“My eyes are killing me.” I push the palms of my hands against my burning eyes. Fuck. The tears finally came back, with a vengeance.

“We can take a break if you need.” I hear Dr. Mae pull another tissue out of the box and I roll my eyes. I need to woman up and stop crying. I know it doesn’t do anything to help.

I reach for the tissue and try to calm my ass down.

“Let’s switch gears,” she says, as she picks up her pen to scribble something in the tiny pad on her lap.

In my head I call her the shrink, even though Doctor Amelia Mae doesn’t like to be called that. It doesn’t matter what I call her, she’s a doctor for people with mental issues. For the crazies. For me.

I feel comfortable in her office. She has a no shoe policy. It makes me feel more relaxed. I flex my toes into the plush carpet beneath my feet. My nose scrunches as I wonder how many other people do that. I pull up my legs to sit cross-legged on the leather couch. It’s a pretty dove grey and has a modern feel. Everything in the office looks modern and clean. And open. It has a very airy vibe. It makes me feel comfortable enough to talk at least. And I’m doing my best to do just that.

I fucking snapped. Out of nowhere. Well, that’s not true. I had triggers, and I did nothing about them. But I snapped, and I didn’t come to until Kane’s arms were around me.

If he hadn’t come to me...If he hadn’t seen me leave...

I don’t like to think of it. But I’m fairly certain I would’ve done it. I had the blade to my wrist. I remember thinking, just one quick move and it’s all over. But then I thought, I should just impale myself through the chest. It would be quicker.

Thank God that Kane grabbed me just then. He saved me. Again.

Dr. Mae pushes the thin, metal frame of her glasses higher up on her nose, quickly reading through her notes before looking up at me. “It’s been a week of big changes. How are you feeling?”

It’s been weeks of big changes, but I don’t correct her. That’d just be bitchy of me. This week seems just like the last one. Empty and boring.

“These meds are much better.” I start off with a positive. And it’s true. Whatever she has me on now is a shit-ton better than the first cocktail. It’s been two weeks since I left Kane to try and deal with my shit. I’m blaming the fucking meds on how god damned depressed I was the entire first week. I didn’t do a thing but sob uncontrollably into my pillow.

Every time I’d cry out his name, Kane would come running through the door within 15 minutes. He has to have my place bugged. I should be offended or angry, but I’m not. Maybe that makes me more sick than I thought I was. But I feel safe knowing he’s watching over me. My chest hurts, and I have to take a deep breath to calm myself.

I’d ask Kane to just hold me, and he would. No questions asked. It happened nearly every night for the first few nights. But on the fifth day without him, I cried myself to sleep alone. Waking up without him hurt so fucking much. But I need to take care of myself.

I need to do this on my own. I can’t rely on him.

“So no more negative thoughts?” the doctor asks.

“Of suicide, you mean?” I just want to be sure I know what she’s asking.

“Yes, or any thoughts of self-harm. Your nightmares increased on the other meds, but you didn’t say anything about any desire to hurt yourself.”

I nod my head as she takes off her glasses and folds them, holding them in her hands. “Right. Not since the wedding night. And the night terrors are gone now that I’m off the other meds.”

“That’s great to hear.” She puts the glasses back on and looks back down at the pad in her lap. “Now, how are you feeling on this prescription?”

“Normal. Just like before.”

“But before you were having occasional lapses? Have you had any this week?” she asks.

I shake my head. “None yet. I usually would have had a reminder or two by now.” That’s what I’m calling them, reminders.

“And how would you have reacted to those reminders in the past?”

“I would’ve thought I was a horrible person; thought I was undeserving. A lot of self-doubt.” My heart twists in my chest.

I didn’t deserve that. I wasn’t okay though. I don’t think I’m okay now, either. “I don’t feel like that now, but...” I trail off, twisting the tissue in my hands and start picking at the ends. I look out of the bright office window and wonder how I should word this.

“I’m afraid.” I swallow the lump growing in my throat. “I’m afraid that something is going to remind me about everything, and I’m going to snap again.”

“That’s what the meds are for.”

“So I’ll have to be on antidepressants for the rest of my life?”

“We could try to wean you off of them if you’d like.” I’m surprised how casually she responds.

“Is that dangerous?” I ask.

“Not if you’re honest with yourself and with me. You had triggers that day, but you did nothing about them. You’re aware now of what could happen.”

“I am. And I won’t let that happen again.” I won’t. I don’t want to die. I didn’t live through all of that to end my own life.

“I’m very proud of you, Ava. Not many people are able to get a good look at themselves the way that you have.”

“Thank you,” I respond, although I feel awkward. I’m not proud. I’m ashamed.

“How’s your scar?” she asks, as her eyes dart to my shoulder. It’s a warm day outside, so my skin is exposed.

“One more treatment left to go, but I can’t even see it.” The surgeon said there was a small amount of scar tissue still, but I can’t see a damn thing. It makes me smile. I’m happy I never got the tattoo. It would have been a constant reminder. This is so much better.

“That’s wonderful.” She jots something down before looking back up at me. “And your weight? Is that back to normal now?”

“I’m still finding it difficult to eat.” It’s been hard for me to gain weight.

She purses her lips and writes some more. I hate it when she does that. Usually I know what she’s writing. But her pen keeps going and I find myself trying to read the fucking novel she’s writing.

“You’re looking well though, Ava. Are you feeling better as a whole?”

“I am.” I started jogging again. I used to fucking hate it. My sister used to make me go with her. It’s nice though. I can see why she liked it. I don’t know why she dragged my ass out along with her though. I don’t want company when I’m running. I just like the music, the feeling of being free. The burn of my muscles.

It wears my ass out though.

“Good. Let’s move on. How about work? How has it been integrating with your coworkers?”

I fucking hate my coworkers. I need to find something other than working as a clerk at the hardware store. I can’t wait for classes to start up.

I take a deep breath and think about Mindy. She’s the only one I freaking talk to because of our shifts. She’s a little firecracker, and I like her. But she’s also a ho. She’s currently sleeping with Jeremy, who’s the store manager. And also the boyfriend of Tammy who works in the stockroom and orders supplies.

“It’s just like any other retail job,” I finally answer. I’m pretty sure that’s not true. But I don’t want this to become a bitch session.

Kane got me a job at a restaurant, but I turned it down. I was going to withdraw from the university too, before classes even started; he convinced me not to, though. I’m grateful for that. I’m really looking forward to it.

I pushed the chance at going back to school away at first, because Kane was paying for it. But one of Vince’s men, Tony I think, tracked down my father’s money and wired it to me. I half wondered if it’s really my father’s, but I stopped putting effort into thinking about it.

I got the money a few days ago and I want to quit this shit job, but I feel like I need to be a part of the real world again. I really fucking hate that petty drama though.

Kane told me once that I could get a job at the restaurant whenever I wanted. He also said I could move back in with him and not have to work, or do whatever the fuck I wanted.

It’s so tempting, but I keep pushing him away.

I thought I needed to be apart from him. But I miss him so damn much.

I haven’t cried for him in over a week. I haven’t called him. I haven’t even seen him in over a week. Sometimes when I’m walking to a nearby café on my lunch break, I swear I feel his eyes on me. But when I turn around, no one’s there. It breaks my fucking heart every time.

“What are you thinking now?” Dr. Mae asks, and it pulls me from my thoughts.

I don’t want to admit it, but I tell the truth. That’s the only way I’ll get better.

“About Kane.” I swallow. “I miss him.”

She nods her head and scribbles something in her notebook. “Any more late night calls?”

“No. I haven’t seen him in over a week now.” She cocks a brow as she writes more in that damn book.

“I see. And have you thought about seeing him?” she asks as though she thinks it would be alright.

The word falls out of my mouth easily. “Yes.” I’ve thought of him holding me. Almost every night I try to remember our nights together so I can focus on a bit of happiness. The sweet moments of passion. I know he loves me. I think he loves me.

“Is it wrong that I care for him so much?” I ask her.

“You’ve asked me that before.” She places her glasses onto the table and reaches for her cup of coffee. “I think it’s reasonable to idolize him. I think it’s natural that you developed feelings for him. The question is, why do you think it’s so wrong?”

“I started having feelings for him before I was capable of leaving on my own.”

She nods her head. “And after?”

“After what?” I ask.

“After you left him? The feelings are still there, yes?”

“Yes.” My hand flies to my heart as an ache radiates through my chest. Every moment I remember I left him, it hurts. It hurts so fucking much. I know I hurt him. He saved me, and I fucking killed him by leaving him.

“What would you do if you could see him right now?”

Fuck him. I would hold him, I would kiss him, I would beg him to fuck me. I purse my lips and the good doctor smirks at me. Am I that obvious?

“Do you still think he deserves better?” she asks. I don’t know the answer. I don’t know if I’ll ever be completely whole again. I may forever be haunted. And he deserves better than that. He’s a good man.

She leans forward and looks me in the eyes. “Or maybe a better question to ask is, do you think you deserve happiness?”