If You Stay (Beautifully Broken, #1)(50)

I pause, too.

“I don’t know. She seemed to. But she’s been quiet this week, reserved. I don’t know if she is processing it or what.”

“Does it scare you that she might not be able to return to where you were before this happened?”

More than anything in the world.

But I don’t say that.

Instead, I simply say, “Yes.”

The doctor looks at his paper and scribbles. Someday, I’d like to see exactly what he is writing.

“I’d like to change the subject now,” I tell him firmly. I’m done talking about Mila.

I steel my gaze and stare at the doctor. He sighs and nods.

“Okay. Let’s change the subject. Have you had any more dreams?

I nod. “Yes. Several times this week. They are still the same. I’m in a dark room and I can’t see very well. But I can hear my mom. It sounds like she’s pleading with me. I can’t seem to get past that point in the dream. It’s frustrating, because I feel like there is more to see.”

The doctor studies me, his fingers rolling his pen around on his lap.

“Sometimes, a person’s mind protects itself as best it can. It does that by building barriers and suppressing memories. If I had to guess, I would say that this dream is a memory. And your mind doesn’t want you to remember the rest of it because it will be very painful.”

I stare at him. “You think that I’m dreaming something that really happened?”

He nods. “I’m guessing that is true. I could be wrong. But the only way to find out, is to let your dream play out.”

I shake my head, frustrated. “It won’t. It only goes up to that point, where I’m in a dark place and I can hear my mother. And then I wake up. Usually in a cold sweat.”

The doctor nods. “There is another way, if you’re open to it.”

I wait, not sure if I want to know.

“Have you ever been hypnotized?” the doctor asks and I scoff.

“Fuck no. No. I’m not getting hypnotized. What kind of quack practice are you running?”

I start to stand up, but the doctor holds up his hand.

“Wait, Pax. Hypno-therapy is a very valid and useful tool available to us. It isn’t quackery. It’s simply guided relaxation techniques that allow the patient to focus intensely on something, blocking everything else out. Most psychiatrists are trained at using it and in fact, it is a specialty of mine. If you really want to know what you are dreaming about, it is the best way to find out. It strips away the barriers that your mind has put in place, allowing you to see what you are trying to hide from yourself.”

Fuck.

He just had to phrase it that way, didn’t he? Because he has to know that I’m dying to know what my mind is trying to hide.

I settle back into my seat.

“How long will it take?” I ask uncertainly.

“It’s not that time consuming,” he reassures me. “And I think it might be good for you.”

He stares at me, waiting. Finally, I sigh.

“Fine,” I mutter. “I’ll do it. But you’d better not trick me into barking like a dog or anything. I don’t want to do it today, but I’ll do it soon.”

Dr. Tyler smiles. “That only happens in movies,” he tells me. “And we can do it anytime you’d like. I’ll plan on it for next time, unless you tell me otherwise.”

He scribbles a bit more in his notepad.

“Have you filled the Xanax prescription?” he asks, glancing up at me.

I shake my head. “No. I told you I didn’t need it.”

“Good for you,” the doctor commends me. “You have strong fortitude. It’s encouraging. It seems you really do want to change things around for the better.”

I nod and for the first time today, I feel good about something that I’ve done. The quack doctor is right. I really am changing things around for the better. I might be going about it wrong, but at least I’m going about it.

********

Mila


[page]
It’s funny how days blend into each other when you aren’t paying attention.

It’s been weeks since Jill died. Weeks since the misgivings and doubts crept in. Weeks that Pax has given me nothing at all to doubt him for. He’s been perfect. Amazingly, unbelievably perfect. So perfect, in fact, that I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. And so far, it hasn’t.

I pull into my parents’ driveway, or I guess I should say Madison’s, since she lives here now. But to be honest, this will always be my parents’ house. I think Madison actually feels the same way and I wouldn’t blame her if she wanted to sell it at some point and get a new house of her own.

I yank the keys out of the ignition and make my way up the icy sidewalk to the door. Maddy opens the door before I even get a chance to knock.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she tells me, without even saying hello. “Try this.”

She shoves a hot mug into my hand and I sniff it as I step into the house, knocking the snow from my boots on the doorsill.

“Hot chocolate?”

She nods. “The best hot chocolate you’ve ever had,” she says confidently. “Thick Italian hot chocolate. I’m trying it out for the restaurant. It’s literally so thick the spoon will stand up in it.”