I’d said it. It was out there, floating in the air between us. I waited for Josh’s response, but I could see he was waiting for me to continue. The dam had broken, and we both seemed unsure about where to go from there.

“Do you want to…” he began.

“My dad always asked to get ice cream on his birthday. He hated cake, said it was too dry. Not ice cream, though. So we’d take him to Ghirardelli Square every year to get ice cream and load up on chocolate. Then we’d sit near the water, sometimes wading in with our cones in our hands. I remember getting chocolate all over my fingers, one time, attempting to eat a square or two on the way home. I’d suck on my fingers ‘til they were clean and then go for another. Chocolate was the one thing I’ve ever been gluttonous about. My mom used to say I got my sweet tooth from her. That when she was pregnant with me, all she craved was Cocoa Puffs and graham crackers. Crunchy and sweet.” I smiled as the memories slowly filled my head space.

Up to that point, I had ignored all memories that had anything to do with my parents, which meant most of them, which explained my depression. I couldn’t think of, walk by, do something, read, write, eat, anything, without thinking about them. Being their only child, they had poured so much time and love into me that when they left, a part of me left with them, leaving a huge hole in my heart.

I explained this all out loud to Josh, piece by piece, until I finally got to the details of that night. I hadn’t told anyone the full details, not even Lisa or my extended family. I couldn’t. I wasn’t strong enough to relive it once more. Some family members understood, yet some didn’t. Some said they needed to know, and I couldn’t deliver, which made my depression worse.

I was ready to reach deep down and give Josh exactly what he needed to know so he could help me. So I could move on. Though every time I even thought about the words ‘moving on,’ I would feel a drop settle in my stomach. I didn’t want to move on. I wasn’t ready to face the world without them. Even if I was twenty-one, I still had so much to learn from them.

I knew, though, Josh would try and work at my pace. So I told him every detail of that dreadful night. At some parts, I had to stop to collect myself. At others, I tried to hurry to get it out before I choked on the words.

Josh didn’t interrupt me. He simply allowed me to speak until my voice could no longer sound the words and the tears couldn’t be held back any longer. I couldn’t even see his reaction because my vision was so blurry. I knew what was happening. An emotional fit was coming, and I had yet to have one in his presence.

Usually, they came at night when my brain wouldn’t shut off and the night terrors made their appearance. I would wake up from a dead sleep—if I could actually fall asleep— crying and screaming, “No!” until the night nurses came in and the orderlies held me down for another dose of Ativan.

Even nights where I couldn’t fall asleep, I would still thrash about, yelling how life wasn’t fair. My roommate must have been on some heavy sleep medication because she never made a peep during any of my episodes.

I wasn’t sure I could handle one in front of him. I started shaking, trying to hold it in. He must have noticed my efforts because the next thing I knew, he sat down on the couch next to me. Those familiar arms pulled me into the warm embrace I had secretly craved since the last one. I accepted it eagerly, clutching at his shirt, my breaths coming out in big gasps as I tried to control the sobs that tumbled out of my opened mouth.

“Shhh, Fiona, breathe. Deep breaths. You have to control your breathing if you are going to get through this,” he murmured into the crown of my head as he stroked my hair gently, just like my mother used to when I was little.

I closed my eyes and tried to zone in on the movement of his hand, taking me back to when my mother would rock me and hold me, just as he was doing, rocking both of us gently on the couch. I inhaled and exhaled deeply and was reminded where I was when I smelled the mix of minty soap and hand sanitizer. I was with Josh. In a psychiatric hospital. I was safe. I wasn’t there in that hospital. Josh wasn’t that doctor. I wasn’t near my parents’ covered bodies. Nor was I at the funeral home where I had to explain over and over again why the caskets were closed. Or at the cemetery, where I couldn’t even watch as the caskets descended.

I was with Josh. Someone who yearned to help me, along with Lisa, my friends, and my co-workers. My dream and my community needed me. First, I needed me. I unclenched my fists from around the fabric of his blue dress shirt. My sobs became deep breaths to which made me light headed. The tears dried on my cheeks, but I kept my face in his shirt, inhaling the scent of him for a little longer.

His hand wandered down to rub circles over my back, wide circles more like ovals up and down my spine, calming me even more. Once my breathing had steadied, he broke the silence.

“Fiona, I want you to know I am always here for you, okay? Even if you do ruin half my wardrobe in the process,” he said, and I laughed suddenly, breaking the tension in the room.

“Are you really bringing that up right now?” I punched him lightly in the chest, my head still resting on the broad, comforting expanse of his chest.

“Maybe? I wanted to make you laugh. Seems to be working.”

That was why I loved—wait, loved? That was why I liked Josh. He knew exactly when it was appropriate to make jokes and when it was time to be serious, easing the tension at the right moments. After a few more chuckles, we both sobered.

“T-that was the first time I have stopped a fit without needing drugs,” I confessed into his shirt, hoping I didn’t come off as weak. It was oddly important to me he didn’t find me weak.

“I’m happy to hear that, Fiona. You’ve come such a long way in such a short time. I’m glad you’re learning how to handle them without the Ativan” he replied, and I could hear the praise in his voice. He was proud of me as his patient, and maybe even more. Another topic I had meant to get to but didn’t. “As for what you just told me, I am truly sorry something so terrible happen to such wonderful people…”

The sound of Vickie’s light voice flowed into the room, cutting him off and indicating that his next patient waited outside the door and asking whether we needed anything. I blushed when I realized everyone had probably heard my loud sobs.

Josh must have guessed what I was thinking because he piped up next to me. “It’s okay, Fiona. Crying is nothing to be ashamed about in a psych hospital. If anything, you should be proud of yourself for the emotional breakthrough you just had. And most of the time, all anyone can hear when nearby is the sounds of us yelling at each other when we play games, if we get that loud. Though Vickie does keep an ear out for me—you know, to make sure I’m okay and not getting stabbed by a patient or something.” He grinned at me, trying to make me forget about my worries.

I giggled in response and unhinged myself from Josh’s body. I was still blushing when I saw the mess I had made on his shirt yet again. “I feel like you should send me your dry-cleaning bill or attach it to my billing when I get out of here,” I commented, and he laughed.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got extra shirts in my closet here. Sometimes, I accidently fall asleep at my desk and have to look like I went home for the night. Don’t tell anyone, especially Vickie, or I won’t hear the end of it.”

He stood up, stretched, and held a hand out to the door where we both knew Blaine was on the other side, waiting at Vickie’s desk.

“This evening, I’ll make my rounds on patients I missed in session. I would like to follow up with you if that’s all right? To make sure you are emotionally stable. We can pick up where left off regarding your parents, tomorrow.”

I tilted my head. He’d never followed up with me before. Then again, I had never had a big fit before in his office. Crying in his shirt the first time didn’t count. That was nothing compared to the fits that wracked my whole body and made me gasp for air.

“Of course. I would like that” I nodded and away I went with Blaine to my room. It just so happened to be the same day my roommate was moved to another room. I never did get the reason, but I could assume it was because of my nighttime fits.

Sighing, I fell onto my bed. I had a few hours before evening and needed to shower and clear my head. Padding into the bathroom, I was thankful I had the room to myself again. Though I knew it wouldn’t last very long, I decided to take advantage of the situation and took a nice, long, hot shower. The water washed away the tears, the smeared lipstick—the only kind of makeup I could have in there—and all my doubts about my relationship with my doctor.

It felt so good to get it all off my chest, so good to let him know how badly I hurt deep inside. After a week and half, I finally told him what needed to be said out loud and my chest felt lighter. However, I knew these new feelings were something else entirely, something warm and safe yet forbidden all at once.

I was falling in love with my psychiatrist.

I laughed out loud, my laugh bouncing off the pale-pink tiled walls. How cliché. I had become a walking cliché. I wondered if my parents would be proud of me. Of course they would be. I was actually falling for a guy who wasn’t after my money and treated me like a human being. I smiled, thinking about how my parents would’ve reacted had they ever met Josh.

If this was under other circumstances, I could easily picture their reactions when Josh would bid me goodnight after a date. My mother would’ve commented on how cute he was and my father would’ve said how proud he was that I was dating someone worth my time. The age gap wouldn’t even have mattered to them. As long as Josh treated me right and loved me for who I was, they would’ve gladly accept him into our family.

I rested my forehead on the tile and shut the water off. I had to know what to do with those feelings. Should I ignore them? I should focus on getting better, but the distraction was welcomed. Though in my mind, it wasn’t a distraction as much as an opportunity, and a new path being paved.

Now I had to decide whether I should grab my basket and my dog, and skip my way down that yellow brick road. To finally move on. To make my parents proud and for them to see their little girl smile again.

I hoped maybe, just maybe, Josh felt the same and if he did, would he act on it? There was really only one way to find out.