We Were Never Here(30)

I looked away. Strong enough to stuff my panic into a box. Strong enough to get through the day—an hour, even—without a slap of fear that Paolo will be found. Strong enough to hear a ringing phone and not freeze up assuming it’s the Chilean police. I’d looked into it after Cambodia—though there was no guarantee the U.S. would extradite me, if I was charged I’d have my face in the news, my passport flagged. My life ruined.

“Uh…more in control of my emotions, I guess. Like…like other people are.” By other people, of course, I meant Kristen. What was I doing here? I couldn’t tell her the truth: that it seemed likely, even inevitable, that we’d be caught. Kristen had been the mastermind last year, and of course her plan worked—we got away with it. But in Chile, I’d been in charge, and I was shaky and shortsighted, my confidence feigned. Any day now, they’d triangulate Paolo’s last known whereabouts, his very visible night out in Quiteria. What’s the proper way to ask a therapist to assuage your realistic concerns?

Answer: Tell her about another realistic concern. “So, last year, I…I was attacked, during a hookup, and I had a rough time recovering.”

“I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

“Thanks. I—I was a mess at first, to be honest. I could barely get through the day. But my best friend, she lives in Australia, but even so, she was there for me every single day during that period. Piecing me together until I started to feel like myself again. But then…”

Adrienne was fixing me with the kindest, most intense listening face.

“Last week, she had a similar thing happen to her. While we were on vacation together. And now I want to be strong for her, but…”

“Wow, Emily. Seeing her go through that must be pretty triggering.”

I bit my lip. With enough time and Kristen’s support, I’d sealed off the horrific Sebastian incident with a satisfying thump, like closing the lid of a coffin or a book’s heavy back cover. I’d gotten back to my life and doubled down on my friendship with Kristen. But to suddenly reconceive of that once-in-a-lifetime nightmare as not so one-time-only…now Sebastian was back in the corner of my vision, and the feel of his cool, dry skin was mingling in my mind with Paolo’s hairy flesh.

    Paolo—they might be unearthing him this very minute.

“Did you report the attack?”

“We didn’t, no.” A beat. “Neither one.”

Adrienne nodded. “What’s often hard for survivors is that there’s no closure. The perpetrator gets off scot-free, and you’re left knowing he’s still out there.”

Alarm bells, red flashing lights: Sebastian wasn’t roaming the streets, unpunished—Paolo, neither. Could she tell I was holding back? Was she testing me? Why the hell are you here, Emily?

“What’s going on? I see the wheels turning.” Adrienne tapped her temple.

“I’m…really nervous, honestly,” I said. “I’m not even sure how therapy is supposed to work.” Lord, I was an idiot. I’d had some vague, half-baked idea that Adrienne could teach me to control my anxiety over being caught—some magical technique for containing the fear. And that sorcery would allow me to act normal around Aaron, to deserve his affection, to be likable—lovable. I’d smooth things over with Kristen, too, and from there on out it would be nothing but flowers and rainbows, a life as beautiful as a cruise-line commercial. But it was like Kristen had said: Therapy doesn’t work like that. Now I was dancing around the real issues, wasting Adrienne’s time and making myself look dodgy.

“Tell me about this friend—the one you want to show up for.”

I ran Adrienne through the basics.

“What’s interesting to me is that when people are experiencing trauma, they tend to go inward,” she said. “They’re not thinking selflessly because they’re just trying to survive. And yet you want to work on being a better friend to Kristen. Why do you think that is?”

    Crap—she could see right through me. “Well, Kristen’s done so much for me. I feel like I should—I mean, I want to become less of a taker and more of a giver. I want to step up.”

“Has Kristen said she wishes you were doing more?”

“Not exactly,” I said. Kristen seemed…weirdly fine. Did she really not need me like I’d needed her? I’d sent her a certificate for a massage at a Sydney spa, then an Uber Eats gift card with a note about getting herself some comfort food, but her thank-yous were upbeat and a bit gobsmacked: Aw, you didn’t need to do this!

“What’s going on with the rest of your support system?” Adrienne asked. “Family, other friends? A partner?”

“I’m not close with my family,” I admitted. “Just Kristen—she’s like my sister. And I don’t have a huge gaggle of friends; I’d rather have one ride-or-die than, y’know, a million acquaintances. But also, I just started seeing someone. It’s…super new, but yeah. He’s great.” I hooked my ankle over my knee and blinked at the tiny lotus flower there. It felt like eons ago that Kristen and I had gotten these.

“Can you tell me about him?”

I relaxed, told her how we’d met, how Aaron only put me on edge because he seemed too good to be true. How he was the first guy I’d really liked in five whole years, the first one I could see a future with. How different things felt with him, but how whenever we started to make out I froze up.