Dirt-clouded vision and earth-filled lungs. Every breath devoid of air. Every bone crushed by the weight of the world. My fingers fought to free me, and when I made it to the top, it wasn't relief I felt. A picture of my best friend, a book from my lover, and a bottle of juice that soon met the bottom of my stomach. None of it was satisfying.
"Ms. Adair?"
I didn't shed tears- couldn't, even if I wanted to. A few weeds left in disarray, strewn about the patch of earth from which I had desperately crawled. Was this all I deserved? I hadn't expected much, but I had hoped for a proper burial, somewhere dignified, not in this desolate expanse that resembled the middle of nowhere. I had believed I meant more.
"Have I lost you again?"
My bones seemed to mend themselves, the cracks and twists gradually realigning as if guided by an unseen force. With each steady breath I took, strength returned to my limbs. When I found myself standing on both feet once more, a determination seized me. I reached for the first shovel within reach and set to work. Despite my state of delirium, I did my best, smoothing over the earth, concealing any evidence of my resurrection, as if I hadn't just clawed my way back from the dead.
"Ms. Adair, are you with me?"
I picked up the photograph, tracing the contours of Sophie's bright smile, a smile that once effortlessly drew one from me. But now, I doubted I'd ever smile like that again. I tucked the photograph into my brassiere, feeling the weight of my mother's note untouched against my chest. With the empty bottle tucked under my arm, I made my way towards the only beacon of light in the distance. As the light grew brighter, I dropped the shovel, its task completed. And when I found myself standing in front of my house, only then did a wave of relief wash over me.
"Avalyn, I have other patients to see. If you won't talk, I can't help you."
Relief that no one knew I was alive. Finally, I could run without the worry of being caught.
"I don't want to talk about that day," I say softly, meeting the eyes of the man who sits across from me.
His office exudes an air of opulence, a stark contrast to his mother's more modest abode. Mrs. Beth, or Beth King, as I knew her true name to be, had a son, Codee King, who bears a striking resemblance to her. Despite being much younger, probably only a decade older than myself, his eyes hold the same gentle crinkles in the corners, reminiscent of his mother's. Their smiles mirror each other perfectly, and they even share the same mannerisms-legs crossed, with a single finger tapping against their notebooks.
Unlike his mother, Dr. King, her son, exudes an irritating demeanor. He lacks her softness, as most men do, and instead carries himself with an air of superiority. Yet, despite his vexing demeanor, he has proven to be unexpectedly helpful. He's easy to compel, allowing me to express myself without restraint. However, both of us have come to realize that I don't particularly enjoy speaking freely in his presence.
He emits a heavy sigh, his arm raising to check the time on his expensive gold watch. "We've been sitting here for half an hour," he remarks, his tone tinged with impatience.
"And we'll sit here for another if I see fit," I retort sharply, my words laced with defiance.
"Okay, okay," he groans, rubbing at his eyes in resignation. "We can revisit that day another time. How about you tell me more about Cierien and Wrath?"
Ignoring his suggestion, I steer the conversation in a different direction. "What do you know about the Fawn Response?" I inquire, keen to delve into a topic of my own choosing.
He tilts his head slightly, his tongue darting out to moisten his lips as his eyes wander to the side, a subtle sign of contemplation. "It's a trauma response. An individual will heavily focus on others in an attempt to pacify, please, and cater to another's needs, rather than their own. The traumatized individual behaves in a way to avoid conflict, to establish a sense of safety."
I nod along, feeling a smile creep onto my lips. "That makes sense. I've always been a people-pleaser."
"Because of your mother?" he inquires, his directness not surprising me anymore.
"I always felt as if I had to play the perfect daughter... If I didn't I feared she'd harm me, whether that was with words or her hands, or possibly with the threat to take me to the basement."
"Children growing up in an unsafe environment will self-censor to keep their parents regulated. That is a form of the child taking care of the parent. When you were younger, did you feel as though you had to parent both yourself and your parents?"
"Yes. I couldn't trust my parents with my emotions. I had to disconnect from them because I knew the chances of escaping or avoiding her punishment were almost non-existent."
"I've noticed that you speak mostly of your mother. What about your father, was he a part of this abuse?"
I shrug. "I suppose he was, but it was my mother who always stuck out to me."
"And why is that? If your father caused harm to you as well, then why do you fault your mother more than him?"
"I didn't say I faulted my mother more than my father. I just-" I take a moment to articulate what I want to say, "I just- I don't know. It always felt like she was out to get me. My father avoided me at all costs unless, of course, my mother asked him to participate in the abuse."
"Do you think he would have participated if it wasn't for your mother?"
I scoff, slightly off put by the question. "I think he was a very bad father and an even shittier man."
"But that wasn't my question. Do you think he could have been a good father if it wasn't for your mother? I'm not asking about the possibility of him being a good man, you see it all the time, men can be awful to people, but still love their children."
"I think it doesn't matter what he could have been, he was, and will forever be the first man who failed me."
"And now you have difficulty trusting men because of that?"
I roll my eyes, knowing he's trying to bring this back to Cierien and Wrath. "I was wrong to trust them. I knew better, and I ignored all the signs."
"Because of your mother. That's why you asked about the Fawn Response, isn't it? You felt as if you had to ignore your own needs to make them happier. Your lack of trust in men stems from your father, but your need to please them stems from your mother." He goes on to add, "Well, your need to please people in general, not just men."
"I don't do that anymore."
"No?"
"No," I nearly growl. "I'll never let someone betray me like that again."
"Let insinuates that you knew they'd betray you in the first place. Are you telling me you'll never allow yourself to grow close to another, in fear that they could-"
"Next topic," I swiftly cut him off.
"You're extremely self-aware, Avalyn. It makes it hard to help you when you already know everything but continue not to take the steps to better yourself."
"Well, I have an eternity to better myself. I'm sure I'll get around to it eventually."
He nods slowly, his finger continuing to tap tap tap against the empty notebook, a habitual action despite my compelling him not to write anything down. There's a restless energy about him, a desire to document our discussions that I've forbidden. It frustrates me, though I know it's irrational. He's merely following my instructions, yet I'm the one who imposed this limitation. A product of my own creation.
I decide to jump into the next topic, tuning into his every movement as the words leave my lips. "I killed eighteen people yesterday."
He freezes, but only for a moment. Tap tap tap.
"Can I ask why?" he speaks calmly, despite the erratic sound his heart has taken on.
"They were bad people."
"Is that reason enough to erase them from existence?"
I chuckle a bit, shaking my head. "Of course it was, but they also had something I needed."
"And did you find what you were looking for?"
"I never do," I sigh, letting my head loll back onto the cushioned seat. "But in this case, yes. I found what I need."
//
ahhh I'm v proud of this chapter :))
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Next chapter on Friday.