A Lover's Lament

“You do care, or you wouldn’t be here.” Her words hit me like a ton of bricks and I look down, suddenly fascinated with the invisible piece of lint on my pants. “If you didn’t care, then when they begged and cried for you to get help, you wouldn’t have listened. But you’re here, and you haven’t missed a session. And every time we meet, you open up a little bit more. That tells me you care.”

She’s right. I know that she’s right, but why do I keep acting like a bitch? Why does the thought of being around them and spending time with them make my skin crawl? Why do I insist on keeping myself closed off? Why do I ignore their calls and snap at them when I do see them?

“I don’t know. Only you can answer those questions.”

My eyes widen and I look up. “I, uh … I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

“But you did.”

“I did,” I acknowledge.

“So what’s the answer? Why does the thought of spending time with your family make your skin crawl?” My chest tightens and my legs become restless, my knee bouncing at a fast clip. “Why are you keeping yourself closed off from them?” Dr. Perry’s calm voice does nothing to soothe me, and this time it doesn’t make me want to open up. Nope, this time it pisses me off because she’s getting a little too close.

“I don’t want to talk about this.” Pushing up from the chair, I walk toward the window and stare out at the Great Smoky Mountains. I love it here. The rippling creeks, rolling hills and—

“Why don’t you want to talk about it?”

Son of a bitch, she is good with those stupid-ass, open-ended questions. “If I answer your question, can we change the subject?”

“For now.”

My stomach tightens at the knowledge that I should’ve driven that night. I haven’t told anyone else that little piece of information because I’m ashamed. I’m the reason my mom lost her husband, and I’m the reason Daddy won’t be there to walk Bailey down the aisle.

Reaching forward, I grip the base of the window and lean down. My lip trembles and I drop my chin to my chest, then blow out a slow breath. With my eyes squeezed shut, I open my mouth … but nothing comes out. I can’t. I can’t do this.

“It’s okay to cry, Katie,” she whispers from behind me.

I spin around, my eyes wide, my head shaking frantically from side to side. “Oh, I’m not going to cry.” The first tear drips down my face.

Dr. Perry tosses her notepad on the table. Pushing up from her seat, she walks to her desk and grabs a Kleenex, which she pushes into my hand. “I know you’re not, but if you decide to, I want you to know it’s okay. We all cry. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“It should’ve been me,” I blurt. Guilt penetrates the solid wall around my heart, and for the first time in several weeks I feel that horrible pain I’ve been working so hard at pushing away. My hand rubs absently at the ache in my chest and I suck in a sharp breath. “When I’m around them, I feel guilty … because it should’ve been me. And then I get angry that it wasn’t me, and then the anger takes over and all I can think about is Andrew Drexler.” Just saying his name makes me want to punch something. I curl my fingers, digging my nails into the palm of my hand. “I hate him,” I seethe. “I hate what he represents. I hate that he was so careless. It makes me sick. He’s a fucking soldier, Dr. Perry. He’s supposed to protect this country, not murder innocent civilians—”

“Katie—”

“No.” I shake my head, refusing to let her try and change my mind. “It’s true. He murdered my dad. I don’t give a shit what he’s gone through or how many lives he’s saved. It doesn’t give him the right to do what he did. It doesn’t give him the right to get behind the wheel three sheets to the wind and put everyone else’s life in danger.”

“Do you think about him often?” Dr. Perry’s question throws me off balance. I take a step back.

“Yes, I think about him often,” I admit. “I think about him rotting in jail.”

“How about your mom and sister?” she asks. “How do they feel about him?”

A maniacal laugh falls from my mouth. “They’ve forgiven him.” My eyebrows furrow and I search Dr. Perry’s face for something—anything—that tells me she thinks that sounds as crazy as I think it does. “They’ve actually forgiven him.”

Dr. Perry’s knowing eyes watch me. Her stare becomes too intense. Turning away, I walk back to the couch and sit down. Crossing my arms over my chest, I effectively close myself off … or put on my armor … no difference, I guess.

Dr. Perry follows suit and sits down across from me in her plush chair, but she doesn’t look comfortable. She scoots to the edge and props her elbows on her knees. “Katie.” Her voice is careful and I lean back, unsure of what she’s about to say. “Have you ever wondered what he’s been through?” My jaw drops and her words rush out before I have the chance to argue. “Have you wondered what kind of life he’s lived, or the things he might have seen at war, or worse yet, what he’s had to do at war?”

“No!” I answer, a scowl plastered to my face. Shit, I can’t even seem to care about my family and how they’re feeling—how could I possibly care about how a murderer is feeling? “Hell no. Why in the world would I care what he’s been through? I don’t give a fuck about him. He killed my father.” The pain I felt earlier releases its grip around my heart as the anger trickles back in, and I feel like I can breathe again. This is what I’m used to. Anger I can handle. “I don’t care what he’s seen, or had to do. That’s the life he chose. And it doesn’t matter what he’s been through; it doesn’t make what he did right.”

“I’m not making excuses for him,” Dr. Perry states, reaching for her notepad. She scribbles something down and looks up at me. “I’m trying to find a way to help you move past the anger, and it seems to me that you’re holding on to the resentment you feel toward Lieutenant Drexler as a way to keep from moving forward.”

“I don’t want to move forward,” I bite out, grinding my teeth together to keep from screaming.

“Why?”

The truth sits heavy on my chest, but I need to get it off. I suck in a deep breath and let it out roughly. “Because I’ll be moving forward without my dad,” I lament, gripping my hair in my hands. “Then he’ll really be gone.” Those last words were whispered to myself, but I know Dr. Perry heard me … she hears everything.