12:01

01:00

"Every night, a minute after midnight. 12:01. I hate that time," Addison started again, and her voice rose. She closed her eyes, and Dr. Martinez could see her mind fleeing from reality, reliving the moment. "Whenever I'm up at that time, I see...it's like putting that night on replay, over and over again. It has no intention of stopping." Addison's voice cracked, and she started sobbing as she crumpled in the chair. The choked cries were the only sound in the room, along with her sniffles. Her body began to shake, tears streaming from her eyes and down her face as she wrapped her arms around her waist.

Dr. Martinez handed her a tissue and said, "I was awake at 12:01 yesterday, and nothing happened. 12:01 can be a good time too, see? I even made some brownies then."

Addison blew her nose and crumpled the tissue in her hand. Dr. Martinez could see that she was withdrawing. Addison had once told her that in her mind, she entered a little box that looked like a house. Inside, it was glowing white, pure and bright as the sun. Every good memory and dream floated and stacked up on one another, forming the walls of a cube. She told Dr. Martinez that it made her feel safer—still did—because it blocked out all of reality as she calmed down, slipping into a fantasy realm where everything was okay.

"We talked about this, remember? You'll get nightmares like this—take a deep breath."

The girl breathed in deeply and exhaled, and she loosened her grip on the tissue she was ripping apart with her nails.

"Your nightmares aren't getting worse, but this could be a setback. It won't happen often. Sometimes, the time might catch up with you, and you might be...back to that night again."

Addison fiddled with her watch again and bit her bottom lip. "Three months, one day, ten hours, and forty-five minutes," she whispered. Dr. Martinez could see tears threatening to escape her eyes again, and the psychologist's expression softened as she sealed her lips and stayed silent.

A setback. It wasn't anything unusual, but Dr. Martinez knew that Addison was being too hard on herself. She was always being hard on herself, constantly reminding and putting herself back in the night of the accident, never moving past that.

"Addison," Dr. Martinez spoke, her voice soft and full of understanding. Addison focused on Dr. Martinez's hair for a moment, before squeezing her eyes shut and shuddering.

"I was fine yesterday. I think I was...better. I laughed at one of Mom's terrible jokes, and I even took a walk around the neighborhood with the cars passing by. Maybe half terrified, but not like how scared I used to be a month ago."

Dr. Martinez opened her mouth to say something, but Addison held her hand up. "I don't want to talk about it." She started to shake her head until her hair was swinging back and forth, her hands trembling as she kept muttering to herself.

Dr. Martinez finished scribbling on the notepad, without looking at her notes, making sure that her focus was on Addison. The girl was like a heavy, stubborn rock that wouldn't budge. She couldn't accept what happened on the night of the accident.

"That's fine. Let's talk about your neighbor then." Dr. Martinez was quick to change the subject, one thing Addison loved. She would just wait for the right time, when Addison was ready to open up more.

Addison stopped shaking her head and paused, scrunching her nose. Then, her fingers went to the watch again, tracing the lines. "My neighbor?" Her body was still shaking. Her skin was still pale, but Dr. Martinez could see some color returning to her lips. The words came out as a squeak.

Dr. Martinez smiled behind her hand, her eyes twinkling in amusement. As Addison watched Dr. Martinez's emotions, a tiny smile curved its way up onto the girl's mouth. The psychologist's goal was to push the feeling of hopelessness and despair away from Addison as far as possible.

"Yes, your neighbor. What do you think about him?"

Addison bit her fingernail. "I dunno..." she stared at the palms of her pale hands. "He seems... nice. Mom says that he's polite, and friendly too, had a lot of friends before he came here. He's seventeen, a year older than me, so Mom also thinks that we'll get along great."

"But..." Dr. Martinez questioned. She knew there was a but inserted somewhere in the sentence, just by looking at her patient's face.

"But I don't want him to ask questions. A friendship is where you know each other better, and I don't even want him to ask a single thing about me. I just don't want him to give me that pitying look. Vi gives it to me all the time, and so did Jenna, and I hated it. I'm still their Addison, but it's like they don't know who I am anymore. And Mom talked to his mother, and she says he's enrolling in..."

"Addison," the psychologist spoke. Her voice was sharper than she intended, but she brushed it off. "Addison, you shouldn't feel pressured to talk about that night. If you don't want to, you don't need to."

"He waved at me the other day," Addison blurted out. "I was staring at him from the window, and he waved at me." The flush seemed to spread from her cheeks to her whole face and down the back of her neck.

Dr. Martinez tried to hide a grin with the back of her hand, but a quiet chuckle came out. "He seems nice enough. Maybe you could try talking to him."

A wistful expression flitted across Addison's face as she stared out the window. "I don't know. I'm thinking about it because we worked on interacting with people and talking about... you know...with other people, trying to sound casual while doing it. Do you think that it would be a good idea?"

"I don't see why not. In fact, maybe he can help you with the first goal."

"You really think so?" The young girl turned and sat up a bit straighter and faced Dr. Martinez again with wide eyes. She gnawed on her lip, and Dr. Martinez gave her a gentle smile.

"Of course." Dr. Martinez shrugged. "It's better to do them with a friend. He lives right next door to you, so that won't be a problem. Unless you want to work on them with Victoria?" Addison bit on her fingers, and her left knee bounced.

"Um—no—we're not...talking. I messaged her a few days ago, though. I sent her 'hi.' She didn't respond yet."

"Do you want to tell me what happened?"

"She... she wanted to talk about that night, and how I'm doing now. And then..." Addison gulped and gnawed at her lower lip again.

Dr. Martinez nodded, and her eyes softened. "That's fine, Addison. Talk to her again when you're ready."

"When will I be ready?" The girl whispered. Her pleading eyes met Dr. Martinez's. "Will I be scared like this forever? I don't want to be like this. I want to drive to the beach, and I want to go to places! I want to visit Dad without having a breakdown."

Addison was silent, and the psychologist sighed. "Addison, focus on the positive. Right now, you're improving slowly. Your interaction with me has increased greatly. You're being pieced together bit by bit every day."

"It's still too slow."

"Baby steps, Addison," Dr. Martinez reminded. "For now, work on the goals that we've talked over. Your first assignment you made for yourself—introduce yourself to your neighbor, engage in a conversation with him. Once you're done with that, we'll see how to proceed."

Addison closed her eyes. "Baby steps," she agreed.