Chapter Five

The Shrink

“Helana, honey,” my mother called up the stairs. “Could you come down here for a minute?”

Sighing, I dropped my pen and closed my calculus textbook.

“Yeah, I’ll be down in a second!” I called. What did she want now?

In the kitchen, my mother and Todd were sitting around the kitchen table looking serious with cups of coffee in their hands. Gingerly, I trotted over to the fridge and grabbed myself a cup of yogurt before I plopped down before them. “What’s up?”

“Helana…” She trailed off, as if she didn’t know where to start. “Are you…happy?”

“Happy?” I repeated before scoffing. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

My mother didn’t look convinced and bit her lip. She looked nervous.

“What is it?” I asked, licking the foil seal of all traces of yogurty goodness.

“Are we doing something—” My mother paused and amended her statement. “Did I do something to drive you away?”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, growing serious.

My mother and Todd exchanged a look. “We know about what happened on the bridge.”

I whitened, my mind instantly producing images of the phantom Trick that had broken my fall. What if they found out about Trick being a—

“And we know about your earlier attempts too,” Todd added quietly.

I bit my tongue to withhold any outlandish explanations of my boyfriend’s ability to shape shift into a monster and conjure objects out of thin air. “W-What do you mean?”

“Adjusting to American life is really hard, I know, and leaving behind everything you had behind in Germany was something I shouldn’t have asked you to do,” my mother was crying when she met my eyes. “But that’s no excuse for trying to kill yourself.”

I stared at her in shock, my mouth hanging open. Trying to…what?

“I know I never properly did anything you get over that assault last fall,” she continued hurriedly, bringing unsettling memories of the alleyway to mind. “But I’m not going to do that anymore.”

My mind finally wrapped itself around what she had said and my mouth began working again. “I wasn’t—”

“Disappearing for days? Slicing your wrist? Jumping off a bridge?” Todd snapped, unable to keep his peace any longer. “I wasn’t born yesterday!”

My mother reached out and rested her hand on mine, touching my scarred wrist with her fingernails as she searched my eyes meaningfully. “I’m going to be here for you from now on.”

“For crying out loud!” I shouted, jumping to my feet. “I wasn’t trying to kill myself!”

“Your behavior only proves us right,” Todd says.

I shot him my darkest glare. “That is the most juvenile argument I have—”

“Honey,” my mother grabbed my arm with one hand while she wiped her tears with the other. “Todd has arranged for you to go see a therapist.”

The outrage in my face caused my mother to raise her voice to keep in control of the situation. “It’s only once a week, so don’t protest. You go see him, and you tell him whatever you want—you can tell him everything.”

I could feel the hurt and bite of the words she left unsaid: everything you couldn’t tell me.

But that didn’t change anything. “I am not going to see a shrink!”

“I’ll drive you there myself—kicking and screaming if I have to,” Todd said, not shouting, but on the borderline. “I’m not going to let you hurt your mother anymore.”

“I’m not the one hurting anything!” I cried in a fury, eyes bleeding tears of frustration. Huffing, I turned on heel, grabbing my jacket as I headed for the nearest exit.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Todd demanded, leaping to his feet. “Get back here!”

“You can’t tell me what to do!” I shouted, grabbing my car keys from the hook by the back door.

“Helana,” my mom says, trying to be the voice of reason. It didn’t suit her. “Listen to your father!”

Enraged, I turned back and thrust my finger in Todd’s direction. “That man is not my father!”

- - -

Twenty minutes, a blurry drive across town, and an elevator ride later, I stood in the middle of a hotel hallway, staring at the gold numbers hanging on the door in front of me; a knock upon it summoned a grumbling, half-asleep Trick to the door.

“Helana?” he asked, surprised. He stood before me dressed only in a pair of sleep pants; unfortunately, I was in no mood to goggle his alabaster midriff. Taking one look at my face elicited the question I knew was coming. “Jaysus, are you alright?”

His question brought forth the answer I also knew was coming: I burst into tears.

Without another word, Trick ushered me inside.

After I had gotten all the waterworks out of my system and had explained what happened, Trick sighed. It was in that moment I got a rare glimpse of Trick, not as a teenage boy, but Trick as a man who had lived for over a hundred years; in that moment, he wasn’t wise beyond his years—he was a man who had the age and experience to give him credibility.

“Y’know,” he said, brushing my hair out of my face. “You are gonna have to go.”

We were laying on Trick’s hotel bed, above the covers and holding each other.

“I wasn’t trying to kill myself,” I repeated, even though I knew Trick already knew that.

“That doesn’t change anything,” he said firmly.

“It should,” I muttered.

A silence fell as Trick reconsidered his argument.

“Think of it this way,” he says at last. “Would you rather tell them the truth?”

Tell my parents that the four-day disappearance last winter was due to a kidnapping by a crazed, rainbow-skinned genocide victim, that the wound on my wrist was from reviving a vampire, and that falling off a bridge had caused me to see double? “I think not.”

“Well, then, we’ll just have to make the best o’ it,” Trick says, taking my hand in his. “If you want, you can stay here tonight. I can tell you don’t want to go home.”

“I don’t know,” I found myself saying, even though my mind thought he was on to something good.

“Don’t worry,” Trick says, gently flicking me in the nose. “I won’t be tryin’ any funny business.”

“What about Jakobi and the rest?” I said in a hush, looking towards the door. “What would they say if they found us like this together?”

Trick, rolling his eyes, replied, “I’m not a kid, y’know.”

Subdued by his casual show of immortally, I mumbled, “I know.”

“Alright, then,” Trick hopped out of bed, his eyes glowing and excited. “You’ll need some pajamas.”

With a flick of his wrist and a flux of magic, he conjured a lacy, risqué teddy and held it up for me to admire.

I stared at him blankly. “You don’t have any in crotchless, do you?”

The faery’s laugh rang true. “All I need is a pair o’ scissors.”

In spite of my sarcasm, I remained unamused.

“What, no cami-knickers?” I continued to stare. When I reached for a pillow to toss at him, he added. “Not even crotchless?”

As the pillow sailed past his head, I dropped a threat as I threw my legs over the side. “I’ll leave now.”

“No!” he cried, leaping back onto the bed. Hastily, he shuffled across the covers and kneeled behind me. Resting his arms on my shoulders, he held the pajamas out in front of me. “Stay with me.”

A good shake turned the hodgepodge of string and lace into a modest nightgown.

“See?” he said, planting a kiss on my cheek. “All better.”

After disappearing into the bathroom to get changed, I returned to Trick rolling out a bedroll on the floor. When he saw me, he shrugged his shoulders, and explained. “I figure’d you’d be more comfortable this way.”

I couldn’t help but stare at him.

“What?”

“Nothing,” I said, catching myself. “I just didn’t know you could be this considerate.”

Trick scoffed. “Hels, you forget I’d do anything fer you.”

Inwardly, my heart tied itself into mushy, cooing knots; outwardly, I smiled.

Before long, it was light’s out. Trick had settled into his bed on the floor and I had curled up beneath his hotel sheets. After about ten minutes of awkward silence, I rolled over to the edge of the bed and peeked over it at him.

“You can join me up here, if you want,” I whisper. “So long as it’s only for sleep.”

Trick stared at me a moment before his face split into a wry grin. “It probably was a good idea o’ you to invite me up. Me nose woulda led me up there while I was asleep, without a doubt.”

I rolled back onto my side of the bed, giving Trick room as he slipped underneath the covers. At first, I laid there stiff and awkward, barely breathing, but Trick had none of that—he pulled my back up against his chest and curled up for the night.

As he began to nod off, I focused on our cellphones, barely touching on the nightstand. For the fourth time since arriving on Trick’s doorstep, my phone lit up and began vibrating; for the fourth time, I hardened myself against answering it. After a few more minutes, it went off again—this time, I was unable to let it go unanswered. As I reached out to grab it, Trick’s hand beat me to it. With quick fingers, he switched it to silent and dropped it back in its place next to his with a clatter. His lips, barely grazing my ear, whispered, “Go to sleep.”

After a few minutes, Trick’s breathing steadied and slowed, indicating he had fallen asleep; I had not. The minutes trickled past and soon became hours, but I just couldn’t fall asleep—I wasn’t sure if it was the guilt from not returning my mother’s frantic calls or the feel of a heartbeat that wasn’t my own at my back. Around midnight, the worry I certainly had to have been causing by staying out all night made me sneak out of bed. Only after making sure Trick was asleep and drooling, I got dressed and found my keys.

“I’ll take you home,” the Irishman said, causing me to nearly leap out of my skin.

When I turned and looked at him, I knew I had been caught. He was propped up on his elbow, staring at me in the dark.

“I’ll be driving, so I’ll be okay,” I said, suddenly nervous.

“I’ll walk you to your car, at least,” he mumbled as he kicked the blankets off.

“No—don’t get up!” I cried in a whisper, not wanting to make myself a nuisance.

“Helana,” he said plainly. “I’m already up.”

Without allowing another word of protest, Trick threw on a jacket (unzipped) and escorted me down to the parking lot. Before letting me go, he stuck his head in the car and planted a kiss on the corner of my mouth.

“If they’re being too intolerable, just turn around n’ come back, y’hear?”

Smiling slightly, I nodded, waving before I drove away.

Luckily, my mother and Todd were wise enough to let me be for the night.

- - -

It was an awkward silence between, Todd, the shrink, and I that next Wednesday. Sulking, my step-father and I sat side-by-side in front of the therapist‘s desk, not looking at each other, not speaking. We hadn’t been on speaking terms since I stormed out of the house to seek salvation in Trick’s arms. The shrink (to his credit) accessed the situation quickly, and turned to Todd.

“Could you wait outside, please?” he asked, ever polite.

Gruffly, Todd looked back and forth between me and the psychiatrist a few times before huffing and shuffling out the door.

After he had gone, the shrink turned his attention to me.

“I could tell you didn’t want him here,” he said. “Is he why you tried to kill yourself?”

“I didn’t try to kill myself!” I snapped, temper flaring.

His smirk made his eyes light up. “I believe you.”

I stared at him, suspicious. You couldn’t trust a guy who consoled nut jobs, after all.

Casually, the psychiatrist slipped his hands behind his neck and leaned back in his chair.

“What?” I asked after a while of him sitting there, observing me.

“Would you like some tea? I grew it myself.”

He made some for me without me needing to answer him.

“What’s your name?” he inquired.

“Helana,” I mumbled, sipping the steaming brew he had placed in my hands.

He sat up with a start, coughing. Judging by his body language, he appeared to have burned himself.

“Are you okay?” I asked after a moment of him hacking up a lung.

“Fine,” he gasped.

I couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow.

“Helana Cedars, huh?” he remarked, flipping through my paperwork.

“Legally,” I corrected underneath my breath.

He ignored me and carried on. “Did you know Helana is Greek, derived from Helen, meaning ‘sun ray’ or ‘shining light.’”

Even though he was studying me intently, I said nothing and stared at the floor.

“You really are a barrel of sunshine, aren’t you?” he remarked, snickering to himself as he continued to flip through my file.

“What is that supposed to mean?” I asked defensively.

Looking up at me, he dropped the folder and sighed. “Nothing. Meant nothing by it.”

The awkward silence that had began our session had it’s second coming.

“My name is Lio,” he supplied warmly. For the first time since our session began, I looked him in the face. His eyes were large, round, and green, and his eyelashes lined them in such a way I half-suspected makeup also rimmed his eyes. His hair was tawny, bleached to a dirty gold by the sun that had tanned his olive skin; he wore it cropped short, but a natural wave gave it texture and life.

Lio noticed me staring. “Is there something you want to talk about?”

“Nothing I’d talk about with you,” I snapped, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Fine,” the shrink replied, fishing a remote out of his desk. “I’d rather watch television anyway.”

Immersing himself into an episode of MythBusters, the shrink struck up a nice chat. “You get tired of listening to everybody’s problems after a while; the more you hear, the more they rub off on you. I once had this patient in Italy who thought he had the reincarnated soul of a goldfish.”

“Does that mean you think you have the soul of a mackerel or something?”

Without missing a beat, he replied, “I’d like to think something more like a swordfish—more than a three-second memory and a hell of a lot more attitude.”

I couldn’t help but snicker. “You’ve been to Italy?”

“Oh, yes. I was born in eastern Europe, but spent most of my life around Italy and Greece,” he explained. “I’ve been all over the world, really.”

“So have I,” I said. Except Greece. Mom refused to go to Greece.

Lio seized his glass of tea and held it out to me. “Looks like we’ve got something in common.”

Smiling, I touched my glass to his. “I’ll drink to that.”

Our conversation—complete without a “how does that make you feel?” or an excess of Freudian theory—turned to pleasant things, until eventually he turned to me an said, “You know, you seem like a normal kid.”

“Tell my mom’s crazy husband that,” I muttered.

“You really don’t like him, do you?”

Lio was apparently good at sensing the obvious.

“He acts like I should respect his authority, but he’s barely older than I am. And he acts like he’s my father.”

“Where’s you actual father?”

I shot him a look that would have fended off even the most curious.

Realizing that would take several more sessions to pull out of me, Lio proposed a plan. “How about we stick it to your step-dad---pull the wool over his eyes, if you’d allow me?”

“How?” I asked. “What do you mean?”

“Continue coming here for treatment you obviously don’t need, and I’ll continue to charge his insurance. Getting a break from Le Fleur nut jobs sounds great to me, and you’ll get to not only get a break from that tight-ass, but you’ll get to play him as a fool. We’ll order a pizza and play video games, or something.”

While part of me was thinking “I don’t know…”, my mouth, ever-conniving, responded. “I like the way you think.”

The shrink grinned. “Beautiful.”

A glance at the clock on the wall told us our hour was almost up. “We should go claim him from the lobby.”

“Mr. Cedars,” Lio called as he crossed the waiting room. Todd stood, and Lio grasped his forearm. “The diagnosis isn’t good. You’ll have to bring her again next week.”

“What’s wrong with her?” Todd asked.

“She’s in horrible need of psychological help.”

All of the color drained from my step-father’s face. “‘Horrible need of psychological help’?”

“She’s…unstable,” Lio summarized. He leaned in closer, whispering, “Insane.”

“Unstable?” Todd repeated. “Insane?”

With my best wounded face on, I looked at him. “Please don’t tell Mom.”

Todd looked shaken as he stumbled towards the door, saying faint goodbyes to our new family psychologist. Lio and I exchanged a knowing look as I left, and although we looked grave on the outside, inside, we laughed hysterically.

Maybe I was a little crazy after all...

Commentary:

It's been a while; I assure you I am in fact not dead. I apologize for the dry-spell, fans; my laptop's power cord went kaboom (electrocuted me and everything) and it wasn't until my birthday last week that I was able to get a new one. I'm 18 now, if you're all curious. It's weird that I started this series four years ago, now. Time really flies, doesn't it? I'm not completely sold on the end, and my logic is a little faulty, so if anyone has any ideas on how to make that better, please drop me a line or two in a review. Although it doesn't look like it now, herein lies the beginning of Origin's plot. I hope you all enjoy the rest of the journey! Next chapter: The Astro Zombies. Some good, lovely filler for you Seth lovers. :)

Thanks for reading! -Skylar Alexander