“I know, and I’m not sorry you did that either, but you’re a patient here and it’s not right.”
“What about when I’m not a patient? What about outside these imaginary walls when we’re adults in the world?”
She shakes her head and places her fingers over the lips I just kissed. “I don’t know, Bodhi. You’re a risk and…I just don’t know.”
Kim leaves me standing on the hillside, watching as she walks away.
Chapter 10
Bodhi
I haven’t been able to get that kiss out of my mind since it happened. The setting was almost picture-perfect, with the moonlight, the pond rippling behind us, and the faint sound of an owl hooting off in the distance. The only problem is that we’re at a rehab facility, I’m a patient, and she’s an employee. Not just any employee, but the owner’s daughter. The odds are stacked against us. I’m in a situation that I don’t know how to control. I want Kim in every way possible, and I don’t know if I’m going to get what I want this time.
“Good morning, Bodhi.”
“Morning, Dr. Rosenberg.” I’ve grown fond of the good doc, but I’m still fearful of her office. Even though I don’t remember everything from my paranoid episode, the eerie feeling I had is still there when I meet her in her office. Not to mention that I can’t look at the picture of the ladybug on her wall without a panic attack starting. So we meet in my room now.
We’re allowed to decorate our rooms, and some of the people here have pretty nice rooms. Mine is bare, with nothing on the walls and no mementos from home. I don’t want to feel like this place is so comfortable that I never want to leave, so it’s best that everything just stay at my place.
“How are you?”
“I’m good,” I tell her honestly. This is my third week here, and I’m finally over the urge to snort anything. If the bloody noses, which I experienced a few more of in the first week here, weren’t enough to get me to stop, Kim, Susan, and my parents are.
“I see your father came to visit again. How are things progressing with the two of you?”
I nod. “He did,” I say. One thing I learned about talking to someone like Dr. Rosenberg is that I hold a lot of resentment and anger toward my father and I didn’t realize it. I’ve held a grudge about my lack of a real childhood, all the things I would’ve like to have done with my dad that kids from school did—play football, catch a baseball game, even going out for ice cream—but which I never got to do. But my resentment goes deeper than that. I’ve realized that I feel like I was abandoned as a child, left to be raised by nannies or having to make an appointment to see him. “I never thought I’d have to do something life-threatening and stupid in order to get my dad to notice me.”
Dr. Rosenberg puts her pen down and looks at me. “Remember when we spoke about putting yourself down? How about you tell me what you just said, but put a positive spin on it?”
This is the part of therapy that I don’t like: always being positive. Sometimes your actions in life are just negative and you deal with it. Not everything has to be sunshine and puppy dogs. I take a deep sigh and try to think of a way to compliment my father instead of insult him, even though he’s not here.
“I can’t do it. What I said is the truth. I can’t sugarcoat it or pretend like I had this amazing childhood, because I didn’t. Sure, I was spoiled, traveling the world, but that doesn’t make up for the fact that my parents were gone a lot. My friends Brayden and Carson are always talking about their families, and I don’t have the same type of stories they do. That makes you take a h
ard look at your life. And when that hard look is fucking ugly, you start trying to numb that shit so you don’t have to look anymore.” I take another deep breath and center myself. “I think my actions, as stupid as they were, have opened their eyes, and part of me doesn’t want to be sorry for that.”
Dr. Rosenberg doesn’t say anything, but scribbles on her pad of paper. She writes furiously, pausing only to flip the page. I can’t imagine what she’s saying about me. With my luck, she’s going to recommend me for a longer stay.
If that happens, I don’t know what I’ll do. Rebel has been kind enough to send, through my father, new music that I have to learn. We’re still scheduled to play at the movie awards a few weeks from now, and this is the song she wants us to learn. So far I’ve looked at the lyrics only a few times, not wanting to stress myself out while I’m here.
“Let’s talk about when you leave here. What will change for you?”
This is a tough one. I rub my hands down the front of my pants, gripping my legs in the process to remind myself that I’m here, I’m alive.
“Aspen has to change. I hate that I’m losing my friend, but it’s for the best, at least until we’re strong enough on the outside to deny the urges. I don’t know where she went. I was letting her live in my house, but she left the night my dad staged the intervention.”
“Is she your only trigger?”
I shake my head. “Exhaustion was my trigger, and Aspen had the answer. It snowballed from there.” I try not to laugh at the pun, because honestly, it’s not funny. “I have to know when enough is enough and speak up.”
“Right, Bodhi. And what will you do when you feel an urge to medicate?”
“Call you or Dr. Gordon. Either one of you will always take my call.”
“That is one step, yes, but there are others. Remember we talked about walking away and doing something else, or recalling the paranoia. That usually isn’t a coping method that I like to suggest, but it seems to work with you.”
“Yeah, I don’t need a reminder.” I smile at her, letting her know the ladybugs are fresh in my mind.
“Do you plan to share in the group today?”