Checked (14 page)

No more nodding. I feel the heat of his hands as they crawl to my shoulders. Closer. Closer. Contact. A warm, slow ache begins in my shoulders.

His hands. Strong. Searing. Moving now.

Oh my God.

The slow ache begins to spread throughout my entire body, scorching and paralyzing as it moves. As he moves. Fingers making circles. Pressing into my skin slowly and cautiously. Infusing heat throughout me.

As I sink further into my chair, my eyes close and my mouth falls slightly open. I feel my neck lose all strength and start to drop back…back…back…

I snap forward just in time, managing not to crush his hands with my dead weight. My movement startles him, and he tears his hands from my shoulders.

“Is it too much?” he asks quickly. Quietly.

Too much? Too much heat? Too much aching?

“No, it isn’t,” I say softly, without turning around. I don’t know how to explain the whole neck jerk thing without embarrassing myself so I try to ignore it instead.

“So you think it might work? If you’re in a tough spot, it might help you with relaxation?”

Relaxation. I don’t think that is the right word for it. Definitely not relaxing. Definitely not helping me breathe. A distraction, though, for sure. I didn’t think about Tuberculosis or Meningitis or even Chicken Pox once during his massage.

So I’m speaking honestly when I say, “Yes. I think it could help me change my course of thinking in a rough situation.”
Or at any time whatsoever.

“Really?” There is relief in his voice. I can hear it.

“Really.”

He starts to move around me. “All right then. Okay.”

All right, okay, all right, okay, okay, all right…

“Let’s go over our general procedure then.” He sits on the corner of his desk as he begins to explain. I listen, trying to move my eyes slightly every ten seconds or so, working hard not to get trapped by his eyes. I nod here and there to show I’m listening. Hoping it all seems natural.

Doubtful, Callie.

“When we initially get you into an uncomfortable position, I want you to let yourself feel your fear. Don’t try to ignore it. Face it. Allow your stomach to get tense, your body to get nervous. As soon as that nervousness begins, which I assume will be rather immediately, you and I will engage in conversation.”

Seriously?
He’s going to make me all nervous and then expect me to be able to carry on a normal discussion? About what? The rainy weather? Upcoming sporting events?

I wait for him to say more, trying to appear ambivalent about this conversation idea, but he must see confusion or disbelief on my face.

“Calista, we are only going to have this conversation once you feel you can talk. If you are absolutely too worked up to talk, I will ask you to begin your relaxation exercises. Hopefully, you will succeed in relaxing yourself enough to talk…”

And if I don’t, he’ll try to relax me.

“When we have our conversation, we will make a game plan—a worst case scenario game plan. You won’t be just worrying about your fear anymore or doing little rituals or routines to avoid it. Instead, you will be dropped right into a situation where your fear is your reality.

“What will you do? How will you handle it when it really happens? What concrete actions will your gut tell you to take to try to make it better?” He pauses. “You cannot really answer these questions honestly until you are actually in the feared situation.”

This doesn’t sound too awful, I guess. As long as he is helping me through it. I’m still not convinced that I’ll be able to keep myself from running though.

“That is the first thing we’ll discuss.” There’s more?
Great.
“We will also discuss what specific events would have to fall into place for the feared outcome to occur in your undesirable situation.”

What the hell? Gonna have to break that sentence down for me, Doc. A lot.
Once again, my face must express that sentiment. Mental note: Sign up for acting classes.

“Okay, Calista. Let me explain that better.”

Good plan.

“You are only scared of going to certain places—public restrooms, crowded restaurants, bars, etcetera, because you think they hold some danger for you. Right?” I nod slowly.

“The danger is what you are really afraid of, not the places themselves.” I nod again. “And the danger is what this condition, this disease, has created in your mind. Within your mind, you have determined certain horrible consequences for going to each of these places. You’ve determined that you’ll contract unavoidable, specific diseases or that you’ll cause definite harm to others or yourself. You associate these places with these diseases or harmful events, convincing yourself that going to these places will automatically result in you acquiring diseases or provoking harm.”

I nod slowly again. While this all makes sense, I still don’t quite get his point. I also don’t get why he had to say “these places” so many times.

“While perhaps there have been times in the past where people have truly experienced these feared outcomes, the likelihood of this is very rare.”

Still confused.

“For example, somewhere in the world, on some date, yes, a person might have picked up some rare disease in a public restroom or at a bar. However, ninety-nine times out of one hundred, this doesn’t actually happen. You and other people with this condition are worried about that one percent of the time. Many times, you are even worried about something that has never happened before.”

That’s true. I do know that.

“So we will discuss what conditions would have to fall perfectly into place for your worst fear, your frightening outcome, to really happen. Oftentimes, five to ten specific events would have to occur before that outcome could ever be a true possibility.

“Thinking about how many things would have to fall into place may help you to see your fears in a new light, to understand how unlikely it is that your feared outcomes will ever occur.”

I nod again. This sounds reasonable.

He goes on. “One of the most unbelievable aspects of this condition is the fact that most people with OCD realize that their fears are ridiculous. I can tell from your emails and our few meetings that you feel this way.”

Of course you can.

“We will simply use that feeling, that knowledge, to help you get through some of these situations. Perhaps we’ll even be able to make you see some fears in an even more ridiculous light.”

Not a bad plan. Definitely worth trying anyway.

He stands up and begins to push his chair back to its spot behind his desk. I guess we are done for today. I probably should be getting home to get ready for Girls’ Night anyway.

Standing behind his desk now, he begins to speak again. Cautiously, but sincerely. “This isn’t going to be easy for you, Calista. I do want you to push yourself to work as hard as you can during our sessions, but I also want you to relax when we aren’t in session.

“It’s crucial for you to practice your relaxation at home and during your down time. This will help you to prepare for our sessions, but it will also help you with relaxation in general. It’s essential that we take care of you so you don’t become overly anxious or even more stressed out than you already are.”

We
are going to take care of me? How does that work exactly?

As my heart starts climbing mountains considering the possibilities, he goes on. “We will have sessions Monday through Friday for two weeks and then on Monday and Tuesday of the third week. While we won’t formally work on the weekends, I will give you some tasks to work on by yourself. This weekend, for example, I have one area of concentration for you.”

I’m sure I’ll do a bang up job on that. If I could do these things on my own, I wouldn’t be here.

He comes around to the corner of his desk yet again to sit. “I’d like for you to write down all of the, um, sins you’d like to report at confession this week. Then, I’d like for you to wait until next week to go to confession. Keep the list so that you have it next week, adding anything else you’d like during the week. Do you think you can do that?”

Skip confession this week? I don’t know. He’s looking at me, waiting for an answer.

I shrug, quietly saying, “I’ll try.” An honest answer. I will try. But I’m not making any promises or anything.

“That’s all I am asking of you, Calista.”

His eyes are so serious. Determined. He really wants this to work, needs it to work. For a paper? To help his mother? I don’t know.

I don’t want to disappoint him. “I will try,” I whisper. Sincerely.

“Thank you,” he whispers back. And he keeps his eyes on mine for an endless moment before blinking away and moving back behind his desk.

Back to a business, doctor-like tone. “I will be in contact with you later this weekend to schedule a time for Monday. I’d rather not set up anything until later.” He pauses. “Gives you less time to worry about it.” Probably a good idea.

As we work together to lock my chair back in the closet, he asks me to email him my weekly class and work schedule. He then nods to my purse, and I move to take it off its hook, my hook, while he goes to open the door.

I follow him down the hall, through the door next to Annie, and out the main office door. As I get in my car and begin to drive off, I see him raise his hand in a slight wave. Quite a send-off from such a busy, important doctor.

Seconds later, I hear a ding from my phone. I wait until a red light to dig the phone out of my purse. Unknown Number.

Have fun at Girls’ Night, Calista. Relax. -Aiden

{Cue Damien Rice.}

Chapter 14

the weekend before

IT’S ALMOST 5:30 P.M. WHEN I get back home. Not a lot of time to prepare for tonight. After scrubbing my hands and before starting to clean the kitchen, I unpack my sweats and sneakers. Didn’t need them after all. My dress was just fine.

More than fine. His face appears in my head, flushed right after he brushed against my bare leg.

Why the blush? And why the text only minutes after our appointment?

I guess I should respond to that. I grab my phone and hit reply.

Thanks.

That’s all I have. What else can I say? Have a nice weekend? See you Monday? Doesn’t seem natural. I decide to just sign my name under the “Thanks,” and I push send quickly so I don’t have to think about it anymore.

Just as the little message asking if I want to add him as a contact appears, another text comes through.

You’re welcome, Callie.

Callie?
What?
Why would—

Shit.

I click back to my sent messages to see what I wrote to him.

Yep. Callie. I wrote “Callie.” Only my family members call me Callie.

Until now, I guess.
{Here comes Carly Rae Jepsen with
“Call Me Maybe.”
}

Stop, Callie
. Time for cleaning.

7:45 P.M. CLEANING DONE: KITCHEN, LIVING room, me.

Pajamas on.

Since I have fifteen minutes, I decide to start my little weekend assignment. Get it over with now. I write “Confession” at the top of a new sheet of paper. Number one on my list is Dr. Gabriel. I have to seek forgiveness about him every single week. I try to remember how many times I have wished he would just go into a coma or something over the last week.

For number two, I list the patients going in and out of Dr. Blake’s office building. I judged each one. As if I should be judging anyone when it comes to psychological issues.

Lastly (for now), I add a number three. Him. I keep hurting him. Keep causing that painful look on his face... Somehow I need to—

“Aunt Callie?”

Abby’s here, outside my bedroom door. I put down my pen and go with her to the living room. It’s time for Girls’ Night.

Melanie and Mandy already have their first margaritas in their hands. Abby and I join Melanie on the couch while Mandy gets the DVD ready.

“What are we watching tonight?” I ask Abby as I pull a blanket over both of us.

“Enchanted,”
she exclaims. I smile and hug her closer to me. She gets so excited about her movie choices. I get excited too. Since Abby gets to pick what we watch every other week, I only have to pick once a month at the most. That means I only have to worry about disappointing others one time every six weeks.

Well, once every six weeks when it comes to movie choices. Somehow I seem to cause a lot of other disappointment during the course of a month.

I think of Mandy’s texts and phone calls, invitations to go out, each one met with a negative response from me. I think of Dr. Gabriel. For only a second. I have a hard time even worrying about that—he’s so creepy.

And I think of
him
. Those miserable eyes.
{Damien Rice again!}
What is he doing tonight? All alone in his house. Still working?

I remember that I need to email him my schedule for the week when Abby asks if we can make popcorn. I’ll have to email him later. Melanie and Mandy would ask all kinds of questions if I left to do it now anyway.

I take Abby to the kitchen and put a bag of popcorn in the microwave. While we wait for it to finish popping, Abby tells me about her first grade class. She sounds pretty happy about school. I hope it stays that way.

As we head back out to the living room and start the movie, I begin to remember my own life as a six-year-old.

Catholic school. Long brown curls. Plaid uniform. Already nervous all of the time.