Tapped (Totaled Book 2) (16 page)

            “I don’t have any friends. Certainly not ones that I trust,” I admitted, ashamed.

            “We can revisit that issue a little later. Why don’t you tell me a little more about this letter? Bree sent you a letter of some sort, I gather. Why is that not allowed?”

            Dr. Greiner was completely lost. I needed to get a fucking grip and clue him in on the cluster fuck that was my life.

            I explained that Pat forbade me to speak to Bree in any way while I am staying with Mick and seeking treatment. I told him all about the front porch come to Jesus meeting where my career and life were pretty much threatened by the one guy that could actually take it all away. He listened, nodded, offering “mmm-hmm” where appropriate and eventually discretely grabbing the memo pad to jot down a few things as I spoke. Describing the scene where Joan revealed the envelope that she was obviously trying to help keep secret garnered a chuckle.

            “What? What’s funny?”

            “Oh, I just find it humorous that Joan is in on the hush-hush love letter. Not surprised a bit. What did the letter say, if you don’t mind me asking?”

            “It was the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever said to me. I sat there for the longest time hesitating, afraid that it was my breakup letter. I memorized every curve of her lettering, tracing over my name in her handwriting, imagining the worst. I finally ripped it open to get it over with. And it…it’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever read.”

            “So…? What did it say?” he complained with impatience.

            “Oh, yeah. Sorry. It said, ‘You are not broken. We are not broken. You can shatter a glass vase into a million little pieces. But when you glue it back together, it can be any shape you want.
Tá grá agam duit
, Drew. I love you more than anything, and I will be here. Waiting.’” I recited every single word to him like she was whispering the lines in my ear. I would never forget those words. I felt like they were burned into my soul.

            “That is beautiful,” he replied. “What is ‘taw graw oggum gwitch’?”

            “It means ‘I love you’ in Gaelic.”

            “I guess I’m not understanding what the problem is.”

            “The problem is I don’t think she
should
wait for me. I don’t think she should love me. And I sure as hell don’t think that you can break a glass vase and glue it back together to be as good as new.” I heard my voice rising and felt myself getting wound up. As I tried to calm my breathing down, he responded.

            “Okay. I need you to explain why you don’t feel that she should love you and wait for you. Try to slowly and calmly express where those thoughts are coming from.” He scribbled notes down on his pad of paper and glanced up, prompting me to answer.

            “I
do
love her. I need her like I need fucking oxygen. She’s the best thing to ever happen to me. But I’m obviously not the best thing to happen to her. I almost killed her, for Christ’s sake.” The image of what I remembered from that night, my body straddling hers, looking down at her battered face as I came to, rushed me. Squinting my eyes and shaking my head back and forth to rid my brain of that horrid picture, I tried to explain further. “I just don’t think I’m any good for her. She deserves so much more than I could ever offer her. She deserves to at least feel safe. I’m all kinds of fucked up right now.”

            “The most important part of that statement is the words ‘right now.’ You have to recognize that you’re being proactive about dealing with and getting help for your issues. That speaks volumes. I’ve already seen an improvement in the way that you’re able to identify and manage stressors with a simple breathing exercise.”

            He seemed sincere, but I didn’t feel like it was enough.

            “This isn’t a sprint, Drew. It’s a marathon and you can’t expect to be miraculously healed in a few days.”

            “I understand. It’s just frustrating.”

            “Frustration is good. A little discomfort propels you to do better,” he insisted. “You did call me demanding to do the sleep study, remember?” I had indeed. “Why did you ask for that and want it so urgently if not to try to get to the bottom of this whole thing and get better?”

            “You’re right. I’m so sick of this feeling. I want to be better and have her back in my arms. I want to make this all okay,” I moaned, helplessness lining my every word.

            “So listen to yourself. Your own words. You want her back in your arms. A part of you does want her to love you and wait for you. Otherwise you wouldn’t be doing all of this, right?”

            “Yeah. But what do I do? I can’t contact her. I’m way too scared to write her back or risk calling her. But if I just do nothing and don’t respond in some way, she’ll think I don’t want her and she’ll give up on me.”

            “I can’t tell you what to do. But I can continue to work as hard as you’re willing to allow to get you to a better place mentally and emotionally so you’re able to make the right decision for you. Sound good?”

            I nodded an affirmative shake and he set the memo pad down into the folder and closed the file. “I was able to call in a favor and arrange for you to do your sleep study tonight if your schedule allows.”

            “Are you kidding me? Yes. I mean, that’s great. What do I have to do?”

            “You need to go on about your day like normal. Try to eat like you normally would and don’t do any activities that aren’t on the level of what a normal day would consist of for you. No differences in normal caffeine or alcohol consumption before showing up, just eat a normal, sensible dinner and arrive at this address at five o’clock. Bring whatever you usually sleep in and some toiletries for the morning.”

            “And this will tell you what’s wrong with me? Will you be there?” I was so anxious to get this over with, but in an eager way. Maybe this was my answer.

            “I won’t be present but there will be people there—professionals—to monitor you all night. I’ll get the results once they’re finished with everything. We should be able to go over everything together in a few days.”

            “A few days?” I repeated, defeated.

            “It takes that long to compile all of the data and get everything to me. These things take time.
”
He tried to appease my impatience but I was already glancing at the clock to see how long it was until five o’clock. “Once I have the results of the polysomnograph—the sleep study—I’ll have a better idea of what we’re dealing with and be able to come up with a plan to treat you.”

            “You sure do have your hands full, Doc. I’m a mess.”

            “Most of my patients are,” he joked. “It’s sort of my specialty.” We shared a brief laugh and he continued. “I want you to try to relax, complete the sleep study, and then see me tomorrow. In the meantime, focus on your breathing when you feel yourself getting stressed or tense. Can you do that?”

            “Yes, sir. I’ll try my best. And thank you so much, for everything,” I said. I really did appreciate it all and needed him to feel my gratitude. I felt fifty pounds lighter just to have a plan in place and something to actually
do
.

            We shook hands as he moved in the direction of the door. “Next session, I plan to work on a new therapy technique called EMDR. I’ve found it quite helpful with many of my patients.”

            “Okay. I’m game for whatever, Doc.”

            “And Drew?” he called as I walked away. “I haven’t forgot about your homework assignment. Please consider writing that letter soon.”

            I gulped and looked away. I had written the letter—or
a
letter anyway—but I ripped it up. The words I had written were more about my rage coming out than truly what I wanted to say to him. Or maybe they were accurate. I was more confused than ever and the fifty pounds that had just been lifted were back, feeling more like a hundred.

Chapter Twenty-One

DREW

            It was all I could think about. Every single thought in my head, even when I deliberately tried to think of something else, evolved into imagining this sleep study. As I sat and tried to relax, my mind wandered from one image to the next. I pictured myself walking into a hospital room, setting my bag down, getting poked and prodded and hooked up to wires, and some douchebag sitting in a separate room downing energy drinks all night to stay awake as he creepily watched me snooze on a tiny black and white screen. The truth was I had no idea what to expect, other than what Dr. Greiner had told me earlier in the day. The unknown element of the whole situation was scary and uncomfortable and I much preferred to be in control or at least research what I was going to be facing.

            It was too late for that now. I wished I had thought of it sooner; I was afraid if I did now, it would only freak me out further. I was sitting on the steps of the back deck, enjoying the scenery when I was startled by movement to my right, so much so that I jumped a little and wasted half of my drink all over the leg of my shorts.

            “Damn, son. What’s got you so spooked? Yer wound tighter than a pussycat walkin’ through a doghouse. E’rything aw’right?” Mick asked as he rounded the corner. He’d come around the side of the house; I didn’t expect to see him.

            “Oh, yeah. I’m fine. Just didn’t see you coming.” I stood to assess just how wet my shorts were as Mick climbed the first stair and looked up to me.

            “Drew? Ya sure, bud? Ya don’t look good.” I was ashamed to be so obviously wearing my anxiety on my face. “Ya know ya can talk to me, right?” he offered.

            I smiled at his kindness. “I’ll be fine. Just got a lot on my mind and a little nervous about tonight is all.”

            “Well, what’s tonight?”

            He didn’t know and he deserved to, so I told him all about the sleep test. Right in the middle of basically repeating what the doc told me about what to expect, Mick interrupted.

            “Yeah, I had one a’ those. Few years ago now, but it’s prolly ‘bout the same.”

            “You did?” This little tidbit was music to my ears.

            “Ha! Maybe it’s a Frank Greiner special package ‘er sumthin’!” he joked. “I thought I told ya I had God awful nightmares fer awhile?”

            “I guess you did. I just didn’t… I’m sorry. I’m in such a fog lately.” It felt shitty to have forgotten that Mick went through some of the very same issues I was plagued with after the death of his son. That’s the whole reason why I was even seeing Dr. Greiner—Mick’s recommendation—and I didn’t think to ask him for advice or guidance. I truly was reigning as the king of all selfish assholes lately.

            “Hey, no worries. I understand better than anyone ‘round here,” he said. “It’s really not that bad. Yer makin’ yerself more nervous than ya need ta be. Piece a cake, I tell ya.”

            It was reassuring enough to calm me down. For a while anyway.

BREE

            After my talk with Liam, I was in a fog. I tried to do a load of laundry but I put fabric softener in instead of detergent. I attempted to make dinner but after slicing my thumb nearly down to the bone instead of the chicken breasts only to burn the other hand on the oven moments later, I gave up. I couldn’t get myself out of the numb I-desperately-miss-Drew cloud. When my father came through the front door from the gym, the feeling surged even higher. When I looked at my dad’s face, I saw the lead prison guard of my proverbial jail—the man keeping us apart.

            He was on the phone, which I paid no mind to initially. But when his eyes met mine and he got a bizarre, almost awkward expression on his face, I was curious. When he hastily dropped his gym bag beside the sofa and excused himself out to the back porch, I was more than intrigued. Who was he talking to and what didn’t he want me to hear?

            I chose that exact opportune time to find it necessary to reorganize the Tupperware containers and match the bowls to their appropriate lids. The task was annoying and a complete waste of time, but that particular cabinet—the one that housed all of the takeaway containers—was right next to the window that overlooked the deck. I was ducked to the side so he couldn’t see me, but I could clearly hear his end of the telephone conversation through the window.

            Most of it was broken, but I was able to distinguish a few things here and there.

            “Has he had any bad nightmares
there
?” Pause. “Well, that you
know
of?”

            “A sleep study? Where? Tonight?”

            “Are you going with him?”

            “I know he’s not a child, Mick, but he’s like a son…to both of us.”

            “Has he talked to you about his therapy at all?”

            “I know, I just thought he might open up to you.”

            “I just need to know what we’re dealing with here.”

            A long pause followed by some shuffling.

            “PTSD?!”

            “I thought that’s what people had when they came back from war or something.”

            “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. This is worse than I thought.”

            His voice became suddenly muddled and more and more faint, so I turned just enough to glance out of the window to see his figure descending the stairs, walking further away from the house. His left hand was holding the phone to his ear while the other hand wiped over his forehead furiously, like he was wiping away sweat. His shoulders were slumped, his brows pulled together with discouragement, and the section of my heart that was still full of hope and expectation died a little.

            I shoved the plastic dishes and lids back into the cabinet and stormed out of the kitchen. My resolve was about to shatter and I couldn’t let my dad see me upset; he’d know that I’d been eavesdropping. I immediately went to my room, shut the door, and powered up my laptop. I knew basically nothing about PTSD, but if that was what Drew was suffering from, I was about to learn everything I could about it.