"I can't believe you would drag me into this," I remarked in astonishment. I was always amazed with the lengths that my best friend would go to in order to see me "get better."
Katy moved about the sunlit den with an air of sisterly concern, touching each of the regularly dusted trinkets I kept in remembrance of my time with you - all while giving me the same monthly lecture about my condition and state of mind not improving.
"Well, how else will you see that these little chants you're reciting aren't helping you a lick?" Katy tried pleading with my reasonable side which, by this point, even she knew was long gone.
"My prayers are all I have sometimes. You know that," I sighed dejectedly as I shifted uncomfortably in my seat on the cozy sofa.
A silence fell in the room. Too many questions to ask, too many feelings that would get hurt, not enough patience, not enough trust.
Finally Katy inhaled deeply, in hopes of relieving her own tension, and upon exhale ventured to ask, for the umpteenth time, "Do you still see him?"
"Every night," I replied without hesitation, almost proud. I've never been one to lie to Katy. Even when I tried my hardest to hide something, she always saw right through me. She never judged me, she was just worried. I could understand that. If I were in her shoes, watching my best friend act the way I do, I'd do the same for her, maybe more so.
Her typical reaction to this answer, I watched her shoulders slump as she hung her head. I just looked down at my hands folded neatly in my lap, sorry that I was causing her so much grief.
"Kate, really, it's time for you to stop worrying about me so much. I'm twenty-six years old; I can take care of myself, for Pete's sake. I tried futilely to let her off the hook as my make-shift caretaker. Hell, for the past two weeks she's even been refusing to go home to her husband and seven year old son in an attempt to keep me from seeing you.
"Well, I'm not doing this for his sake, I'm doing it for yours." She did always take things too literally.
With a dramatic roll of my eyes and huffing now more in frustration than defeat, I arose from the couch and marched into the drafty kitchen, followed closely by Katy on my heels. I pulled open the refrigerator door, not that I was especially hungry or thirsty, it just gave my hands something to do. I bent at the waist and let the cold air wash over my face, clearing my thoughts. For a split second, I felt a pair of strong hands start to wrap themselves about my waist, but just as I sprang up to look into your eyes, I caught Katy watching me from the corner of the room, putting on her coat to go grocery shopping. I gave her a weak smile, pretending like nothing had happened, and a cursory "Drive safe," before sticking my head back in the fridge to realize just how barren it was.
"Um, that doctor said he would be available tonight after the clinic closes around six. You've been putting off this meeting for only-God-knows-how-long, so I went ahead and told him you would be home and that you love to entertains guests. Just be nice, ok? He's new in town and needs this case, as well as some personal interaction, I believe. It doesn't hurt any that he's quite the looker and has enough money to..." she trailed off, noting my dismissive rear-end sticking out of the refrigerator and gave up, opening and closing the door behind her in her usually annoyed manner.
"Well, forgive me if I could care less about some prick doctor who wants nothing more from me than a case study." I bent myself lower still, practically hanging my head between my knees, hoping that my previous posture would conjure another touch but, as I heard Katy crank up her old beater and drive off down the street, I was all too aware that your hands, like Katy, were gone.