18

A+2DEXTERASA+5

The way she looked at him.

Spoke to him.

Her innocent verbiage poked at him like a splinter.

The further he considered it, the more it festered.

But this was Alina’s time.

Her feelings came first here.

So they completed a genogram with the child, which Norah explained as a “visual solar system” of relationships in one’s life and their symbolic placements in our “galaxy.” Each person was a planet or a star that orbited one’s atmosphere. Some were big, and some were small. Some near or far. Color-coded or unlabeled. All the while, Nor dared each question with unfiltered bravery.

He adored the celestial metaphor, but he had no galaxy of his own. His solar system was silent and empty, composed of ghosts, unwelcome voices, and nightmares. His planet was but a crust of dead, numb tissue.

“Do you not remember…”

Her innocent comment plagued him. It spoke of a casual understanding of his past, and that bothered him.

No, he didn’t remember. But that wasn’t normal, to not remember sitting in a tattoo parlor for hours upon end. To not remember the purpose or existence of a design that made him bear endless needles. His memories were as legible as squid ink and thus, he couldn’t remember receiving any of his tattoos.

Norah had presented the question with her trademark grace and normalcy. With the ease of a clinician. And it was her training that had given her away. Because though he’d mentioned his head injury to her, he hadn’t discussed his vivid memory loss. The amnesia. The fall.

The fall?

Or the jump?

Does it matter?

Of course, it does.

He hated himself for being frustrated. He was terrified of losing her to confrontation. But didn’t an authentic friendship need his authenticity? Resentment was poisonous, and even a sliver could become infected, surely.

The tired child tucked the day’s new art into her thick scrapbook, teeming with glorious creation. Its art sang to him like a well-played accordion with its various, honest sounds.

My past has taken so much from me already, Dex lamented as they ended session. Please don’t let it take them, too.

A rapid shift in the room’s rhythm suddenly shook him to the present. An invisible shudder beat in his chest like an erratic drum, uncomfortable and unsettling. He winced and scanned the space in search of its disruptive cadence.

Then he noticed Alina’s pale cheeks and sweating forehead. It was her heartbeat. It had grown shorter, more precious, heavy with new strain, thudding like bass beneath his bones.

A breath later, the monitors picked up on its plucky pattern, too, beckoning Rosella from the hall. She and Norah assessed hurriedly, allowing him an opportunity to back from the room.

He hastened through the winding curves and byways of the hall until he’d found an abandoned emergency door to lean against. He pressed his spine and palms against its cold steel, leaving sweaty prints. The Voices awaited him like eager cattle against a fence and tore at him with Their typical torment. Their cries were heightened, supplemented by his own acute stress.

“You’re the worst and-”

“I’m done. I’m never-”

“Kill me if you’re going to kill me-”

“...and no one would know-”

“Let me go, I-”

“Am I dead?”

Inaudible screaming.

Weeping.

“I don’t understand-”

“Let me die, let me die, let-”

“Oh God it, burns ple-”

More screaming.

Dead silence.

“Dex?” a visceral voice spoke inches from his ear.

He jumped, his body collapsing back into itself, a mild sweat collected on his brow. He shoved his shaking hands into his pockets.

“You alright?” asked Norah, a curious sparrow considering a thundercloud. She placed a small hand on his shoulder but quickly winced and retracted it. “Shit, you’re burning up, Dex.”

He leaned away with a flinch. “I run hot. I’m alright though,” he lied, clearing his throat as it tightened. Each piece of him felt stitched together by fraying threads, from his skin to his thoughts.

“You were both amazing.” She offered a small fist bump.

He returned it with two soft jabs and an uppercut but found it difficult to manage the trembling in his fists. He hurried them to his pockets once more.

“You two do all the work. I just get to watch from outside the ring,” he breathed.

“Firstly, not true, secondly, I’m going to take my break in five. Care to join me?” She threw a thumb toward the roof.

He swallowed the rising bile back down to his throat and nodded. “I could c-c-certainly use the fresh air.”