“Hm? Oh – sorry. Got a bit in my head there.”
“No problem. Want to voice those thoughts?”
“Not really, but it’s why I’m here. Right?” The smile I give her feels strained.
“Exactly right.”
“So, I get an invitation to my cousin’s baby shower …” A searing pain in my chest has me squeezing my eyes shut tight. I rub a hand over the spot, counting my breaths just like doc taught me. When I can finally draw a deep breath without wanting to break down, I just sit there.
“Verbalize those feelings. Let them out into the light and let’s talk them through.” She gives me a few minutes to find my balance. “Ready?”
I nod. “My first reaction was to say no. I had every intention of buying a gift and sending it along with my mother. The more I thought about it, the more reasons I could find to justify my behavior. Then I heard your voice in my head, telling me I was finding excuses to avoid the elephant in the room, so I went.
“God, it was one of the hardest things I’ve done in a long time. I can’t tell you how many times I nearly chickened out. But the day arrived, I got dressed and went to the shower. And regretted it from almost the moment I arrived.”
“What happened?”
“No one thing. It was a combination of small things really. The one that culminated in me leaving though was a blowup with one of my aunts. When she informed me that it was my duty to have children, and should I fail to do so I would be letting everyone down, I’m not proud to admit I lost it.
“I stand by what I said, but that doesn’t mean I feel good about it. The whole scene left a bad taste in my mouth, especially knowing that so many people view the world like that. Like if we aren’t reproducing, then we’re failures.”
The words are coming quickly now that I’m finally getting them off my chest, and I can’t seem to get them out fast enough.
“What happened next?”
This is the big one, and my entire body rebels at the idea of voicing it. My mind is screaming at me to cut and run. Don’t say it – don’t speak the words out loud. To do so is to make it real. It makes me a murderer. Not in the eyes of the law – I’ve been exonerated of any wrongdoing, but it doesn’t change the facts.
It was my bullet that first crippled, then robbed a man of his life. That it was either his or mine doesn’t ease my conscience.
“He – the guy – he …” I choke on my words as tears clog my throat, closing it off, making it nearly impossible to breathe. Beginning to hyperventilate, I claw at the neck of my T-shirt.
“Eloise,” I hear my name called as if from a distance. “Eloise.” I hear it but can’t seem to find my way out of the maze of panic and emotion in my brain. “Eloise.” The sound of my name is like a crack of thunder in the room, despite the quiet voice.
Rich with authority, it snaps me out of the start of an ugly panic attack. Still heaving for air, my eyes lock onto Dr. Hancock’s compassionate gaze like she’s the only thing keeping me anchored. And in a very real way, she is.
“That’s it. Stay with me. Nice, deep, cleansing breaths. In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four. Again.” Slowly, the fog recedes, and I find Dr. Hancock on her haunches beside my chair, rubbing my hand gently. “Welcome back.”
With care, she places my hand back on my thigh and gracefully gets to her feet. From the pitcher on her desk, she pours me a glass of water and hands it to me before returning to her seat. “When you’re ready, we can continue.”
Unable to remain seated, I jump to my feet and pace to the door. Then back. When I’ve completed what feels like a million laps, I stop behind my chair and grip the backrest. There’s no way I can say the words while looking at her. Dropping my head, I study the pattern of the weave on the fabric beneath my hands.
“The man I shot died.” Despite trying my damnedest to detach from the emotion, my voice cracks on the last word.
Silence greets my confession. I stand like that – head down, silence hanging heavy – until I can’t stand it anymore. Lifting my head, I force myself to look at Dr. Hancock. The understanding I find in her expression just about takes me to my knees. The tears, still so close to the surface, finally win the battle.
“Please – I …” The dam breaks before I can get the words out, and I fold where I stand. Sinking to the floor, I wrap my arms around my drawn-up knees and give release to everything that’s been building over the last while.
I feel something soft being pushed into my hand. Through the blur of my tears, I see a Kleenex. Choking out a garbled thank you, I wipe at my face. I’m fighting a losing battle though.
“Here you go, honey,” I hear doc say, guiding my hand to the box of tissues.
I have no idea how much time goes by while I vent all the pain and fear, and the good doctor provides safe haven for me to do so. Eventually, the waterworks start drying up, and I’m left a hiccupping mess on her carpet.
Painfully, I get to my feet and return to my seat. My legs, having gone numb from the way I was sitting, protest the movement. As bloodflow is restored, pins and needles make their presence known, adding to my misery.
“That crying jag tells me a lot, but how about we talk about all that heaviness you’ve been carrying around with you. Okay?”
“Okay.” Squeezed past the lump still lodged in my throat, the words come out sounding like a croak.
