The Bargaining Path

by T. Rudacille

  ***

  “Miletus is well-known for being an old witch, Violet.” Caspar informed me as he walked with me towards her office. “She is feared far and wide because not only does she reprimand her charges publicly, with no concern about humiliating them, but she is also well known for not giving second chances. My mother loathes her. My father is indifferent towards her. Well, he appointed her to her position, so he believes in her abilities as a doctor, and I suppose her likes her, but my mother cannot stand the sight of her.”

  “I deserve what she did to me, Caspar. I’ve been slacking off majorly here.”

  “‘Slacking off?’” He asked, and I smiled slightly.

  “I have been being lazy. Look,” I turned to him and grasped his hand, “I can’t sneak out with you anymore. I have to start being more responsible. Don says that everyone has to work, and this is the only job that I could ever want to do. Having to get up before the sun comes up every day and go home long after it sets is tough, but I want to do it, because I don’t want anything else but to be a doctor. I’m sorry. I’ve had such an awesome time hanging out with you, and we can still hang out, but only in the daytime and other than that, only before Free Days. I just need to start being more responsible, Caspar. Like I was, before…”

  “Before what?” He asked coldly, “Before you met me? Am I responsible for your downfall?”

  “No. That’s not what I said.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “Before I started getting high every night and staying out until the third chime. That’s all I mean.”

  “You did not enjoy our time together. Otherwise, you would not be able to give it up so easily.”

  “What? That has nothing to do with this! It isn’t easy for me. I loved hanging out with you and talking to you, but…”

  “But you will stop now all because some old bitch snapped her jaws at you.” He stopped, took a breath, and then reached out to gently take my hand. “I am sorry. It is just that I enjoyed our discussions very much. I feel like I can talk to you when I can talk to so few others.”

  “I know.” I said, relieved that his anger had dissipated. “We can still do that, just not when I have school in the morning. If Miletus gives me another chance, I am going to do everything I can to make it up to her.”

  He smiled, almost knowingly, almost like he was seeing something I could not see. It was as though he knew something that was about to come to pass. There was nothing mischievous in the smile, and there was only light in his eyes, no malice. His grip on my hand was light, and his thumb stroked the back of it slowly. After a moment, his eyes met mine, and he lowered his voice slightly.

  “How about if I make you a deal, Violet?”

  I smiled and furrowed my brows, mildly confused about what he was up to but entertained.

  “If you come to me, and you are this calm at the end of your meeting with her, we will put this issue to bed for good. But if you do not, you will allow me to resolve the situation in whatever way I see fit, and I may request your aid in that resolution. If that latter circumstance occurs, though, I believe that you will be more than willing to help me. What do you say?”

  I smiled slightly and tucked my hair behind my ear. There was absolutely nothing malicious about his demeanor now or even the proposition he was making, though there certainly was mischief. If I left and “felt differently” as he had suggested I would, we would more than likely just play some harmless prank on Miletus, and though it would be childish to do it, I knew that I would want to do it. Never once did I believe it would escalate past a prank. Never once did I think I would enjoy it if it did. But then, I had not yet had the meeting. I could not have predicted how it would have gone.

  When I entered her office, she rose from her chair, looking almost as regal and queenly as Janna always did, except she had colors in her wardrobe besides black; she was wearing a white doctor’s jacket, brown dress pants, and a red shirt.

  “Ms. Olivier.” She said, and she gestured to the chair in front of her desk. I sat down, and she followed suit.

  “Dr. Miletus, I want to start off by saying that I am so sorry, and…”

  “Yes.” She said, without a hint of any discernible emotion in her voice, “You all generally are when you are brought in to my office.”

  “I am going to do better. I promise. I swear to you that I am going to get my act together. I just…” I compulsively pushed my hair behind my ears and cleared my throat, “I have been doing things that I shouldn’t be doing, but I won’t be doing those things anymore.”

  “What kinds of things?” She asked, and her voice was not gentle, nor was it harsh. Still, she was showing no sympathy. My eyes rose to meet her genuinely disarming gaze. Her dark red hair that I knew had to have hung to her tailbone was pulled firmly back, twisted around, and pinned at the back of her head. If it were not so austere and tight, I would say it was the hairstyle of a barista or of some other artsy variety. If she had a pen sticking out of it, I would not have been surprised. But her hair was pulled so tightly back, her face was so expressionless, her stare was so penetrating, and every part of that polished and intimidating appearance told me that there was nothing I could say. I was speaking to a woman who was meticulous in every aspect of her life—appearance, career, volunteer work, and more than likely home-life. Her daughter was around my age, and she was known to be a reclusive bookworm throughout the village. Caspar said that she had three friends, maybe, and that though boys tried to approach her, she always rebuffed them.

  Her mother’s prickly personality had rubbed off on her.

  “There is nothing I can say, is there?” I asked, and she leaned back in her chair, her eyes still stuck on me, never leaving, not for a second. Silence fell between us, and while we were engulfed in that silence, my palms began to sweat and my heart began to race; I began to suffer a panic attack for the first time since our first night on Pangaea.

  “Ms. Olivier, I have worked on Medical for nearly two hundred years, did you know that? I have been Head Medice for half of that time.”

  Whoa… I thought, and honestly, I really was impressed. I could not imagine doing the same thing every day for two centuries, but then, one of the reasons why I loved Medical was that every day was unpredictable; I never knew when I went in for Training what new health maladies I would encounter, what joys I would excitedly recount to my family, what tragedies I would cry about later. So maybe I could imagine being on Medical for two centuries like Dr. Miletus had been.

  “I have trained thousands of people, young and old, over my time in this position, and never once, Ms. Olivier, has someone disappointed me as much as you have over these past three months.”

  It would have been better if she had just sucker-punched me right in the gut. At least the physical pain would have distracted away from my shame, my embarrassment, and my disappointment in myself. And of course, writhing from the force of a physical blow would have erased my nagging fear of having to tell Brynna, and James, and Nick, and the rest of them, that I had failed, that I would never do the only job I could foresee myself being happy doing for all of eternity.

  “You began so strongly. You were ahead of every other student in both your studies and your hands-on experience. I truly thought that I would be able to advance you through the program more quickly. But then you stopped coming to classes. When you chose to grace us with your presence, it was only in the afternoon. There is no cap for my tolerance of such matters, because there is no tolerance at all; I do not tolerate absences and tardiness. I do not wait for my students to deign to come to classes. Do you think that when people get sick, or are hurt, or worse, are dying, that they will wait for Dr. Violet Olivier to deign to arrive? Do you think your excuses, all of which are almost pathetically transparent, mind you, would pacify a family who has lost a loved one because you could not arrive punctually to the Infirmary to operate?”

  I was silent, feeling tears in my eyes but also, a growing anger in my heart.
She was being unnecessarily cruel. She could have just told me that I was out, and there was nothing I could say, but instead, she was choosing to lecture me and demean me with her stupid rhetorical questions. I could say that I was lazy, and irresponsible, and stupid for all that I had done, but for her to insinuate it was genuinely infuriating to me. It was my pride, I knew. And it was my expectations being dashed; I had thought that she would accept my apology and allow me to prove to her that I would be better.

  “I think it is readily obvious to you that you need not come to any more classes or to Training. Your time on Medical has reached its end. Thank you so much for your interest, and I wish you the best of luck in whatever career you feel best suits you.”

  “This is the career that best suits me!” My voice broke, and tears fell from my eyes. Still, she did not look away; still, her face showed no expression.

  “No, Ms. Olivier, it is not.”

  “It is!” I snapped at her, “Am I seriously the only one who has ever been late? Who has ever missed class? Who has ever messed around and screwed up?”

  She looked at me for a long moment, her lips pursed now, her eyes starting to show impatience. She was a busy woman, and I was taking up her time. She was also an emotionless shrew, and my tears were aggravating to her.

  “You are not the first, and you will not be the last. All those before you who behaved as you have were also asked to leave Medical, and all those after you will be asked to do the same.”

  “Can you not see by how upset I am right now that I want this more than anything?” I asked, crying harder now. I was crying so hard that I was barely able to breathe. She took her eyes off of me only so she could find the box of tissues on her desk and push it in my direction. I did not take one, but instead, continued to wipe my many tears with my hands. “You don’t understand; this is the only thing that I wanted to do! It’s the only thing I want to do, Dr. Miletus. I promise I’ll come to every class. I promise I will do even better in Training. Just give me one more chance! Please! I’m begging you! Just give me one more chance! Dr. Miletus, please!”

  “Violet, I am sorry. You must understand that if I make an exception for you, I will have to make an exception for everyone. Also, think of your sister; if I give you an exception, it could spell disaster for her. Her detractors will think that either she threatened me or that she convinced me through bribery or other such means. I am known far and wide for being utterly unyielding on this, and if I make an exception for you, fingers will point at her.”

  “Oh, so you’re protecting her now?” I asked bitterly, and now, my rage was drying my tears. “You are not going to be so supportive of her when I tell her that I sat in this office, and cried, and begged, and you just sat there obviously feeling nothing! She is going to come in here and destroy you! She is going to have Adam destroy you! You think Adam will protect you because he put you in power? He loves my sister, and if she tells him to throw you out of your job, he will! You want to talk about people pointing fingers?! She will turn everyone against you for this! Because she protects me! And she knows that this is all I wanted in the entire world!”

  I had threatened her, and my rage was evident. Obviously, I would have to be enraged to openly threaten her. But still, she did not falter. In fact, she looked somewhat bored, as though she had heard it all before. But behind all of that boredom, there was condescending pity; she knew something that I did not know, or she thought she did. When she spoke, she showed me exactly what that “something” was.

  “You seem to underestimate your sister’s expectations of you. You think that she will take up arms on your behalf when your undoing is your own doing, Violet. As far as King Adam goes, I doubt not that his attachment to your sister makes him open to her suggestion. But he and I have known one another for nearly a millennium, and I do not foresee him throwing away our professional relationship or my many years of service for you. Please, lower your expectations before you get hurt. Now, this conversation is over. We have said all that needs to be said. I ask now that you leave before you say more things that you will regret later.”

  I slammed my fist on her desk, stood up, and looked into her calm, icy gaze with my eyes that were scorching red.

  “The only one who is going to be regretting anything is you. I highly recommend you watch your back.”

  And on that dramatic note, I stormed from the room.

  I found Caspar walking towards the Gym with a few of his friends. Quickly, I grabbed his arm and pulled him into one of the alleys. Concern came over him instantaneously as he reached up to wipe the tears from my eyes, but I spoke before he could say anything.”

  “Let’s do it.” I whispered fiercely.

  His concern disappeared. That mischievous glint came over his eyes, and he smiled. A pang of foreboding went through my heart, but I shushed it. In response to his smile, I smiled, too.

  Brynna

  Months had passed since I had kicked James out, and Tony and Tom’s wedding became the most popular talk of the town after the topic of my breakup became old news. People still whispered about it when they saw me, but that rude gossiping occurred less frequently than it had in the earlier days of our separation.

  One day, we ran into Savannah, her children, and two other mothers and their children. I had been gently trying to prod my very stubborn younger sister into a long pink dress from the seamstress in town. And the younger sister I am referring to is not Penny.

  “Allie, would you please tell her that I look like a future member of Spinsters of Pangaea?”

  “Brynn, she looks like a future member of Spinsters of Pangaea.”

  “May I tell you that spinsters would more than likely not belong to an association in which a membership is required? Spinsters are spinsters because they are alone. Being a member of a club would defeat the purpose; they would no longer be spinsters.”

  “No, I just look like I’m never going to get married. That’s what a spinster is.”

  “I do apologize, do you want to get married?” I asked, raising my eyebrows at her.

  “Of course not. You know what I mean.”

  “When you say ‘spinster,’ I picture Miss. Havisham. Just be thankful you are not wearing the moth-eaten, dusty wedding dress you were wearing the day your groom took flight on you.”

  “Oh, God, if the wedding dress had been pink, I would look like her right now!” Violet protested.

  “This dress is far better than the one you picked out. I am sorry, you might legally be eighteen by old world time, but in my mind, you are still a dear sweet twelve year old who insisted on wearing Minnie Mouse ears to bed and your Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles costume to Mom’s formal affairs.”

  “Did you pack my Michelangelo costume, and you didn’t tell me?” She asked, and her eagerness sounded so genuine that I could not suppress my laughter.

  “Did you bring a Donatello costume for me? Oh! Can we make Quinn be April?!”

  I actually had to grasp my stomach because I was laughing so hard at the thought of that.

  “Ha-ha.” We heard Quinn say from the next room over. “Punk.”

  “April, maybe you can get a job with my dad!” Violet called to him. “He could probably use a plucky young reporter like you for his channel.”

  They roared with laughter.

  “Excuse you, April was originally a computer programmer. So get it straight, fools.”

  “Violet, I do not care which dress you buy, as long as it is not the first one you picked out.” I told them, “Now excuse me while I go hunt down Princess Penelope.”

  “Can I wear this one?” Violet pulled a dress from one of the racks, and I saw that it was see-through fishnet with long sleeves, and that the length of it would maybe come down past her butt. Maybe.

  “Oh, of course.” I replied, “You both really are punks, aren’t you?”

  It was when I turned around to continue walking that I ran into Savannah. Literally, ran into her. We both exclaimed in surprise an
d dropped down to gather up the dresses that Savannah had been returning to the racks.

  “I’m sorry, I…” I first saw her long dark hair, and then I saw her aged white hands with the gleaming gold wedding band still on the left finger. The bruises around her wrists were fading, and she was keeping them covered by the long sleeves of her green shirt, but still, I had seen them, and knew for sure that it was her.

  “Oh. It’s you.” I said.

  “You sound so disappointed.” She told me with a smile that was not cold or devious. She really did seem happy to see me, for whatever reason.

  “I am not disappointed. I am… I suppose I am ambivalent.”

  “Are you?”

  “Not ambivalent, no. I was saying that to be nice, I suppose. I am rather apathetic, if you must know. How are you?” I asked as I handed her the dresses back.

  “Are you apathetic about that, too? I’ll answer honestly whether you’re apathetic or not.”

  “I am not apathetic. Are you still in need of the pain-killing tonics?”

  “No, not so much. I can’t believe how long it has taken me to heal from…” She stopped, and her eyes darkened, but she quickly resurfaced. “Of course, I could use a pain-killing tonic right now. Ellie has given me a killer migraine. All the dresses are too long that I pick out. Or they make her look like a ten year old. I don’t think she realizes that she was ten only three years ago.”

  “I am having the same problem with Violet, believe it or not. Everything I pick out is too spinster-like.”

  Savannah chuckled at that, her cheekbones emphasized perfectly and her cheeks flushing a rosy color. Besides my mother, I had never seen such an attractive middle-aged woman. Rachel had been very attractive, at least in my view, but she had only just been pushing into middle-age, so I did not include her in the same category as my mother and Savannah. In regards to the latter of those two, I had no idea why I even noticed her physical attractiveness. Perhaps it was because like so many other things, it was yet another attribute of hers that reminded me of my mother.

  “I would rather her look like a spinster than a stripper,” I continued, “But apparently, the young ones these days covet that late night gentlemen’s club look. I am sure that they will want to style their hair in the just-rolled-out-of-bed-with-a-high-paying-client style next.”

  She laughed again, this time covering her mouth to stifle the sound.

  “Yes. I am disturbed by that image, but you’re right. God, we have our hands full, don’t we?”

  “We do.” I replied, knowing that she was trying to establish common ground with me in an effort to break down my defenses. Many professionals in the mental health field had tried that tactic with me before. “Oh, you like chicken quesadillas with pico de gallo and extra guacamole? Me too!” It was all so pathetically transparent.

  “I have been meaning to come see you, but I wasn’t sure when the right time would be. After you got attacked in the woods, I didn’t want to bother you, because I knew you were recovering. How are you feeling now, Brynna?”

  Her smile was gone, and she was all seriousness and concern. The sight of that seriousness and concern in her eyes boggled me; how she could care so deeply about me, or pretend to care so efficiently, I did not know, but I had a distinct feeling her ability to do both was a trick of her trade.

  “I am fine. I am feeling chipper, and healthy, and all is right with the world. It is my oyster, actually. The world, I mean.” My eyes met hers after spending nearly the entire duration of time our conversation had been going on looking for something else to focus on. When I saw that the concern in her eyes had not weakened, and that her mind was calling bull excrement on me, as they say, I snapped somewhat more defensively than I intended, “I’m fine!” before turning to continue my search for Penny, though I could see her holding Oliver in the front window of the shop.

  Savannah’s hand reached out and touched my shoulder, and I flinched away as though her touch had inflicted a mortal wound.

  “It’s okay.” She assured me delicately. “Brynna, I’d really like to talk to you. Rather, I’d really like for you to talk to me. Rumors travel quickly around here, and I’ve heard about you and James. I’m sorry about that.”

  “Oh, are you? And you are just now hearing about this?”

  “No, I heard about it when it first happened…’

  “I suppose I should thank you for your sympathy, but I just do not see why you should be apologizing when it is not your fault. Unless, of course, he slept with you, too.”

  “No!” She said, betraying her great shock that I would think such a thing.

  “I was kidding. Goodness, do not keel over. While you are significantly lighter than Adam, I am sure, I have had my fill for a lifetime of carrying injured and/or sick people to the infirmary, thank you so much.”

  “Brynna…” She grasped my hand. “You know where I live. Come see me. Please? I know you don’t owe me anything, but I can help you…”

  I snatched my hand from her grasp and backed away a step, my eyes blazing. Immediately, I was infuriated. There was no gradual climb from aggravation to anger to complete outrage. There was only outrage.

  “And what makes you think that I need your help? I have been surviving on my own these past couple of months perfectly well, thank you so much, and I will thank you again if you remember that though you might have been a psychologist or a psychiatrist or whatever on Earth, you are not one here! And I will also remind you that on Earth, I felt nothing but the deepest contempt for all those in your profession, with your needling and prying and your willful sharing of all that was needled and pried out of your victims, or excuse me, I do apologize, your patients. Goodness, that must have been a Freudian slip. But you would know all about those, wouldn’t you?”

  “Brynna, you are far too intelligent to be unaware of the rule against divulging what patients tell us. Doctor-patient confidentiality…”

  “…is hokum. It is a wonderful concept advertised widely as truth but is in reality a naïve, shallow, bold-faced lie! It is like communism. Actually, that is an insult to communism, to compare it to the field of psychiatrics. Now, I am sorry if this whole rousing speech has made you question a few things. In fact, I am even sorrier if it did not make you question things. I would appreciate it very much if you would stop insinuating that I need some sort of hail-Mary intervention from a ‘savior’ such as yourself. I am doing just fine on my own, as I have for most of my life. Have a wonderful day, Dr. Savannah.”

  I stormed away from her, hearing her thoughts as I walked away. All she wanted was to help me. She was not upset at my outburst. Her feelings were not hurt. In her mind, I saw only the deepest desire to help me in relieving some of my stored up pain.

  Yes. I knew that I had enough pain stored up that if it were raw energy, I could run our entire village for at least five years. I was using it as energy; it was the reason I could not sleep at night. It was the reason I wanted to break down into tears so often. It was the reason why any perceived insult or insinuation that I was unwell (though the two are rather synonymous) led me to promptly and mercilessly rip into the one doing the insulting and insinuating. Everything was so bottled and compressed inside of me, and every so often, when I was alone in the house, when inertia set in, and I had nothing to distract me—when I reached over and felt James’s side of the bed, when I remembered what had happened out in the woods with Adam, when I looked at the bruises and cuts from that time that were fading and the cuts on my back that were still so glaring and raw from my fight with the trebestia—that aggressively growing, compressed bubble would be punctured slightly, and I would react with rage or tears.

  I just needed to release all of those thoughts to someone, but I was too proud to speak my feelings out loud. I would never allow myself to tell anyone; I would certainly not tell Violet, who would see me differently if she knew how weakened I was by the actions of others; nor would I tell Rachel, who was my very best friend but with whom I wa
s not yet comfortable divulging such accounts of my vulnerability; and I certainly would not say a word to Savannah, the woman who wanted to save me. I did not need to be saved. I did not need anyone’s help.

  That is what I told myself there in the store, anyway. But later that night, after I had put Penny to bed, I banged on her door, forgoing the typical greetings and general courtesy when I pushed my way inside and plopped down onto her couch.

  “It was Elijah.”

  “Your brother.” She said, snapping into business mode even though she was wearing a robe and her pajamas. I could picture her in a business suit, her hair pulled up in a bun, dark-rimmed glasses on her nose, scribbling on her notepad while some poor soul rambled to her all his secrets while lying on an expensive leather couch.

  “My brother. He pushed me. Into the woods. It was him.”

  She tried not to convey emotion. But that was too much for her. She covered her mouth and leaned forward.

  “Why would he do that, Brynna? Tell me everything.”

  “He was so angry that James and I had reconciled. He said that I was going against everything I ever believed and that James was making me do it. I told him that that was ridiculous, and our argument grew more and more heated, and then he said that he wished he had let my father…” I stopped, running my fingers through my hair. I bit my lip, craving nicotine as severely as I had during the height of my smoking addiction despite the fact that I had only been smoking again for a few months.

  “You can smoke in here. The windows are open, and there’s a breeze. Go ahead.” She urged me gently, and I did not ask if she was sure. I simply lit up a cigarette, inhaled, exhaled, and started talking again.

  “He said he wished he had not saved me from the ship. He wished he had let my father kill me, or trade me with Adam. Now, I became privy to the fact that he and Janna, the leader of this village, were having some sort of flirtation. Apparently, Miss. Adam’s wife gets around. In his mind, I saw her, but I shut off the feed because he is my brother, and I did not want to see that. I told him that Janna would never love him, that she was using him to get back at me. Of course, this is long before I knew that Janna was on a rampage of revenge, if you will pardon the alliteration.”

  “I will.”

  “She had sex with James, and I blame both of them equally for that, and I don’t believe that she has had sex and is still having sex with Elijah, but if she is not, she will be soon. He did not push me into the woods on behalf of her, or on behalf of some sexual relationship. He could never do something like that to me on behalf of a woman he barely knows.”

  “But he could do something like that on behalf of his hatred of James?”

  “Maybe. He was furious, Savannah.” I said, as my mind fell backwards to relive all the shouted insults. “He just kept saying, ‘How stupid can you be? How stupid are you?’ over and over again. ‘How many times does he have to stab you in the back like this? When are you going to get it through your head?’ That’s when he said that he wished he had just let Dad do it. ‘At least then I would have known that there was nothing I could have done. He’s been hell-bent on it for years, hasn’t he?’ ‘With this asshole, I can stop it, but you just won’t listen!’ It doesn’t make any sense really. And Janna being in his mind doesn’t make any sense, either. Like I said, he wouldn’t push me like that on behalf of some woman he just met. Not when he and I have been so close for so many years. I don’t even think they have ever had a conversation. Even if they had, even if they were having some sort of relationship, he has to know that she does not and will never love him. She is using him to get back at me the same way she used James.”

  “For what does she feel she needs to have revenge on you?”

  “Because out in the woods, her husband and I grew very close. We were almost executed by the Old Spirits. One of them almost raped me. Rich whipped me with a vine right in front of him…”

  She winced like she had been the one who had been whipped. For a moment, she kept her eyes closed, and then, with a trembling hand, she squeezed the bridge of her nose.

  “Are you alright?”

  “Yes.” She took a deep breath and looked at me. “I am sorry for that, Brynna. Continue.”

  “They did the same to you.”

  She looked at me, her dark eyes deepened by the pain of remembrance.

  “They do that to everyone up there. Even the men. It is a way to get us to cry and repent for our sins. Everyone cries. Everyone repents.”

  “Except Maura.”

  “Maura is the red-headed woman your father married? Your nanny? I never spoke to her, but she was what they call a ‘tough sell.’ She would not buy easily the radical ideas they were shoving at us all. How is she? Is she with you?”

  “You don’t know?” I asked. “Maura is gone, Savannah. Don killed her while interrogating her the same way he was interrogating you.”

  She stood up, her business-like demeanor crumbling. Something I had said had awoken a memory in her. Perhaps it was old, perhaps it was fresh; perhaps she had seen it many times, perhaps it was an instance of Don’s cruelty she had not yet relived.

  “I am sorry. I upset you, I know. But please, please don’t start crying.” I told her quietly, and in my voice, I heard a genuine plea with which I was unfamiliar. “I know that you will make a mountain out of a molehill with this, as they say, but I cannot handle emotions from people to whom I am not close.”

  “No. I’m sorry, Brynna. And I’m not going to cry. I wouldn’t do that to you. You’d never come back to see me.” She forced a smile, “We were talking about you. Keep going.”

  “Well, Maura is gone, and that is where my troubles began. Because I thought that I forgave her for everything on Earth, but clearly, I do not, or I would not be feeling this weird emptiness that I feel. It’s this dull sensation that I used to get on Earth all the time. It’s like…” I looked away from her eyes as I tried for the first time to articulate out loud the feeling that I could not shake. “It’s like you’re taking a pin, and you’re jabbing into rubber, and it’s just bouncing back at you, bouncing back, bouncing back. Obviously, I know rubber doesn’t feel pain, but I do. Or I’m supposed to. But when I think about Maura, the fact that she’s dead, and I didn’t do anything to stop it, I just feel that pain bouncing off of me. It’s not that it’s absent from me. It’s there, but it’s just so dull.”

  “That isn’t uncommon, Brynna.”

  “It’s not?”

  “No.”

  “So I am not turning into a sociopath.”

  “No.” She laughed softly. “Rarely do people turn into sociopaths, unless drugs are involved, that is.”

  “I am not on drugs.”

  “I know you’re not. It is my personal theory, and the theory of many others in my witch practice,” She smiled slightly, “…that people are born with sociopathic tendencies, and environmental factors lead to those tendencies being strengthened, but they are not created out of thin air. Rather, they are not created in the early twenties after a traumatic event, and if they are, the person in her early twenties is unaware of becoming sociopathic, I am sure.”

  “And how do I know that these tendencies haven’t been dormant inside of me for all of these years? I have always had a hard time feeling things. I have such an aversion to emotions. I cannot stand to witness them being shown by others. I look down on it. I believe it is a sign of absolute weakness, and that weakness in others makes me angry. It disgusts me. I also cannot stand to feel things myself.”

  “But you do feel them. I have seen your concern for your sisters, James, Adam, and the people around you. I have seen you sympathizing with the problems people bring up during the meetings more than Adam, Don, and Janna combined. I see so much feeling in you, and everyone else does, as well. Unless you are a very talented actress, then all of that is proof that you are not a sociopath.”

  “Really?” I asked.

  “Really. Trust me. I’m a doctor.”

 
She grinned, and I actually laughed slightly, feeling much calmer as I extinguished my cigarette.

  “I am trying to trust you. I am actually allowing myself to do so for the time being, because I feel like I am going to positively burst if I do not tell this to someone. So, if I am allowing myself to share all of this with no thought to the regret and the fury that I will feel towards myself later, I will continue with this: I cannot have sex. It is not just with James. I have been thinking about it in the same terms that I did pre-James. It is shameful and disgusting and requires vulnerability, which makes it all the more disgusting. I’m regressing, Savannah.”

  I waited for her to say something, but she merely gestured for me to continue.

  “I don’t know what else to say. I love him so much, and all of these issues began before he told me what he had done with Janna. I have not really seen much of him since I made him leave. Two months ago, a month after I made him leave, he came over and was drunk, and I let him stay the night in the guest room. And the next morning, he came into my room, and we talked. I told him I forgive him for all the mistakes he has made, and I do, but I have not asked him to move home yet.”

  “You’re just not ready. Even if you’ve forgiven him, you’re not ready to trust him like you did before. You are afraid of him making more mistakes and hurting you all over again.”

  “You are right.” I said, “But even before that talk, we were having such issues with intimacy. Every time we would get close, I would start to feel my chest tightening and my head spinning, and not in a good way. Even if I kept my eyes open and saw him, I still felt like it was that man who had tried to assault me in the woods.”

  “You know what it is. I can sense that. You know why that is, Brynna. Do you want to tell me, or do you want me to tell you?”

  “If you are going to suggest that I have post-traumatic stress disorder, I am going to scowl most venomously at you.”

  “Then scowl away. Go ahead; I’ll wait.”

  I did not scowl, because the effect of it was lost when she gave me permission to do it. She covered her mouth, smiling to herself, and I cleared my throat awkwardly.

  “I refuse to accept that what I am experiencing is as simple as anxiety that follows a traumatic event.”

  “It’s not just anxiety, Brynna, as you very well know. It’s nightmares, flashbacks, mood swings, the shame you’ve alluded to feeling, trouble sleeping, and in the case of what almost happened to you, the avoidance of intimacy is also very common.”

  “Are you telling me I am textbook?”

  “You are textbook.” She replied with an even bigger smile.

  “But…” I leaned forward somewhat earnestly. “You do not understand. There is no way that all of this can be so… so…” I scrambled for the correct term.

  “If you are going to say ‘simple,’ then you and I both know that this is anything but simple. If it were, you wouldn’t be here right now, talking to me about it when you talk to so few others about things that are bothering you.”

  “Well, whatever this is…”

  “It is Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.”

  “Yes.”

  “You should say it. It will help.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it will be an acknowledgment of what is truly to blame for all of your emotional issues right now, and that acknowledgment will lead to an acceptance, and through that acceptance, you will be able to heal.”

  “Did you just quote a book?”

  “No.” She replied with a soft giggle.

  “That sounded like a quote.”

  “It did, didn’t it? I’m kind of proud of that one.” She told me, now laughing harder. I found myself smiling, too, and not trying to suppress the laugh that soon joined with hers.

  “Well, this Post Traumatic Stress Disorder has driven my boyfriend away. Well, that, and his own utter stupidity. But part of our problem was that I shut off from him, and I did not mean to, and I fought it repeatedly, but I just could not bring myself to tell him everything I have just told you. Only you, James, and Adam know the extent of it, and I wish that all three of you did not know.” I stopped as I realized something. “My stars, that is why I have been completely unable to read.”

  “Loss of interest in activities one once found pleasurable.”

  “Fascinating! I am a walking psychological crisis.”

  “And aren’t we all, after something so terrible happens to us?”

  “I suppose so. Normally, I am an ace at self-diagnosis, what with my ability to observe myself through an objective lens long enough to determine which illness, physical or mental, from which I am suffering. This time, though, I had a feeling that it was PTSD, but I was so convinced that it could not be something like that. Something that has been written about and studied extensively. So, what is the cure Dr. Savannah? Calming tonics? Yoga? Meditation? Lobotomy?”

  “Oh, lobotomy, for sure.” She told me, “I’ll have to go downstairs into the cooler room to get my ice pick, though I do believe it’s a little dull after I used it on Ellie this morning.”

  Ellie came out of her room at that moment, squinting in the light. Her hair that she normally kept pinpoint-straight was loose in wild, frizzy curls, and her eyes, normally so alight with that youthful glow I noticed more and more in those younger than me, was replaced by a dull blankness that came with not being fully awake.

  “Look at her. Do you see?” Savannah said, “I needed practice, and is that not why we have children? Free guinea pigs.”

  “Exactly.”

  “What are you two doing out here?” Ellie asked us.

  “Talking, honey. Did we wake you up?” Savannah asked.

  “No, I just heard you talking out here. I didn’t know who you were talking to.”

  “It is just me.” I told her.

  “Cool. Night, guys.”

  Ellie went back into her room and closed the door.

  “Did she end up picking out a dress of which you approve?” I asked.

  “Eh, we came to a very shaky agreement. What about Violet?”

  “No, I threw up my hands eventually, and told her to go naked if she wanted. Of course, she informed me that two people she knows are going in see-through dresses, and I immediately recanted that assertion knowing that if she chose to go naked, she would not face extensive public ridicule. This is the Abba-Adam camp, after all, where judgment is never passed even when it ought to be.”

  “Yes, I have been finding that very interesting. Though, I must say, your passage of the Strike-Rule has been a godsend. People have been saying as much constantly.”

  “You are settling in nicely.”

  “You have a habit of saying things that sound like a question and a statement.”

  “That was a statement. An observation, rather.” I looked at her and said sincerely, “I am glad.”

  She smiled again.

  “I am, too. All three of us are so grateful to you for helping us the way you have.”

  I gave her a quick wave of the hand and a shrug.

  “Do not mention it. It was no problem. Besides, you have just repaid me the favor by listening to my rambling insanity.”

  “It’s not insanity. You’re not insane. Your reaction to what happened is proof that you’re not insane. What you really need more than anything, Brynna, is time. James seems to be giving that to you, but do you really want to be away from him?”

  “For the time being, yes. I do not care if he was angry at me, I do not care if he suspected me of being unfaithful, he was the one who had sex with someone else. I need some time to sort out how that makes me feel. I see him every other day when he comes by to see Penny and Violet. Goodness, this mirrors a divorce more than I ever realized before.”

  “It does.”

  “He is like a weekend parent, except he is there every other day. We are cordial to one another, but he is surprisingly quiet. He does not ask me when he can move back in, so of course, I think that he does not want to
move back in. All he ever says is hello and goodbye, and he inquires about my wellbeing, but that is the extent of it. The other day he touched my arm, but it was because he was moving past me to get out the door.”

  “It sounds like he is giving you space. He doesn’t want to put any pressure on you to make a decision.”

  “Does that mean that he doesn’t care?”

  “No. Of course it doesn’t. It means that he is being patient.”

  “Or it means that he has already found someone else. Perhaps it is Janna, though I am sure that Adam would tell me. You should have seen the way he went off when he found out that Janna and James had had sex. And of course, I did not even know about Adam being married…” I stopped, and sighed heavily, looking up at the ceiling, “They are so complicated. I thought it would be easier to date older men. I have only ever been attracted to older men, for whatever reason. Younger guys are simple in their minds, and they are high maintenance, which makes them difficult to deal with. I always thought older men would give me no grief, but these two… I will be gray before James, and grayer than Adam, if they have their way.”

  “Yes, your love of older men is the talk of the town, I have discovered.”

  “Yes, I hear what people say. They all chalk it up to ‘Daddy issues.’ While my father and I certainly do have a relationship so terrible, it is worthy of its own tragic Russian novel, it is certainly not the reason for my attraction to older men. If anything, I feel as though a poor relationship with one’s father would lead to resentment of all men that age. No, I feel as though my attraction is the result of knowing my mother’s ex-boyfriend, John. Not that I was attracted to him, or anything…”

  “I didn’t think you meant that. Was he a nice man?”

  “Yes. Very much so. Besides James, Eli, and Adam, he is the only man for whom I have felt the slightest bit of respect, love, and trust. Despite her issues, he stuck by her. He loved her very, very much, and he did not deserve to be treated by her the way he was. They would break up, and get back together, and then, she would begin trying to reach out to me. It is as though she could not hope to overcome our differences without his aid. You are aware of our differences, are you not?”

  “I am. In the Bachum camp, we all had to confess publicly. Needless to say, your father’s confession took quite a while.”

  “I am sure.” I sighed heavily, “They are truly a strange and rotten bunch, the Old Spirits.”

  “Oh, yes. The slightest violation of their hundred or so rules, and out you go. We found that out the hard way.”

  I wanted to ask her if she had heard anything during her brief stay there about my mother, whom Paul had sworn was still alive. No word had come from him regarding the continuation of our deal; I had said neither yes nor no, but instead had merely agreed to give him my answer at a later date. Not a day went by that I did not remind myself that there was no way that I would trade Adam for my mother. Rather, I would ask for his assistance in hoodwinking the Old Spirits into giving her up. So, why did I not immediately tell Adam of what Paul had asked of me? Perhaps it was because I knew, even then, that somewhere deep in my heart, I was not so sure that if they presented her to me, if they showed me she was alive, and erased my guilt and regret that I still felt so powerfully, so sickeningly, even a year and several months later, for leaving her behind, I would owe them Adam and Janna; I would give them up willingly.

  Or I would simply ignore her the way that she had ignored me for twelve years. I had a new life, where every day at the same time I was looking back and cringing at all I had experienced at the hands of her, my father, and Maura, I was also looking in the present, at the life I had built, and into the future, where that life continued challenged but not deterred from persevering.

  Believe me when I say that knowing I could so easily turn my back on her again brought me no joy. In fact, it prodded that genuine fear of my own cruelty. Looking at Savannah, I wanted to continue my completely random, totally new trust of her by telling all that had happened with Paul in the woods. How he had tempted me, how he had said I could have her back, how he had said she cried for me…

  “Brynna, the only name I hear coming out of her mouth these days is yours.”

  The implications of that, if it were true…

  But I could not allow myself to be so easily tempted. I had to turn away, to refuse to give in, to never acknowledge it aloud, what he had asked of me.

  Not until I saw him…

  “I must be going.” I told Savannah. “So, all of this will simply go away on its own?”

  “Yes, with time and patience.” She wrapped her arm around my shoulders as we walked towards the door. I did not cringe away from the warm physical contact with her because at the same degree that I was shocked by it, I was also strangely comforted by it. I almost wanted to turn to her so she would hug me, so I could bury my face in her neck and cry, which her kindness made me want to do. When I had been a little girl, before Lucien had died, before Michael, I had used to burrow against my mother and cry whenever I was injured, however slightly, or upset, however minimally. She would hold me, shushing my cries and giving me soft words of comfort. After Lucien and Michael, she never hugged me again. And does that not sound so cliché and overdramatic? “My mother never hugged me!” But alas, it is the clichéd and overdramatic truth, I am afraid, and if you were unsure if such a thing could breed monsters, look at what my mother’s lack of affection turned me into. Of course, my father, godfather, and “nanny” had much to do with it, as well.

  “You know what else will work wonders for you?” Savannah asked as she leaned against the doorframe.

  “Nicotine? Flagon of wine? Peace Fruit Pie and a strong dosage of Armistice?”

  “No.” She replied with another chuckle. “To go to the wedding in three days and have a really good time.”

  “I do not know if I will even be going, actually. Tony and Tom are two of my dearest friends here, and if I missed their wedding, I know they would be sad, but I just do not know if I feel like being around people, and…”

  Her lips pursed, and she raised an eyebrow in a frowning, critical expression that rivaled and closely mirrored the expression and stance I took when I was in a similar position of having to instill my displeasure at something another said.

  “And you don’t have PTSD.” She said with a slight shake of her head.

  “Right.” I replied, conceding without actually saying that she had a point. “I will go, but I really do not feel like it.”

  “Tom and Tony are two of your closest friends, you said.”

  “Of course they are. Tony and I worked in the kitchen at the house together. If it were not for them and Rachel, my best friend, I would have lost my mind. Well, Penny, Violet, and Alice were there, too, but they are family.”

  “Even Alice?”

  I thought about it for a moment and smiled slightly.

  “Yes. She and Quinn are linked with us now. See, I surprise myself. I always thought my little circle of acquaintances would never grow, but here I am, talking about two friends that have become family, and three acquaintances who have become friends. I am much softer than I was before we came here.”

  “I didn’t know you before you came here, but I am certainly impressed with how you are now. Brynna, I’d like for you to come talk to me again. Maybe it can even be a weekly thing, like on Earth?”

  “Talk about my feelings once a week?”

  “Should I have just asked you to go swim with sharks after taking a bath in fish chum?”

  “Just about.”

  “Still, would you do it? Please?” She asked, “Keeping things bottled up has never helped anyone. Well, unless someone is being interrogated, or something.”

  “That is kind of what this feels like to me.”

  “You mean to tell me that when you were just talking to me freely like that, you felt like I was a sadistic interrogator?”

  “No!” I replied with another slight laugh. “I don�
�t know what I mean. To make up for that accidental comparison, I will come see you next week.”

  “Great. I am sure I will see you at the wedding, and probably before then. You are right across the way, after all.”

  “Indeed. I will see you around.”

  “Alright.”

  I left, knowing that she was watching me, making sure that I got home alright, despite the fact that I was only right across the dirt path. Once I was inside of my door, I turned around and watched as she returned to her house.

  The maternal gesture nearly provoked tears in me again. Her arm wrapped around my shoulders, her understanding eyes, her gentle tone of voice, the protectiveness she must have felt, however slight it was, to watch me as I returned home at night—they were all reminders of what I should have had with my own mother, and they all drove me to want to return the following week. It is rather embarrassing to admit it, but she had essentially just injected me with some emotional drug to which I was instantly addicted; that drug, like many real ones, filled in an empty place temporarily, and once that space was hollowed out again, more of that drug had to be taken in order to fill it.

  During that trying time when I was questioning everything, I had found someone who could help me sort out the answers to those questions in typical maternal fashion. She was not my mother, nor did I think that she wanted to be my mother. I did not truly believe after several minutes being alone in my house after returning from hers that she wanted to mother me.

  But a frighteningly strong part of me wished that she did.