart raced in my chest. Somebody had canceled that appointment for me, which meant someone hadn’t wanted me to meet with Dr. Chin—or someone had wanted me at the Bureau alone that day.

I shuddered at the thought. My steps quickened.

As I broke into a jog, someone came flying out of an office to my right just as I was about to pass. I slammed into him and would have tumbled to the floor if a strong grip hadn’t caught me. Breathing hard, I wheeled around to apologize and found myself nose to nose with Agent Cedric Dawson. One look at me and my frantic state, and the rookie fed knew something was up.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his tone business-only.

“Some guy canceled my appointment with Dr. Chin the day before the pageant,” I blurted out, “and I think it was the AD.”