Do Not Disturb
Page 41
He answers and I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Deanna? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just… I just need to talk for a moment.”
“It’s daytime. Are you okay?” You shouldn’t be uncontrollable during the day. His unspoken thought only increases my stress level.
“It’s nothing to freak out about. I—just—”
“You what?” Dr. Derek’s voice drops an octave, fully into calm psychiatrist mode, and I relax slightly, examining the key in my hand briefly—a forbidden burst of pleasure shooting through me. I set it on the counter and move to my bed, sinking onto the surface and peeling my shoes off.
“I bought a car.”
“You bought a car.”
“Yes. Jeremy drove me.”
“So… you bought a car. In person.”
“Yes. Was that a mistake?” I let out a long breath, trying to understand why I am shaky. What it is about the last hour that has me so worked up. But I know what it is. It’s the same reason I am calling him now. Because I feel like I’ve gone too far. I’ve accelerated my assimilation to an unhealthy level.
“Why didn’t you ask me this before you bought a car?”
“It was kind of an impulse decision.” And it had been. Purely impulse. A fleeting thought in the shower that I had grabbed with both hands, squeezed with unrestrained glee until its head had popped off, spewing out a new Jaguar that I now have no earthly idea what to do with.
What was my plan? To rejoin the human race? Run errands? Go for Sunday drives? This is my home. This is my safe place. These walls are what have protected me. Protected others from me.
“I don’t like the new path you are taking. I understand that you are tired of isolation—”
“No, you don’t understand. Stir-crazy is a term for a reason. You try to spend three years breathing the same air. Forget killing other people; I’ll start chopping at my own neck pretty soon.”
“Deanna. You were content, you were happy. Four months ago, you were perfectly adjusted and comfortable with the idea of living in that apartment till you were old and gray. What happened? What changed? Why now are you champing at the bit for change?”
Because four months ago I stepped outside. I stepped outside and felt the sun. I kissed a boy. I drove across the country and killed someone. All things I can’t confess to. Can’t discuss with the one man who could help me move past them. “Nothing happened.” I lick my lips and search for an excuse. “I’m just… I don’t know. I changed. Maybe it’s my period.”
The unmentionable period. The one word that causes every man to shut his trap, change the subject, move on and away, ready for anything but to discuss that. Every man except, apparently, Derek.
“Don’t be ridiculous, your period has never had that effect before. Is it Jeremy?”
My stomach clenches. “No. Don’t try to take that away from me.”
“I can’t take anything away from you, a fact evidenced by your continued denial to listen to any of my advice.” His words are terse, and I smile. This is comfortable, this is what I know. Derek preaching, me arguing. I feel a bit of my tension ease.
“Can you take the car back?”
I laugh. “I didn’t ask if it was refundable, but I’m pretty sure the answer to that question is no.”
“You’re enabling yourself. That car is a key to some very dangerous doors. You need to get rid of it. Immediately.”
And just like that, the purchase turns sour. I knew. I knew before I dialed his number. I knew when my heart was racing in the stairway that I’d made a mistake. That I am biting off more than I can chew and that this piece of candy will pull me around by the mouth until it drags me off the cliff and into hell. But hearing the words from his mouth, knowing the wisdom behind them… it cements my fuckup. Quite possibly my most expensive fuckup ever. I slump, sliding off the end of the bed and leaning back against the mattress. I listen to Derek’s steady breath, and wish he were here to hold me. Hug me. I bet he’s a good hugger. A good, responsible hugger who makes you feel like he is taking some of your worry with the embrace. I close my eyes.
“I’ve got to go.”
“Deanna—don’t—” He pauses. “Just don’t drive anywhere. Give yourself a few days to think. Promise me you won’t drive till we talk tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
I hang up the phone and look at the car key. Lying lonely on a worn linoleum counter. Waiting for something more. A life to explore. I close my eyes, drop my head back against the bed, and feel its pain. Another thing we have in common.
“Deanna? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just… I just need to talk for a moment.”
“It’s daytime. Are you okay?” You shouldn’t be uncontrollable during the day. His unspoken thought only increases my stress level.
“It’s nothing to freak out about. I—just—”
“You what?” Dr. Derek’s voice drops an octave, fully into calm psychiatrist mode, and I relax slightly, examining the key in my hand briefly—a forbidden burst of pleasure shooting through me. I set it on the counter and move to my bed, sinking onto the surface and peeling my shoes off.
“I bought a car.”
“You bought a car.”
“Yes. Jeremy drove me.”
“So… you bought a car. In person.”
“Yes. Was that a mistake?” I let out a long breath, trying to understand why I am shaky. What it is about the last hour that has me so worked up. But I know what it is. It’s the same reason I am calling him now. Because I feel like I’ve gone too far. I’ve accelerated my assimilation to an unhealthy level.
“Why didn’t you ask me this before you bought a car?”
“It was kind of an impulse decision.” And it had been. Purely impulse. A fleeting thought in the shower that I had grabbed with both hands, squeezed with unrestrained glee until its head had popped off, spewing out a new Jaguar that I now have no earthly idea what to do with.
What was my plan? To rejoin the human race? Run errands? Go for Sunday drives? This is my home. This is my safe place. These walls are what have protected me. Protected others from me.
“I don’t like the new path you are taking. I understand that you are tired of isolation—”
“No, you don’t understand. Stir-crazy is a term for a reason. You try to spend three years breathing the same air. Forget killing other people; I’ll start chopping at my own neck pretty soon.”
“Deanna. You were content, you were happy. Four months ago, you were perfectly adjusted and comfortable with the idea of living in that apartment till you were old and gray. What happened? What changed? Why now are you champing at the bit for change?”
Because four months ago I stepped outside. I stepped outside and felt the sun. I kissed a boy. I drove across the country and killed someone. All things I can’t confess to. Can’t discuss with the one man who could help me move past them. “Nothing happened.” I lick my lips and search for an excuse. “I’m just… I don’t know. I changed. Maybe it’s my period.”
The unmentionable period. The one word that causes every man to shut his trap, change the subject, move on and away, ready for anything but to discuss that. Every man except, apparently, Derek.
“Don’t be ridiculous, your period has never had that effect before. Is it Jeremy?”
My stomach clenches. “No. Don’t try to take that away from me.”
“I can’t take anything away from you, a fact evidenced by your continued denial to listen to any of my advice.” His words are terse, and I smile. This is comfortable, this is what I know. Derek preaching, me arguing. I feel a bit of my tension ease.
“Can you take the car back?”
I laugh. “I didn’t ask if it was refundable, but I’m pretty sure the answer to that question is no.”
“You’re enabling yourself. That car is a key to some very dangerous doors. You need to get rid of it. Immediately.”
And just like that, the purchase turns sour. I knew. I knew before I dialed his number. I knew when my heart was racing in the stairway that I’d made a mistake. That I am biting off more than I can chew and that this piece of candy will pull me around by the mouth until it drags me off the cliff and into hell. But hearing the words from his mouth, knowing the wisdom behind them… it cements my fuckup. Quite possibly my most expensive fuckup ever. I slump, sliding off the end of the bed and leaning back against the mattress. I listen to Derek’s steady breath, and wish he were here to hold me. Hug me. I bet he’s a good hugger. A good, responsible hugger who makes you feel like he is taking some of your worry with the embrace. I close my eyes.
“I’ve got to go.”
“Deanna—don’t—” He pauses. “Just don’t drive anywhere. Give yourself a few days to think. Promise me you won’t drive till we talk tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
I hang up the phone and look at the car key. Lying lonely on a worn linoleum counter. Waiting for something more. A life to explore. I close my eyes, drop my head back against the bed, and feel its pain. Another thing we have in common.
