The title of the giant painting in Dr. Garbuglio’s office was Piège L’oiel. It was apt. Freya’s eyes were often caught in the streams of iridescent color, tracing their paths as they wove through the stark mesas of white plaster. She had an opportunity to stare at the painting each session. Dr. Garbuglio liked to let his patients sit and stew for five minutes before he deigned to take his place in the opposite chair.
It was such a weird painting; really everything about the office was just a little off. They’d gotten rid of whatever was making that burnt orange smell, and Freya was glad. She wondered if someone had complained. Now, the air smelled a little like tobacco. Not the smoke, but the way cigars smelled before they were lit.
“Don’t tell your mother,” Randall always used to say when he’d light one up as they were stargazing though, of course, she never would. She never told Lassa anything. What was going to happen to the two of them? It had been three days since Freya had seen her mother. They hadn’t spoken, not so much as a Post-it note.
It was the first time she’d actually wanted to come to the office at 777 Emerson. Freya needed to talk with someone, even if it was Dr. Garbuglio. She reminded herself she needed to be careful. He was still a danger. So much sloshed around in her unresolved. If she let go of too much, the dam might burst.
The door opened behind her. Dr. Garbuglio took his place, and Freya was surprised to see he had a black eye. A good one, too. She tapped the corner of her eye, a mannerism she’d lifted from Vitko. Dr. Garbuglio nodded stiffly in acknowledgement.
“I have a patient with Tourette’s, and one of her tics is punching. This is not her fault. We’re adjusting her medication, and I was not careful enough,” he explained with a little, self-deprecating shrug. “Now I know how you must have felt. I’ve had to explain why I have a black eye about five hundred times.”
“Try Krav Maga. We do a lot of work on blocking,” Freya offered as a little joke. Dr. Garbuglio didn’t laugh, but he did smile. It was one of those tight smiles where she couldn’t tell if he was angry or not.
“Maybe I should. How’s that going?” Dr. Garbuglio changed the subject. He was good at hiding how he felt.
“I really like Vitko,” Freya said.
“What do you like about him?”
She stopped to think about it.
“I think he’s genuine. He gave me some good advice last night.”
“What was that?”
“I’ve been having a lot of trouble sleeping. He saw I was exhausted in class and suggested running laps before bed.”
Dr. Garbuglio tugged at his chin, and his brow furrowed.
“I see. That’s not advice I would generally give, Freya. Your cortisol levels elevate after running. I see a lot of insomnia in athletes.”
Freya tried not to roll her eyes at his tone, but she must have done something because Dr. Garbuglio watched her intently. It reminded her of her first session with him.
“Okay, I’m sure you’re right,” Freya equivocated, not wanting to be accused of being defensive. “It did work for me, though. I got a good night of sleep, and I feel much better today.”
She was careful not to tell him she’d slept for fourteen hours, or she hadn’t gone to school today. Those seemed dangerous to reveal.
“Everyone is different,” he said, letting it drop. “How far did you run, and how did you feel about it?”
“Five miles! I was totally wiped out, but I really needed it.”
“That’s very good news. I have to tell you, some of your teachers were worried about you. They contacted your mother.”
“This whole thing is her fault. Did she tell you she made me go off the Lunesta?”
“She did. We’ll talk about that in a little bit. Did you read the first chapter of my book?”
“Yes. Lassa ordered some black-out curtains, but the ones she wants to match the room are back-ordered. They won’t come for a while. She vetoed the sixty-five degrees thing.”
“I’ll talk with her. It really does work. I sleep the same way myself. What about your phone? Are you leaving it outside of your room?”
“I haven’t been doing that,” Freya admitted. It was like telling a dentist she hadn’t been flossing.
“That’s not a big problem, but it will help if you can follow the whole program. It really is the sum of its parts. Do you mind if I ask why you don’t?”
“It makes me anxious thinking Lassa will find it and go through it,” Freya said, though that wasn’t the real reason. It had just seemed like a stupid thing to do.
“Would your mother look through your phone without asking you?”
“Yes, absolutely.”
“Hmm…” Dr. Garbuglio said, and he left it at that. Freya realized he must have had a beard before. Often, when he disapproved of something, he would tug his chin.
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Freya wondered what was going on in his mind. Dr. Garbuglio took more time to think this session. She wasn’t sure if he was just shaken up from getting hit, or if he was just strategizing, like a stronger chess player who was two moves ahead of her.
“I don’t agree with your mother’s decision to take you off Lunesta. I think it’s premature, and I wish she’d talked with me about it first.” Dr. Garbuglio spoke carefully now, every word measured. Probably he had rehearsed what he wanted to say about this.
“I mentioned that to her. She said your opinion was irrelevant,” Freya said.
Dr. Garbuglio looked like he’d been slapped. Freya wished she hadn’t said that. She’d wanted to get Dr. Garbuglio on her side, to hear him say Lassa was wrong. Now, she felt vindictive and petty. It killed their conversation, and it took a while for Dr. Garbuglio to find the right words.
“It’s her choice as your guardian, unless I feel your health is at risk,” he said, and Freya nodded to say she understood his implication. She could understand why he was talking so carefully. This could get heavy quickly.
“She also mentioned the two of you had a fight, and you weren’t on speaking terms. Do you want to talk about it?”
Freya did, and she recounted the whole thing for him, emphasizing how she’d felt terrible and apologized immediately. Dr. Garbuglio listened to her, asking the right questions. As Freya explained herself, she felt some of the weight coming off the memory, like poison being drawn out of her body.
Dr. Garbuglio paused and thought about it. Freya much preferred this new rhythm to the conversation. She appreciated having some room to think herself.
She hadn’t realized how badly she needed to just unload the whole Lassa thing on someone and, for the first time, she felt grateful to Dr. Garbuglio. He had to just sit there and absorb all of it, just taking shots all day. He’d seemed like such a smarmy piece of shit in their first meeting, but that was just her, wasn’t it?
She was the one. That was why no one talked to her, that was why she was bicycling home alone in the rain and getting beat up. That was why Betty didn’t email her back, and why she’d almost drowned in the Sillas River.
“Freya, what’s on your mind?” Dr. Garbuglio asked. She realized he’d been watching her think for some time.
“I’m just… I’m so selfish. I should have never said that to her, even if it’s true. I only wanted to hurt her because she was taking something away from me.”
“I think that’s a very good assessment, but you don’t have to beat yourself up over it. Grief is fundamentally selfish. That’s completely okay.”
“I don’t want to be that way,” Freya said.
“It’s unavoidable. We’re taught it’s always bad to be selfish, but it really isn’t. Some amount of selfishness is vital for survival. Like a lot of things, it’s only when there’s too much of it that it becomes a problem. Right now, you’re starting to focus less on being hurt, and starting to think about others. That’s great. You’re healing, and you’re making progress.”
It didn’t feel that way, but she didn’t want to argue with him in the middle of his monologue. He must have given this speech a million times.
“People talk about the road to recovery, but I don’t like to think of it as a road. I see it as more of a river. Sometimes there are bends, sometimes there are rapids, sometimes it even feels like you’re being carried in the wrong direction. Sometimes you can swim, sometimes you have to float, but there’s always progress. The river is moving all the while.”
Freya grew tense as Dr. Garbuglio spoke. She had the horrified feeling he’d somehow found out everything. She told herself it was just a labored metaphor. He couldn’t know about the river.
Without thinking, her hand had gone into her pocket to hold the Starball. His eyes followed her hand, and then rose to meet hers. At once she knew she’d fucked up.
Dr. Garbuglio tilted his head at her pocket, and she pretended not to notice. He recomposed his expression, becoming colder and more clinical.
“What’s in your pocket Freya?”
She couldn’t stop herself from glancing at the exit. She wanted to bolt out of the office. This had to just be a weird coincidence. He couldn’t actually know.
“Oh, it’s just my lucky marble,” she said. He kept staring at her, and it was clear he was not satisfied with her answer. She felt like she wanted to throw up. He’d cornered her.
She had no choice but to pull the Starball out of her pocket and show it to him. She held it up to the light, enough for him to see it was just a marble, then tucked it back into her pocket without offering it to him. Dr. Garbuglio had a quizzical expression. The whole thing must look so awkward to him.
“What’s the story there?” he asked.
“I always have it. I fool with it sometimes when I feel anxious,” she said.
Dr. Garbuglio wasn’t buying it. Freya spoke a little too quickly, and there was strain in her voice. Dr. Garbuglio stared now, waiting for her to go on. She realized she needed a better excuse, something to kill this line of inquiry.
“It’s sooo basic, but I started carrying it around after I saw Inception. Like the totems there. I don’t think I’m trapped in a dream, of course. It’s just for fun.”
Dr. Garbuglio gave her a pained look. “You have no idea how many times that movie comes up in sessions. Before that it was The Matrix.”
“Sorry about that,” Freya said, throwing up her palms. “We totally don’t have to talk about it.”
He nodded with relief, eager to move on. He started giving another prepared speech about reconciliation, and Freya nodded along.
It was Jane who’d gotten nuts about Inception. She wouldn’t shut up about it. She even bought an expensive top online and carried it everywhere. Freya thought it was just awful, but she kept it to herself. Normally, she could have confided in Betty, but Betty loved anything that had Leonardo DiCaprio in it. She had to wait until the movie came up in group discussion in English class to pounce.
“It’s a structural mess designed to make stupid people feel profound,” Freya opined. Mr. Rutteridge laughed out loud at that one.
She wished she could just take his class again instead of American Literature with Mr. McCallahan. She was already sick of Ethan Frome, and they weren’t even halfway through it.
She realized she’d drifted for some time, and Dr. Garbuglio patiently waited for her to come back. He glanced up at the clock.
“Sorry, I’ve been a little out of it the past few days. I keep drifting off,” Freya said, and that at least was true. She kind of enjoyed the drifting feeling. It seemed like everything was less important.
“That’s common for people who are discontinuing Lunesta. It should pass within a week or so. If you feel yourself starting to have a panic attack or having intrusive thoughts, call me right away. Anytime, day or night, okay?”
“Okay, thank you. This has been helpful,” Freya said, and Dr. Garbuglio seemed a little touched.
“You’re doing fantastic. We’re almost through for the week. We have a few minutes left. On the subject of dreams, have you had any memorable ones lately?
“No,” Freya lied.