Not Broken: The Happily Ever After(54)

None of this was supposed to happen. How had I lost control? Did I ever really have control?

I rolled over, curled myself into a ball, and buried my face in a pillow. My body shook as uncontrollable sobs took over. My house of cards had collapsed.





Chapter 30


Calida





I sat across from Dr. Carr, staring at the ring on my finger. My thumb ran over the rough texture of the symbol, and my knee bounced uncontrollably. My head throbbed. My mind gave me no peace last night, I couldn’t shut it off, so I spent the entire time tossing and turning. Over and over it went between things with Seth and my fights with Malcolm; it was as if they were merging into one. One force out to take my sanity, to cut that final string that held me together.

“Calida?”

I looked up. Dr. Carr wore a puzzled expression. She’d probably asked me something. When was she not asking me things?

“Sorry. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“What’s on your mind? You seem particularly distracted today.”

I nodded. Everything was so off balance now, and I was at a loss on how to again find my center. I’d been doing all I could to keep my head above water, but now I was drowning. I was drowning, and there was no one to save me.

I wiped away a stray tear that rolled down my cheek. “Everything is falling apart,” I whispered.

“What is?”

“Everything. I’ve done exactly what I was trying to avoid, caused a rift with Mal and Macy, everything is a fucking mess.”

“What happened?”

I shook my head. How could so much happen, but at the same time nothing? My world, the safety net I’d been trying to build had crumbled, and it was all my own doing. Pandora’s box was open.

“Calida, talk to me. It’s why you’re here. Holding it in is toxic. Something has triggered your panic attacks again. You’ve seemed more withdrawn. This is a safe place. You don’t have to internalize things.”

I looked down at my hands, and twirled the ring around my finger. I swallowed the lump in my throat. I’d held it in for so long. I would spend my nights curled up, alone and crying until I didn’t think I had tears left. Always alone, so that in the day I could be strong. So I could show them what they wanted. But it was getting harder.

“I...I can't live up to the expectations anymore. I never could.” My voice was scratchy as I fought to hold it together.

“What expectations?”

My knee bounced faster. My stomach churned. I let out a slow breath. “They wanted me to be better, so I was better. Only I wasn’t. I’m not. I won’t ever be better. He’s in my head. Even in death I’m not free of him. I’m scared of my son. How fucked up is that? The older he gets, the more he looks like his father, and I’m scared. The eyes. Why did he have to have those eyes? And I wonder. I worry. What will I tell him about who his father was when he asks me? Will he act like him? Is what was wrong with Seth genetic? I shouldn’t be scared of my baby. He’s not at fault, but at times I am. Every day he’s a reminder of Seth. Every day I look at him and remember I killed his father. Every day...every...day I look at Shawn and remember how he came to be. I try not to, but it’s always there in the back of my mind. And now Malcolm knows, and he...he couldn’t even look at me! I don’t want Shawn to be treated differently, but Malcolm knows. They wanted me to be better. They wanted me to be over it, and so I was, or pretended to be, but I’m not. I can’t do it anymore. I worked so hard to bury it all, to hide away all the things I let Seth do to me, but they won’t stay down anymore. Ever since Malcolm...more and more have escaped from that box. It...it won’t stay closed. I need it to stay closed. It’s the only way I survive.”

The battle was lost. Like last night, the crying couldn’t be stopped. Now that the wound had been reopened, it bled fast and furious. The words, the shame, the guilt, all of it poured out of me uncensored. For so long my life, my every action, had been consumed with keeping the worst of it hidden. If no one knew, I could pretend it didn’t happen, but in one stupid, drunken night I’d blown it all.

I felt a hand on mine. Dr. Carr was kneeling in front of me, box of tissues in hand. I waited for what was to come, for her to analyze everything I’d just said, to poke and prod, wanting more information. She said nothing. She stayed there, holding my hand until I managed to calm down.

Once my crying slowed from the body shaking sobs, to hiccupping stutters, she got up, returning a few moments later with a bottle of water. I took it without looking up, thanking her between hiccups. I watched her feet as she walked back to take a seat across from me. I curled up in the leather chair, hugging my knees to my chest. I was wiped out. Raw. Exposed. Defeated.

Time ticked on. Only my constant sniffling and the ticking of her desktop clock filled the room with sound. She didn’t ask me any questions. She wasn’t writing down everything I’d just said. We sat in silence. The tears finally stopped. I finished the bottle of water. The silence became uncomfortable.

Even after drinking the water, my throat remained dry. “I’m sorry,” I managed to croak out.

“For what?”

I uncurled from the chair and looked at her. “For...for breaking down like that I guess. I don’t know...I just...I don’t know.” I let out a shaky breath. I didn’t want to think anymore. I didn’t want to feel anymore. I only wanted to climb in bed and shut out the world.