I snort. “Is this some kind of reverse psychology? You try to get some kind of rise out of me only to have me collapse and vomit emotionally all over you? You know me better than that.”
He grins at me. “Saw through that, did you?”
“It was pretty clear.”
“Then let’s try for full transparency, shall we?”
“Do your worst.”
Oh, you’re fucked, it says.
Probably, I think back.
“I don’t think you’ve properly dealt with your mother leaving. I don’t think you’ve properly dealt with the death of Mrs. Paquinn. I don’t think you’ve properly dealt with the fact that you loved someone who you thought couldn’t return your affections. I think all of this, coupled with your propensity to hide behind your intelligence and your ability to act far beyond your years, has left you susceptible to your so-called earthquakes. I think you overthink things to the point that it becomes your primary focus. You see your behavior as selfish and self-serving, but I see it as extraordinarily single-minded, to the point of obsession. Not with the subject of your thoughts, but the idea of them, their aspects, and everything right or wrong with said subject. You’re slightly manipulative—not in a malicious way, but such that you’re able to hide certain things about yourself so that others don’t see them. Derrick. Oliver. Dominic. You act like an adult because you’ve been forced to since a very young age. You were never able to have a childhood like most given your situation and the singular drive you felt to protect your brother. You carry the weight of the world on your shoulders because you believe that’s what you’re supposed to do. And the panic disorder, whether it stemmed from a neurological issue or an emotional one, was something you could latch on to, and then came the Klonopin. And for the first time in your life, you thought, why not? Why not let it go, just for a little while? Why not let things slide with the blurred edges? You decided to take an easy out, just to see what would happen. And when you were called on it, you went back to the way you were before. That singular drive. It explains how you were able to knock the addiction so quickly after being on the medication for almost a year.” He sits back in his chair. “Is that transparent enough for you?”
“Like a punch in the face,” I tell him through the thunder in my ears.
“I wouldn’t normally say something like that. But I figure it’s time someone did. And regardless of what you think, you’re strong enough to hear it. Sometimes, tough love is what a person needs in order to clear their head.”
I’m incredulous. “That’s your idea of tough love?”
“Scary, isn’t it?” He sounds amused.
“Terrifying.”
“And yet, how accurate was it?”
“I don’t know if I can even respond to that.”
“So, very accurate, then.”
“Well, it’s not every day I get told I’m a manipulative junkie.”
He rolls his eyes. “Is that really what you took away from all that?”
“No,” I grumble. “I also took away that you’re a bit of a jerk.”
Eddie laughs. “You’ll thank me for it later.”
“I dream about her. Sometimes.” It’s out before I can stop it.
“Oh?” is all he says.
“That’s normal, right?”
“You’re asking me what normal is?”
I look down at my hands. “Right. Probably not the best question.”
“Normal is boring,” Eddie says. “I couldn’t imagine a drabber existence.”
“I could go for drab right now. It’d be a nice change from the crazy.”
“You’d get bored, I think.”
I sigh. “Maybe.”
“Are they bad dreams? You mentioned nightmares before.”