Read Online True North Book 3 - Finding Now Kate and Sam by Allie Juliette Mousseau - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Allie Juliette Mousseau
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living?”
“My heart is beating and I’m breathing, so yes, I’m living,” I quipped sarcastically. It had been a week since my epic disaster with Sam North and now I was forced into the humiliation and agony that was my mandatory bi-weekly mental health check-up. I had already filled her in on what had happened with Sam last week.
“That isn’t what I meant and you know it,” Dr. Tennille Jensen said as a challenge. “If you could acknowledge that you’re only human too and what happened will always be a mystery, a toss of the dice—dice you didn’t throw …” She was in my face again.
I leaned in closer for the battle. “The only people who say things like that are people who’ve never experienced what I did.”
“If it were the other way around, would you want him to go on with his life, Catherine? Or would you want him to beat himself up over and over again, day in and day out because he hadn’t died too?”
“Fuck you!” I leaned back against the black cushioned sofa and folded my arms, furious.
“Maybe your fierce standards of achievement have something to do with trying to ease the feelings of guilt and unworthiness?”
“Maybe I hate you,” I mumbled.
“Maybe that’s because you know what I’m saying is right.” She softened her tone. “ You did nothing wrong, and when you find the strength to embrace that truth, you could be you again.”
“Me again …” I heard myself whisper.
“You’re a very intelligent woman. Logically, were you at fault? Were you actually responsible?”
“You’ve known me for several months now, you’ve had conferences with my tribe of headshrinks back home, and you know I know all the correct psych answers.” I sighed and spoke in monotone. “No, I’m not responsible. No, there was nothing I could do.” I shook my head. “I can say it, but I can’t feel it!” Just talking about it raised my pulse rate. “When I go about my routine, I can keep the pain and panic back. When I veer off course and go out of that routine, everything gets totally fucked up.”
“I understand how you could feel that way,” Dr. Jensen agreed. “It’s like a splinter in our foot. We perceive that the pain of removing it would hurt us more than leaving it in. But by leaving it in, it cripples us.” She sat back, her blonde hair cut to mid shoulder. One thing I liked about her was that she didn’t dress like a headshrink, and she didn’t mind my calling her “Soul-sucking Headshrink” or just Tennille. She dressed modernly progressive (today she wore green cargo pants and a black tank top) and even had a facial piercing—a single gold stud below her bottom lip. “What happened this week was progress, Catherine,” she said encouragingly.
“No, it’s not progress,” I argued.
“Yes, it is. It made you interact with another person on an intimate level and pushed you completely out of your comfort zone.”
“I think he wants to be friends.” With benefits.
“That’s excellent.”
“It’s not excellent. He’s funny and full of life and he reminds me of who I used to be and what I miss about myself … and … and …” My eyes started to sting and I tried to blink them clear. My leg started bouncing up and down in a jerky little motion that I used when I got nervous.
“And?” She tried to draw more out.
“And what I miss about being around someone else,” I said more softly, like I didn’t want to say it at all. “It only reminds me how lonely I am now, and then that brings up everything else, and I can hardly cope again.”
“You deserve friends.”
“How could I deserve anything?” I shook my head, resigned. “In just those few hours he was with me, I remembered what it felt like to be happy, to feel alive. To feel ! But I can’t be happy—I’m so ashamed I even let myself have a glimpse of it.” Now my lip began to shake and the tears filled my vision. “He’s the first person that’s come along that I actually wanted
“My heart is beating and I’m breathing, so yes, I’m living,” I quipped sarcastically. It had been a week since my epic disaster with Sam North and now I was forced into the humiliation and agony that was my mandatory bi-weekly mental health check-up. I had already filled her in on what had happened with Sam last week.
“That isn’t what I meant and you know it,” Dr. Tennille Jensen said as a challenge. “If you could acknowledge that you’re only human too and what happened will always be a mystery, a toss of the dice—dice you didn’t throw …” She was in my face again.
I leaned in closer for the battle. “The only people who say things like that are people who’ve never experienced what I did.”
“If it were the other way around, would you want him to go on with his life, Catherine? Or would you want him to beat himself up over and over again, day in and day out because he hadn’t died too?”
“Fuck you!” I leaned back against the black cushioned sofa and folded my arms, furious.
“Maybe your fierce standards of achievement have something to do with trying to ease the feelings of guilt and unworthiness?”
“Maybe I hate you,” I mumbled.
“Maybe that’s because you know what I’m saying is right.” She softened her tone. “ You did nothing wrong, and when you find the strength to embrace that truth, you could be you again.”
“Me again …” I heard myself whisper.
“You’re a very intelligent woman. Logically, were you at fault? Were you actually responsible?”
“You’ve known me for several months now, you’ve had conferences with my tribe of headshrinks back home, and you know I know all the correct psych answers.” I sighed and spoke in monotone. “No, I’m not responsible. No, there was nothing I could do.” I shook my head. “I can say it, but I can’t feel it!” Just talking about it raised my pulse rate. “When I go about my routine, I can keep the pain and panic back. When I veer off course and go out of that routine, everything gets totally fucked up.”
“I understand how you could feel that way,” Dr. Jensen agreed. “It’s like a splinter in our foot. We perceive that the pain of removing it would hurt us more than leaving it in. But by leaving it in, it cripples us.” She sat back, her blonde hair cut to mid shoulder. One thing I liked about her was that she didn’t dress like a headshrink, and she didn’t mind my calling her “Soul-sucking Headshrink” or just Tennille. She dressed modernly progressive (today she wore green cargo pants and a black tank top) and even had a facial piercing—a single gold stud below her bottom lip. “What happened this week was progress, Catherine,” she said encouragingly.
“No, it’s not progress,” I argued.
“Yes, it is. It made you interact with another person on an intimate level and pushed you completely out of your comfort zone.”
“I think he wants to be friends.” With benefits.
“That’s excellent.”
“It’s not excellent. He’s funny and full of life and he reminds me of who I used to be and what I miss about myself … and … and …” My eyes started to sting and I tried to blink them clear. My leg started bouncing up and down in a jerky little motion that I used when I got nervous.
“And?” She tried to draw more out.
“And what I miss about being around someone else,” I said more softly, like I didn’t want to say it at all. “It only reminds me how lonely I am now, and then that brings up everything else, and I can hardly cope again.”
“You deserve friends.”
“How could I deserve anything?” I shook my head, resigned. “In just those few hours he was with me, I remembered what it felt like to be happy, to feel alive. To feel ! But I can’t be happy—I’m so ashamed I even let myself have a glimpse of it.” Now my lip began to shake and the tears filled my vision. “He’s the first person that’s come along that I actually wanted
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