“Hey, Willow. How are you?”
Ever since I got out two months ago, Beth has called me on and off, to check in with me. We’ve gotten pretty close, actually. At first, I thought that she did it with all the patients, as unbelievable as that sounds. But then I realized she only did it with me, because none of the other girls have gotten any calls from her.
I would’ve felt a little awkward and suspicious about her regular calls, but I actually don’t. I never even asked her why she calls me.
I go to the window and press my nose on the glass, looking into the dark, rainy night. “I’m good. How’re you? How’s Heartstone?”
“It’s good. Not the same without you, though.”
I smile. “Ah, you’re sweet. Do you miss me?”
“Of course.”
“Maybe I should come back.”
“Oh God, no. You stay out there.”
I laugh. “Maybe we should do coffee. You should come to the city.”
I hear her chuckle. “Yeah, maybe.”
Then she goes quiet for a few seconds and I think that I’ve lost her. I look at the screen to confirm but nope, the call’s still on.
“Beth?” I speak into the phone, frowning. “Are you there?”
“Yes, I’m here. I’m sorry I…” She hesitates, and my heart picks up.
So far, in all our calls Beth has never hesitated. She’s usually very warm and friendly, motherly even. She asks me about my job, my therapy with Ruth, even about Sunday dinners with my family.
It’s a pretty light and nice conversation. And by the end of it, I’m both smiling and hurting. Some days the hurt outweighs the smile but that’s my problem. In my head, Beth is connected to him.
It suddenly hits me, though. That I can’t talk to her anymore. I can’t have these phone calls with her if I want to move on.
The truth is that the only reason I talk to her is because I want to hold on to him. I might even be hoping to hear something about him.
“Willow, I want to ask you something.”
My heart is in my throat, throbbing, pounding as I wait for her to ask her question. I have a feeling that today I’ll find out why she’s been calling me.
“Will you tell me what happened that day?”
My head drops, and I stare at my bare feet. I can’t bear to wear my bunny slippers anymore. They remind me of him. Of how he’d put them on my feet when he was cleaning me up and how he would ask me to keep them on when he was fucking me like he loved me.
“Why?” I whisper. “You’ve never asked me before.”
It’s true.
After The Incident, Beth called me into her office and told me that I needed to focus on getting better. She gave me the option to stay on, saying that she’d talk to my psychiatrist on the Outside, recommending it highly.
Not once did she ask me why I attacked a doctor. I had a feeling she knew, though. I don’t know why she didn’t say anything.
Josie knew, too. We never said his name out loud in our sessions, though. I told her that I never wanted to go back to that place where I could become a danger to myself, no matter how heartbroken I was.
My mental health is mine and I need to do everything to protect it. Only I am responsible for it, no one else. Not even him.
But Heartstone is a small place. Things get out. Especially since the day after The Incident, he left and never came back. Not to mention, everyone knew of our more than usual number of meetings. I was the only one who saw the doctor-in-charge every other day in his office. The rest followed a routine.
And I thought we were being so smart under the guise of medicine.
A love fool.
Anyway, they brought in another replacement doctor who stayed until Dr. Martin was better enough to join us.
She sighs, bringing me back to the present. “I’m asking because I feel like what happened was, in some way, my fault.”
My head whips up. “What?”
“I knew, Willow. I knew you were spending time with him. I saw the way you looked at him and the way you acted around each other. It was my fault. I should’ve stopped it.”
“Why didn’t you?”
Her chuckle is sad. “He asked me the same thing. And I’m going to tell you the same thing I told him. I knew you were in love. By the time I found out, I knew it was too late. Maybe it was always too late. Maybe you were always in love with him.”
My heart’s beating so fast that I can’t breathe, let alone talk. “I… I wasn’t…”
I don’t know what I’m trying to say. Perhaps I’m trying to deny it.
“He tells me that I should’ve stopped it when I had the chance.”