“That’s very detailed.” And very reminiscent of Borshin’s demise. Bitten Senior not only killed him in the middle of the street, but he set him on fire and strapped himself with a fake bomb, threatening to set it off if anyone came near. I watched on the news as Borshin screamed out his agonizing confession before he passed out. Unlike Elijah, Borshin was doused with so much accelerant it didn’t take long for him to die.
“My pain is very detailed, Doctor. No one knows who shot me, but we were…” She shakes her head and changes the subject, obviously not ready to talk about her own culpability. “Cap said my injuries exceeded a physical diagnosis. Do you think my injuries are psychological?”
“I think trauma to the body always comes with some form of emotional sequelae. Fear is a very intrinsic emotion. It’s crippling, and when dealing with loss, we have to face many fears over and over again.”
“What do you mean?”
“Loss is a ripple effect, and when coupled with trauma, it’s like grabbing a bunch of stones and chucking them into the water at the same time.”
She watches me draw ripples on the paper.
“Sometimes, depending on where they land, the ripples may be one, or two, or three.” I point to where some touch and cross over each other. “Or they will overlap … For example, you have to face losing your identity and the fear that comes with finding yourself again. In your situation, you have to cope with the loss of family, of bearing children, and what those implications have for you and your fiancé. Often, as a couple, you deal with losing what bound you together, or communication, or sexual desire. There’s fear in each one of those settings, and simultaneous confrontations are overwhelming. Sometimes, you shut down.”
“That makes sense,” she admits and leans back. “I feel like nothing makes sense anymore. Living, breathing, existing—it all lost value at some point. Even with Kace, it’s like we’re still the same people, who live in the same house, and there’s still something between us, but it’s different.”
“Are you not attracted to him anymore?”
“I’m not attracted to life anymore.” She turns her head from side to side, slowly to consider her thoughts. “I mean, what am I still doing here? Going to therapy to get my job back, so I can see the same people who didn’t find who did this to Tyler. It’s like everything is a reason to just stop, except two things.”
“Which are?”
“One of them is Kace. We’ve been talking more lately. Being in his presence messes with my head. Or with my body. I don’t know.”
“Has it been difficult to be intimate with your partner?” I ask, looking down at the intimacy score. “Zero to five. Zero being no intimacy—”
“Zero,” she says blatantly. “The desire is there, but I can’t.”
I record the score. “How long has it been?”
“Since before Tyler was taken from us. The big belly kind of got in the way, and I was always tired, but about four, maybe four and a half months.”
“Is that normal for you as a couple?” I ask, not because it’s relevant to my study but because she seems flustered over it. I prefer clear-minded subjects.
“No, we were—um—frequent, in that area.”
“And now you feel you can’t?”
“Yes.” She runs the palm of her hands over her jeans, massaging her thighs.
“Why? Let’s explore this a little bit. What will happen if you do?”
“He’ll think we’re okay.”
“And you’re not?”
“I’m not. He’s apparently ready to move on, adopt, and forget all about Tyler.”
“It’s normal to forget to communicate with your loved one, but remember you both suffered the loss. It’s as unfair to blame him for coping with it differently, as it is for him to blame you.”
“But I’m the one who carried Tyler. He was inside me. I should have protected him—that was my job.”
“Tyler was half his,” I offer, though I sympathize with her. Often times, fetal loss is harder for a mother; it’s a literal loss—an entity which is no longer a part of them. Unfortunately, quantifying emotion is not a therapy objective for her, just a means to an end. “Do you think there’s a winner when you grieve?”
“What?” she asks with a scrunched brow.
“Do you try to one-up the one person who knows what you’re going through, by telling him your loss is greater than his? Even if it is subliminally.”
“He can’t just add a positive spin to the catastrophe of our lives. We shouldn’t be able to just pick up where we left off before Tyler came into our lives.”
Ah. There it is.
“Like, how do you even do that? Did it mean more to me than it did to him? How can he talk about moving on?”
“He might be asking the same thing about you. Perhaps he thinks, how can she not want to move on with me? Do I not mean enough to her to try? Are we not able to transcend the challenges life throws at us? Did she only love me because of the baby? Would she rather I have died?”
“No,” she replies quickly. “I love Kace. Despite this hate I feel, sometimes…” She rubs her forehead and reaches for her locket, drawing strength from it.
I note down the mannerism in my notes.
“I still love him. If Kace died, I don’t know how I would surpass it. He’s been there for me, even though I push him away. But I would be okay if I had died with my baby, or instead of my baby.”
Love. As in the present. “You’re afraid of losing Kace, yet you want to pull your fiancé away?” The idea troubles her, so I leave her with that. “It’s just food for thought. People don’t automatically assume someone loves them. It’s hardwired into us, especially men, to need the affirmation.”
“I don’t want to affirm anything to him.” She closes her eyes and says, “If I find the person who killed Tyler and make them pay, Kace is going to hate me. If he’s associated with me, I’ll drag his name through the mud. I don’t want to do that to him. I love him, I just can’t be with him after I murder the bastard.”
“So, you don’t blame Kace for what happened to Tyler?”
“We were both to blame for that, so no. I don’t single Kace out.”
“It sounds to me like you’re not ready to live without him, and you do still have a ring on your finger. Perhaps you should explore your feelings before committing any rash decisions.” I glance at the time and squeeze in one last question. “I have one more before our time is up. Have you ever considered suicide since the event?”
“Yes,” she admits sadly.
“Have you attempted?”
“No. I want to find the person who hurt my son first.”
I get the lingering feeling, pushing her fiancé away is to shield him from the moment when that happens. A score of four for emotionally bound to loved ones, and a four for suicidal tendencies.
“Our time is up, but I’d like to see you again next week. On Monday, if that’s okay?”
She shrugs and gets up. “You’re in charge.”