Page 91 of Let the Game Begin

I didn’t want to call Dr. Lively, no matter what my mother said.

I first set foot in his clinic when I was a child. Finally, I had quit taking any psychotropic drugs, quit attending our appointments, and quit even answering his calls.

Every Thursday, Dr. Lively still contacted my mother to ask her about me and about how I was doing, but I avoided talking about my problems with my mother.

Those problems were still there, though. They would always be there.

But I didn’t want Chloe to deal with her pain alone. I didn’t want her to give up on smiling at the age of sixteen.

I walked out into the garden, trampling the grass. The sun was high overhead, illuminating my sister’s blond hair as she slowly moved back and forth on the swing. Its red paint was faded now, and the chain creaked with every slow sway, but Chloe had loved playing on it ever since she was a little kid. She loved swinging, pumping her legs in the air, because she said that it made the sky feel like it was getting closer and closer. Like she might be able to touch a cloud.

“Little Koala.” I approached quietly while Chloe stared off into space, lost in her unknowable thoughts. There, sitting on that rusty swing, caughtbetween the two chains, she was still the baby of the family. The same one who always argued with Logan over the swing and would run to claim it before our brother could.

“This was the one place where I was happy. I felt like I could fly…” she muttered, lost in her memories as her hand gripped the chains tighter.

“In dreams, you can touch the sky with a finger…” I added, sticking my hands in the pockets of my jeans and continuing to smile at her, even as she just kept staring into empty air with a blank, lifeless look on her face.

Seeing her like this hurt; it really, really hurt.

“I don’t have dreams anymore.” She looked up, staring aimlessly into the sky. I knew what she was feeling. I felt it too, every day of my life, so I knew that I had to do something to help her. Help her in therightway.

“Think of this swing as a metaphor.” I knelt down in front of her and Chloe stopped moving back and forth, looking into my eyes.

“What does that mean?” she whispered.

“You push yourself into the future, and you pull the past behind you.” I needed to reassure her, to encourage her, and get her moving forward. “Carter tried to hurt you, but he couldn’t. You were brave; you were able to defend yourself.” I touched her cheek and smiled slightly. “He didn’t take away your chance to share yourself for the first time someday with the person you love. You are going to have sex when you decide, and it will be wonderful; it will be what every girl your age dreams about. You still get to dream, Chloe.”

She could do it; she got to make that choice. Life had given her that opportunity, and I was so glad that the worst hadn’t happened to her. Still, it wasn’t easy to get past that kind of violence. It didn’t matter that the son of a bitch didn’t do everything he wanted; he had still lured her to a party and pulled her into one of the bedrooms where he tried take advantage of her.

“I can’t forget the things he said to me; the feeling of his hands on me…” She looked down, trying to conceal the tears that were already sliding down her wan face. I rubbed them away with my thumbs and turned her face up to me again.

“Do you trust me, kiddo? There’s somewhere we need to go.” She had to face down her demon and destroy it. It was something I’d been tryingto do my whole life, and I hadn’t yet succeeded. But she was going to do it.Shewould succeed.

“Where?” she asked, getting hesitantly to her feet.

“There’s someone I’d like you to meet…”

***

Later that afternoon, we pulled up in front of the sleek and modern private clinic.

“Let’s go.” After we parked, I prompted Chloe to follow me to the entrance. His offices shared a building with a larger in-patient mental health facility. The structure was so large that it was a bit intimidating. I didn’t remember it being this grand. We traversed a long avenue of greenery with a fountain in the middle. Then we arrived at the security doors, which we opened by pressing a buzzer that would alert the people inside to our presence. I glanced around, noticing all the typical security cameras everywhere. I couldn’t shake the familiar feeling that places like this were nothing but shiny glass prisons.

“Did you seriously take me to a psychiatric clinic?” Chloe grumbled. I could feel her shivering underneath the palm of my hand, which was resting on her shoulder. I smiled at her and cleared my throat, trying not to alarm her.

“No, I took you to one of the best psychiatrists in New York. He does diagnoses and different kinds of therapies, and he only prescribes medication when it’s absolutely necessary. In your case, all you’re going to do is talk to him,” I explained, trying to reassure her.

I noticed a lot had changed since I’d last been here. The vestibule felt more welcoming and modern to me. There were big plasma screens on the walls displaying ads for psychiatric therapy and innovative methods of dealing with mental illness interspersed with picturesque art that gave the otherwise white and antiseptic environment a pop of color. There were ornamental plants hanging from pots in the corners, and it still smelled like fresh paint, which led me to believe the changes were recent.

I led Chloe over to the counter in front of the spacious waiting area where a middle-aged woman sat behind a computer.

“Hi, I’m Neil Miller. I need to see Dr. Lively,” I said, drawing her attention to us. She slid her glasses down her nose and looked from me to Chloe.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No, but I am a long-standing patient of his,” I said easily. Dr. Lively used to tell me he would always make time for me, and now it was time to see if he really meant it. She tapped away at her computer, probably checking the patient registry for my profile. I knew exactly what she’d find. In fact, I knew my entire medical history by heart, and it wasn’t great.

Dr. Lively also used to tell me that all the time.