True North Book 3 - Finding Now Kate and Sam (9 page)

“I’m starting to hate you more.”

“Good, just keep going on that list.
Wear the clothes you used to like. Get laid
.”

“
Get laid?”
I croaked, wide-eyed. “Are you serious? That’s going to be in your doctor’s plan?”

“I’m a woman just like you, and yes, ‘get laid’ is part of the plan. Just make sure you use a condom.”

I rolled my eyes. “And am I supposed to hire a male prostitute? Because I don’t have any offers!”

“That’s your problem,” she shot back, then said, “Okay look, getting laid is a personal choice and I’m obviously not going to force you to do it. If you really want to take it off the list … the choice is yours. But from one woman to another, I know your past and I know that having sex can be deeply therapeutic.”

“Fine, I’ll keep it on,” I said to appease her. I was just keeping it on the list to make her happy, right? And I was definitely
not
thinking of Sam as I wrote it.

“Good! Now after you accomplish those things, you’ll be tackling some even harder triggers:
Ride in a car. Drive a car yourself
…” She watched my expression. “Keep writing, Catherine, you’ll get through this.”

I knew she could see what I felt, the terror that was now coursing through me, consuming me, sucking my soul further into the black hole I worked so hard to keep it from going into.

“Breathe. You don’t have to run out and do all of these things tomorrow. Just one day at a time. One goal, one step, and the next won’t be as hard.”

I nodded silently and wrote the goals she had listed.

“Then go after something you’ve always dreamed of … something that you tucked away when all of it happened. Then lastly, you need to confide in one person, even a portion of your story.”

I felt my chest rise as my breath hitched in to protest.

She quickly raised her hand. “Stop. You can’t say no. These are my orders, and they cover all aspects of behavioral and cognitive therapy. You can move at your own pace; however, you must do one item on the list every two weeks, so you’ll have something to report back to me.”

“You’re out of your mind, Headshrink,” I said bitterly.

“These are the actions of a normal twenty-six year old woman. You’ve been fighting for way too long to hide yourself and, in the meantime, have created a pseudo self you call ‘Catherine’ while you’ve buried your true self so far down you can’t see her anymore. Even the sound of the name you once loved triggers you. And you tiptoe on eggshells so as not to disturb this fragile balance of sanity you make yourself walk.” She leaned forward and took my hands in hers. “It’s time to save you. You can’t save everybody else, but you can save Kate.”

Now the tears had nowhere to go except down my cheeks. “I don’t think I can do it.”

She gently took the pad from me, tore the page I’d written on away and handed it back to me. “Remember, it’s only twelve items; twelve small goals. Every time it becomes suffocating, because it will, take a little of your medicine and tell
yourself
and
him
, that you loved him
and know that he loved you too, that you would want him to move on with his life if it were the other way around, and that now it’s time for you to move on with yours.”

“This is impossible.” I held the paper between shaking fingers.
I might die if I try any of this. 

She put her hands on my face so I’d have to look at her. No doctor had done that before with me. “You have a broken heart, and I could never pretend to understand what you went through, ever. But I have had a broken heart. I lost a baby once. I was pregnant with her for five months. I did everything I could, but still delivered prematurely and she couldn’t be saved. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of her—what she’d look like, how old she’d be, what the sound of her voice would have been like. Moving on with my life was the most difficult challenge I’d ever undertaken. But she would have wanted that,” she said. “Be benevolent to yourself, Catherine … and start living your life again as Kate.”

I came out of Dr. Jensen’s office in a daze. Rain was falling over the city and it felt poetic. I wandered the streets without much thought in my head besides Soul-sucking Headshrink’s words on replay. And I couldn’t even hate her right now as much as I wanted to. She made too much sense.

People passed me by. Some hurried through the rain for drier destinations; others were more prepared with umbrellas and didn’t care. A couple in hooded parkas walked by, laughing and holding hands. A mom was jumping through puddles with her little girl, who wore the cutest green rubber frog boots. I wanted to smile at their joy and become a part of it, but it didn’t happen; instead my tears mixed with the rain.

I made my way to Pier 57 in Waterfront Park, gripped the white railing and lifted my face to the sky. It was good that I was alone, because the silent cry had turned to violent sobs. I had learned to barely function with a damaged heart that still managed to beat somehow. Every moment of my life had become a song too sad to listen to and possessed by an agony I couldn’t truly face.

The ferry bell echoed across the waters, and I watched as the ferry inched past me into its port. I may have still been breathing, but I had committed suicide six years ago—the suicide of my soul. I had cut it away and wasn’t really sure I could get it back. Or if I even wanted it back. Isn’t that why I had put it to rest in the first place?

What brought me to this crossroads anyway? Was it time playing out the way it does, through the cosmos? Was it the words of my headshrink rattling around now in the empty hole left by my soul?

Or was it Sam’s smile?

Chapter Eight

“Broken”

Lifehouse

Catherine

Too dark to see

Too numb to feel

The music’s far away

Nothing left is real

Can darkness turn to light

Like when day chases night

Or will it always be this way

Lost alone in empty space

Stars may line the blackest sky

But deepest hell can’t see their light

Crippled hearts

Never heal anyway

No sense in fighting

It all gets ripped away

Who runs this world

So full of agony

Liars say there’s hope

I won’t believe

Stars may line the blackest sky

But deepest hell can’t see their light

I walked into my classroom. Another professor had covered my classes last week, and I felt awkward now coming back—like everyone was going to be able to see through me—but I forced myself to push through it.

I set up my laptop and readied the projector for the morning’s lecture. While I did, I kept watching the door. Sam was always the first to class and today … if I admitted it, I wanted to see him. His ritual of asking me out for coffee and me rejecting him had become a part of my routine. I missed his self-assured smile, and I wanted more of it, like a pill that made me lightheaded and steady at the same time.

The buzzer went off and almost the entire class piled in before Sam and a beautiful girl with dark hair came in, talking and laughing like they were the only two people in the world.

Her name was Lexy Bordeau. She was one of the many girls that had tried to get close to him during class. Looked like she’d succeeded.

They sat next to each other at his regular table. For a moment I thought his eyes caught mine before he scanned the notes I’d written on the board behind me.

My chest constricted.

Sam North owed me nothing and I was the one who’d pushed away his friendship, so what the hell did I expect?

I went into robot mode and performed my lecture on the Holy Grail—solar energy. But the entire time all I could think of was how I was a pretty woman and did look young for my age. Maybe I could have even given Lexy a run for her money.

Wow!
Did I just think that?
The old heat of jealousy was something I hadn’t experienced in a long time. It had been shut off with the rest. But now, even though it hurt and I was irritated as Sam and Lexy were leaning into each other’s notebooks, I savored the lost emotion. Jealousy … my lungs squeezed, my heart twisted in envy. And I was dressed like an old schoolmarm, which hid every asset I still carried.

Oh my God!
I couldn’t believe I was thinking this way! What the hell was the matter with me? So he had helped me when I got sick, that just meant he was a good guy. And he sent me get-well flowers—daisies. Big fucking deal.

Just get through the morning, Jolie!
my inner voice commanded.

Oh shit!
Sam was the only one to call me by just my last name.
Great.

You know, though, it
could
be great,
I thought. He had added something to my life. And if that was all Sam North was supposed to do, I could let that happen. I could allow that. Like a little gift I chose to accept.

The buzzer—
finally!
I was saved. The class poured out of the room while I busied myself, putting away my things before I went for lunch. Most of the students came over and stopped by my desk to politely tell me they were glad I was back. When it cleared out, Sam alone was standing by my desk.

“Good to see you back, Professor.”

“Thanks. And thanks again for helping me … and for the flowers.” I made my tone nonchalant and kept cleaning up.

“Good, you got them. I was worried about you. Thought you’d at least send me a text or an email.” He wasn’t scolding, he just sounded matter of fact.

“Yeah, I had my phone off most of the time.”
All of the time.
I knew I couldn’t deal with my mom again. I didn’t look at him.

Meet his eyes,
I tried to persuade myself, but I couldn’t.

He started to turn a bit.

Please don’t go!
“Got any performances coming up?”

“Friday night is a huge concert with five other bands at Fenix Underground.”

I nodded and tried to look at him when I spoke. “That’s great.”

“Would you like to come with me? I could pick you up at seven,” he offered.

Even if I entertained the idea of saying yes, the lights, the masses of people, the music. I immediately started to sweat.

“No.” It came out more harshly than I intended. “No, thank you. But I do appreciate you asking.” That sounded good. Businesslike.

“You have my number in your phone, I texted you a few times last week. If you change your mind, let me know.” And with that, he was gone.

I breathed in deeply through my nose and caught a hint of the musky aftershave he’d left behind. I savored that smell.

I had chosen what I thought would be the least suffocating goal on the list. The trick was not overthinking this. I walked into J. Crew and picked up a pair of vintage-style denim jeans and a simple black sports tee with white stripes on the sleeves, around the arms. I didn’t try them on, just grabbed the right size, paid for them and kept moving.

I thought about how good it would’ve been to think like Kate did, to meld into her fearless
do-what-you-want
attitude, but I was on autopilot, doing what Headshrink had said to. Next stop was for a pair of black Vans Surfs. That was harder.

In the store I began to think too much. I stood in front of the display rack and traced the black laces and the zigzagged strip of leather that was sewn onto the side of the shoe’s soft canvas. They were the same as the pair that had been my favorite before. I remembered screaming and throwing each shoe with all of my strength into the dumpster behind the Chinese restaurant, closest to Maverick’s beach.

I remembered that day vividly. It was a year after it all happened and my mom had said she was fed up with it, that I had to pull it together. She cried and yelled and coerced until I finally put on my Billabong wetsuit and left with my surfboard under my arm. It was a short walk to the ocean from home, and I sat in the hot sand and watched the waves as they came in. For a moment I had smiled, remembering how we’d sit out there, floating on our boards together, waiting for the perfect wave to catch to bring us back to shore. But seeing him there with me like that only made me see him dying all over again, and I would never get that image out of my head. It was burned there forever.

In that moment, I hated the ocean, hated the waves that made you feel immortal and invincible when you rode them. Hated that they couldn’t help us now. Hated that the world was going on, going on without him. In a fury, I stripped off the wetsuit like it was a dark, evil thing and, in my swimsuit, ran full force to the metal dumpster. Swearing and screaming I threw the wetsuit in first, then the board. Next came my shoes. I remembered the fiery heat of the blacktop burning the bottoms of my feet. The physical pain was like sweet, fresh water to my thirst and it took precedence, covering the agony of my soul. Physical pain became like grace. As the strong sun glinting off the blue metal dumpster blinded me and stung my eyes, I pummeled my balled fists into the side of the unyielding steel. I couldn’t stop. Maybe I never would’ve stopped. Sometime later, I felt strong hands pull me away from the only salvation I’d felt in months. I kicked and screamed and tried to pull away and, as if they didn’t belong to me, I cackled when I saw my swollen, split-open, bloody knuckles. Streams of red trailed down both my forearms, patterning them with macabre, liquid lines, as if my veins had broken open and were now on the outside of my body.