I don’t miss the longing in his eyes, and I silently curse his parents for their part in all of this. I’m in no way innocent, but dammit, I’m trying to make up for my mistakes. I’d do anything to make his life easier.
“And the hallucinations?”
Lucas pulls back, breaking contact with me. He shuts his eyes and scratches his scalp. “Now, the hallucinations are a different story. Lately, the rats are the size of small cats, with pointed fangs dripping with drool. They have thick tails slithering behind them, and their greasy fur is black and patchy, like they have the mange.”
My guts rolls with every word he speaks. His description alone terrifies me, so I can’t imagine how frightening it is for him.
“They’re not always so scary. Sometimes they are tiny, rainbow-colored mice, flitting around the room. It’s not so bad then. But I always know the rats will be back … the shouting will return … it never ends.” He stops talking and chews his lip, deciding how to continue. “There’s an ebb and flow to my mind, but I can’t put my finger on it. I can’t figure out what makes one day different from the next. I rack my brain, looking for the trigger in all of this. I work harder on the numbers, spend more time with the equations, like the voices tell me to do, but it doesn’t seem to make any difference.”
I sigh and give him a grim smile. “It’s all chemicals, Lucas. There’s nothing you can do differently. You aren’t being punished for working more or less. There are medications that can alter the chemicals in your brain, because they are the trigger.”
I wish today would be the day he relents. I imagine him looking at me and saying he’s willing to try anything. I will it to happen. But his lips turn into a familiar frown, and I know I’ve lost another battle in this fight.
“The day I allow them to pump poison in my body is the day I lose control of everything. I won’t live my life in a hazy fog, Celia, shuffling around here like a fucking zombie. That’s a sentence even worse than death.”
I wish I could write a different story for him. I wish I could take an eraser to the page and pencil in happiness … peace … contentment. But that’s more than I can hope for—at least for today.
I peek my head into Caroline’s office, my purse hanging on my shoulder, ready to head home. “Hey, I turned off all the computers and locked up the back. I’m gonna lock you in when I leave, okay?”
Caroline looks over her cat-eye glasses and watches me in silence. My cheek twitches under her scrutiny. I shuffle my feet and look off into the distance. I avoid her “shrink ray eyes” at all costs. I know better than to underestimate the power of Caroline. She sees all things.
“Where have you been lately?” she asks, tapping her pen in the direction of her guest chairs.
I’m being summoned. I trudge into the office and fall into the chair. Caroline cocks an eyebrow at my dramatic entrance. She’s a no-nonsense kind of woman. Her blonde hair is always tied up in a high bun, usually by old paintbrushes, and her clothes and skin are often covered in paint spatters. As a counselor, she practices many different types of therapy, but art therapy is where her heart is. I couldn’t ask for a better mentor.
“Oh, you know, around … busy. My patients are keeping me tied up. What, with group, individual sessions, and crisis call, I’ve been swamped.” I shoot her a nervous smile and break eye contact as quickly as possible.
“Girl, that’s not what I mean and you know it.” Caroline crosses her arms and levels me with her knowing glare.
“Hmmmm?” I meet her glare with wide, innocent eyes, and she scoffs.
“You leave me no choice, Celia. I’ve waited for you to come to me—it’s been months, child. Well, I’m done waiting, and if you don’t want to talk to me about what’s going on in your life, I’ll just have to talk at you.”
“I’m fine, Caroline,” I whisper with a shrug.
“You most certainly are not. But we’ll play this your way. Have I ever told you about my Robert?” At the mention of her late husband, her expression softens a bit.
“Only the basics. I know you have a son together, and he died of a heart attack years ago. I don’t know much else.” I curl my feet up underneath myself, and smile, welcoming the change of subject.
“He was larger than life, my Robert. Whenever he walked into a room, that’s when the party started. And he loved me the right way. He loved all the things about me that are quirky and off balance—my wild hair, my paint-encrusted fingers, my inability to cook anything even remotely edible.” She rolls her eyes and throws her hands up in the air. “What can I do? I can mix paint colors and mediums and create a masterpiece. Give me some cake batter? I’ll make toxic paste.”
I giggle to myself, picturing a flustered Caroline bathed in flour, batter smudged on crooked glasses. I have to admit, the thought makes me love her a tiny bit more, too. Love is a funny thing—the good, bad, and peculiar roll themselves up into the emotion, making the relationship and the person unique and irreplaceable.
“Thank you for keeping your cooking abilities to yourself. Let’s leave the baking to Marlo, shall we?”
“That’s an outstanding idea.” Caroline nods with a laugh. Her expression grows cloudy, and her mouth turns down at the edges. “I’ve never considered remarrying. That part of my life ended when Robert left me. I’ve never wanted anyone else.”
I unfold my legs and reach across Caroline’s desk, squeezing her clasped hands. She squeezes back and draws away. She clears the emotions from her throat and eyes me expectantly.
“Did you catch the message in my story? Did you pick out the part I wanted you to hear?”
I search my brain, but come up empty. “The whole story is important, no? It’s about love that stands the test of time—what could be more important than that?”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right, but it’s not the message I’m trying to get across to you. I told you I never wanted anyone else. And isn’t that the key?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t follow.” I sigh in frustration. Caroline stands up and sits across from me.
“What I mean, Celia, is if there ever comes a day where my heart wants to try again, I have every intention of letting it. Robert would want that for me, too. He would want happiness for me. And that, my dear, is the difference between you and me.”
I pull my keys out of my purse and get ready to leave. I see where she’s going now, and there’s no use in exploring it any further. She’s right, there is a difference between us, but she’s got the details all wrong. Her husband’s death was decisive. His life ended. I, on the other hand, am stuck in limbo. The finality of her situation makes us as different as night and day.
“Sit down, I’m not done yet.” Her harsh tone surprises me, but I do as she says. “I don’t know the entire story here, about Lucas or Cain, and I don’t want to know until you’re ready to tell me. But don’t lie to me, and don’t lie to yourself. There is want in your eyes, girl. You need to know it’s okay to move on.”
“Except that it’s not,” I say.
My words are strong and decisive, leaving no room for argument, but when has Caroline ever cared about that? She loves me and all the other volunteers like we are an extension of her family, and she wants to see us happy. I wish for the same thing, but it’s just not possible right now—at least not in the way Caroline is talking about.
Caroline huffs and leans back in her chair, eyes full of disappointment. “I’m not in the habit of changing stubborn minds. I find that time and heartache are the only sure fire remedies for that. But let me say one more thing before you go. Your feelings for Cain have nothing to do with how you feel about Lucas. One does not overshadow the other—both are important and needed. First loves aren’t always last loves, but they can certainly pave the way for the truly great ones. I’d hate for you to miss out on greatness while trying to turn back time.”