by Blythe Stone
“Okay,” I said. I wondered though how many people had called her within the last few years. What were their situations? Would I have called her if I had known about this before I knew about Ben?
“That pamphlet explains Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder,” Mrs. Daniels said. “And this pamphlet,” she pulled another one out. “Will help you understand how you can better handle communication with Avery. You said you were getting married.”
“I did?” When?
“At the meeting. I was there.”
“Oh, right,” I remembered. “And yes, yes. We’re to be married in May.”
“Your relationship is very important to her,” Mrs. Daniels said.
“I know,” I said.
“Even more so after everything she’s been through.”
“Yes,” I said. There was no denying that.
“Why don’t you read through those pamphlets,” she said. “Sit on them, let them breathe, and come back to me when you’re ready to ask questions.”
“I have questions now,” I said, greedily.
“Okay,” she said, waiting.
“She has nightmares, bad ones. She wakes up and thinks she might still be in a dream. What can I do?”
“Well,” she swallowed. “First. You need to try and understand what she’s going through.”
Fair enough…
“These dreams, they’re most likely not like any nightmare you’ve ever had.”
Obviously…
“In a lot of ways, Avery’s being forced to relive her trauma. In a lot of ways, her mind can change the details and make the trauma brand new. So when she wakes up like that, she’s just experienced something new, something terrible, and frightening. Something that felt real.”
“I know,” I said. I was fucking there. That was obvious.
“After a trauma like that a person feels unsafe. Sometimes they’re in shock. She might not even yet have real consciousness or control. Has she ever hurt you?”
“What?! No,” I said, angered. I realized suddenly, she was the second person to ask me that today.
“It’s a fair question,” Mrs. Daniels said. “Has she ever attacked you out of one of her dreams? Maybe thought you were someone else?”
I was so not ready for therapy at 3:35 today...
“God, no,” I breathed.
“These things can happen, Olivia. You need to be aware of that. I’m glad they haven’t happened to you but situations like this are complex.”
I thought of Girl, Interrupted, that opening voice over:
“Have you ever confused a dream with life?”
My hands tightened into fists. Avery’s dreams must be so criminally vivid. I felt sick.
“Dreams like that take away Avery’s control,” Mrs. Daniels spoke on.
“Okay,” I said. I hadn’t asked for this information but I guess it was important. I couldn’t imagine Avery accidentally hurting me. She’d hate herself if that happened.
I couldn’t tell her about this…
“What happens when she wakes up?” Mrs. Daniels asked.
“When she wakes up she clings to me,” I said. “It’s like she wants to know its reality.”
“That’s good, that makes sense. Are you okay with that?”
“I am,” I said, relief flushing me. It made me feel important. She could never know how much.
“What’s important to remember is that there are two of you Olivia.”
“What?”
“Say that made you uncomfortable,” she said. “Would you tell her?”
“I don’t know,” I said truthfully.
“See, there are two of you. Both of you are important.”
“Okay,” I said. “But what can I do? To help?”
“It sounds like you’re already doing a lot of it,” Mrs. Daniels said. “Being there is huge. Being a person who can be there through the difficult times. You’re helping her to heal. She needs normalcy. She needs to remember that life can be normal and good instead of traumatic and bad. For the dreams, does she talk after? Does she ask you things?”
“She asks if I’m real.”
“So, talk back,” she said. “Tell her you’re real. Be calm. Be her anchor. But remind her, be gentle, try and guide her back with words. Describe the room you’re in, remind her it’s real. Are you patient with her?”
“I think I am.” I wasn’t sure. I wasn’t a very patient person. At least, I didn’t feel that I was. Inside I was always freaking out. It made it hard to feel patient.
“That’s good,” she said. “What kinds of things do you talk about? Do you know what a trigger is? Have you ever triggered her?”
“We talk about what happened a lot… About our exes. About Ben. I’ve triggered her, yes…”
I wasn’t happy about that.
“What happens to her?”
“Different things,” I said, remembering. The worst was that one time… “She had a waking terror, I think, once…”
“How could you tell?”
“The things she said. She kept saying it wasn’t real, I wasn’t real.”
“And what did you do?”
“I held her,” I remembered. “I stopped talking about the things we’d been talking about. I kissed her and told her I was real, that I was hers.”
“And what did she do?”
“She started to come back or… Wake up… I don’t even know how to describe it. I think she’d been having a panic attack too.”
“Had she known what happened after?”
“I think so,” I said. “Sometimes after something like that I’m scared to bring it up.”
“You can’t bury things Olivia.”
“I know…” That wasn’t helpful though…
A knock came at the door.
“I have to check,” she said, touching her hand to mine.
I gave her a nod.
There was another girl there, she was crying.
I stood up.
“I’ll come back,” I said. “It’s not pressing.”
Mrs. Daniels made a certain pained sort of face as she led the younger girl in. “Any time,” she reminded, eyes locking with mine.
“Okay,” I said. “And thanks.”
“You’re very welcome.”
I left the office and shut the door on the way out.
Outside it was sunny and the sky was so clear.
I hated it.
For the rest of the day I really threw myself into school. It was almost like I used to be before Avery. I was extra engaged. I paid attention to the lectures even in the classes where I was nothing more than a TA. I participated too. It was weird.
On lunch, Avery made some comment about me being in a mood.
She must’ve been right but I couldn’t really let myself dwell.
After school I drove to that place to see Doctor Vivianne Sunderson.
Her office was a cute little house on a well-maintained corner one block away from the Starbucks I actually liked and used on occasion.
I parked out front and stared at the clock feeling pained.
I’d tried to write down how I felt about earlier today but all that came out was disconnected poetry. I was doomed.
The inside of her office waiting room was actually kinda cute. It seemed more like a small living room than a waiting room. There were a few cats roaming about and they weren’t mean ones. I sat down on the loveseat across from the TV and a large white cat came right up to me and laid on my lap. Cats always made me nervous when they did that. But this one showed no signs of baring her claws.
“Olivia?”
“Hmm?” I’d been somehow instantly calmed. I could swear there was invisible sleeping gas in there or something.
“You can come back now,” the receptionist said. “Vivi’ll see you.”
“Okay,” I said, feeling guilty as I stood. The cat was forced to walk away.
Surprisingly, as I walked through the door the receptionist held it open so the cat could follow after me.
>
I laughed.
“Right down that hall,” the receptionist pointed. It made me laugh though again because the receptionist did that thing flight attendants do where they use two fingers to point instead of one. My mom told me once that was supposed to be less aggressive. To me though, it always made it seem more like a gun.
I made my way down the small hall and approached the open door, the lighting in there was different, it was unaggressive and soft, one might even say sexy.
There were windows on two sides of the room but they were covered in white cloth blinds with sheer white curtains over that. The floor was a neutral color of carpet. Not too long but not short and industrial looking either. It felt centered and calm here.
All of the built in shelves held books on one wall and on the other was a small fireplace of dark brick. It wasn’t lit but I could see that she did use it. There were old soot marks around the grate and a bit of black on the glass doors that covered it.
Around the fireplace were etchings, classical scenes from Greek history in white marble. Above it was a mantle made from the same marble. It was the only thing that looked cold in the room. Though, it still had a comfortable sense about the stone.
There were books on the mantle. Just a short stack framed by bookends that looked art deco in style. One side was a man pushing against something with his back and other side was a small model of a massive rock. I could feel the struggle.
“Interesting, isn’t it,” a pleasant voice said.
I spun around and saw her. Younger than I expected, blonde and blue eyed with beautiful brown tinting- a tense vintage stare.
“Hmm?” I asked. “I mean, yes. Yes, very.” Talking to her was already different than talking to Mrs. Daniels.
My eyes softened as I took her in and then turned away out of embarrassment. She was very pretty. I surveyed the thick rug beneath my feet and then the comfy couch and the nice comfortable looking chairs.
There was a stiff wooden chair off in the corner of the room, it was probably the farthest point from the entrance. That chair called to me, out of all the chairs. In this room, of all the things, I was most like that chair: stiff, unforgiving, hard, and alone.
I let out an accidental gasp. I couldn’t be that way in here.
Should I say something? Should I sit?
I didn’t know what to do.
“I’m Dr. Sunderson.” She had a little notebook with her and a pen in the same hand. I thought of Avery in my dream… Avery the therapist. “You can call me Viv if you’d like.” She held out her hand with a soft smile. I used both of my hands to accept hers as I stared again.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I said. “I’m Olivia.” My eyes dropped and shifted. Talking felt strange since I knew it was all I was supposed to do here. Here I was the experiment, the little mouse...
Vivianne’s perfume was rather magical and her hands were so very cool and soft.
I felt myself breathing her in from afar.
“Sorry,” I said. “I’m a bit sleepy I think. I didn’t sleep much last night.”
I looked up at her and smiled. I felt comfortable with her right away. That was such a new and lovely thing. It kept happening though this year. I sort of loved it too much. In this environment the feeling almost made me want to gush.
“That’s okay. Just couldn’t sleep?” She sat in one of the brown leather chairs on either side of the fireplace and gestured to the other and the couch. “Please, sit anywhere.”
Since she was near, I took the chair at her side. This was starting now. That was clear. I turned my knees inward to face my body near hers. I was a little nervous but not terribly so. The white cat jumped up on the chair and slipped its way onto my lap. I felt my hands cover her as she purred. It calmed me so thoroughly I made a note in my mind to go and purchase a cat.
“Things have been complicated with my fiancé,” I said. I felt thirsty suddenly. If Avery was here I’d just kiss her, I’d kiss her deep, allow myself to get lost. I shut my eyes and imagined it while I touched the soft fur of the cat. When I opened my eyes I realized I had to be in the now. If I couldn’t gush to Avery I’d gush to Vivianne. It would have to do. “When I first came in this room I wanted to sit in that wooden chair over there but you made me feel safe. I just thought you should know that.”
It felt important to give her all the information in my mind. I didn’t owe her anything. Her whole purpose was to fix me. She could only do that if I was honest. And if I ever wanted to bail out I easily could. This was business. Somehow that simplified things.
“My fiancé has night terrors,” I said. “She has PTSD.” Instead of seeing Avery scared in my mind, for some reason I remembered waking up to Avery touching herself, pleasing herself. The cat purred and I scoffed a small close-lipped laugh.
“Ah, so does this happen often. You not getting a lot of sleep?” Dr. Sunderson asked. “And I’m happy you feel safe. That’s excellent. I see Atlas has taken a liking to you. He doesn’t come back unless he finds someone special.”
Right.
“I’m sure you say that to all the girls,” I teased. The whole thing seemed a perfect set up. I had to love it. Just as I had to be skeptical.
Vivianne chuckled and sat back in her chair. “To win over Atlas by only walking into the office is a triumph. He’s nice to have around, good with patients but he very rarely follows someone back into the office.”
“I’ve the right mind to test that,” I said. If she thought I wouldn’t sit in the waiting room and watch to see what went on she couldn’t read me at all. That’s exactly the kind of person I was. I was being open about that.
We were wasting time… That hurt… I frowned down at Atlas and made sure to pet him extra special just in case these weren’t really lies.
“Feel free… But let’s get back to why you’re here. What is your fiancé’s name?”
“Avery,” I said. I looked up and I knew my eyes were glossy just from the mention and the way Vivianne stared back at me so still.
“Pretty name.” That muscle in her neck twitched as she stared at me openly. I knew that look, that feeling. She was seeing me the way I saw Avery on that very first day.
She had the notebook in front of her but she hadn’t written anything down yet. She was studying me, learning me.
“And what kind of issues have you two been experiencing?” Vivianne asked.
I laughed without meaning to. “That’s a very complicated question,” I said. “Obviously I’m here because there’s too much to process or understand. Communication issues though.” I decided to soften a bit. “I guess that’s the best place to start.”
“Is there anything in particular that you’re having trouble communicating about or is it a more general issue?” Vivianne crossed her hands over each other and set them ontop of the notebook.
“We met in interesting circumstances,” I said, trying to keep my eyes from staring or looking at hers. “There’s a force standing between us. For the last few months I let her sort of disappear inside herself. I didn’t know why it was happening. I thought she was getting bored with me. Apparently she has PTSD. I didn’t know until about a week ago. But talking about everything is complicated because of how we are I think. We’re different but we love each other.”
I swallowed hard. “Avery was raped and tortured by a man… A man I knew. A man I used to love… As a friend. I don’t really have friends. He was my friend. But I know now, he was a sick man. A man I should never have trusted. A man I have conflicted dreams about murdering. The last time I saw him, he said Avery and I deserved each other.”
“Both of you are dealing with this. That kind of dream is tough but understandable. Did you witness any of the trauma?” It seemed she was trying to keep her voice monotone. I knew what she was doing. She was trying to remain somewhat calm and neutral. I did that a lot. It likened me to her but also made me suspicious.
“Luckily, all I witnessed was them talking a few times and her runni
ng from his hotel room, him on the ground holding himself. But I’ve seen her physical scars… Her pain… The way she disappears… The Ben I knew is not the Ben she knew. But what can I know now? He makes me feel sick inside. I make me feel sick...”
My hands had stopped and the cat had paused in purring. When I noticed, the change disturbed me.
“How did you meet Ben?” Vivianne asked, forcing us on.