Disclaimer: I don't own The Outsiders.
"I haven't been to see a therapist for over ten years," I confess to the pudgy man sitting across from me. "Been longer since I've seen one regularly."
"Why are you here now?" he asks.
He's fed up with me, and I don't blame him. I've been jerking him around for the past few weeks, talking in circles, giving him the silent treatment. It's not polite, considering I had to fight to get on his patient list. His schedule suggests he's in high demand, but I needed to test the waters. Gotta see who I'm dealing with, and I've got the sum of him now.
I give him a sheepish smile, play nice. I need to give him something, or I estimate it'll be two more sessions before he's trying to hand me off to one of the colleagues he shares his practice with. I can't let that happen. It has to be him.
"Sorry, Doc, I know I haven't been forthcoming, but I needed to get a read on you first."
That throws him, not because it's uncommon, but because he didn't pick up on it. People who size up therapists are usually more confrontational about it, or passive aggressive. I've just been passive, sans aggression.
"Oh?"
"Yeah, and I've concluded that I've got the right man."
Doc clears his throat. "How flattering."
"I don't know if coming here will help," I admit heavily, "but I had a bad weekend two months ago, and I know I need to talk to you."
"What happened?" he asks.
"You asked why I was here," I say, ignoring him.
The effort he makes to hide his frustration is adorable. "I did."
I relax in my chair. "I can't tell my family I love them."
"Do you?"
If he knew what brought me here, he'd understand how much that question rankles. "Yeah, but I wish I didn't."
He scribbles a note down. If I had to guess, he's marking my admission as a symptom of the problem, not the problem itself.
"Who makes up your family?"
"Dad, me, and my twin, Connor. There's my two younger half-sisters, Meg and Emma. Not sure if I should include him, but I also have an older half-brother, Joe." I pause. "And my mom, wherever she is.
He keys in on how I'm reluctant to mention my mother. "What's your first memory of your mother?"
"First time she made us cookies." I don't even bother to lie well.
He exudes disappointment, gives me the cliché, "I can't help you, if you're not honest with me."
Honesty? Is that what he wants? I can do that.
"Okay, Doc. Here goes."
XXX
I'm two years old and don't understand what I just saw my mother doing naked in the guest room with that man who is certainly not my father. She tells me I need to keep quiet about it, that it'll be our little secret. Then she spanks me when I won't stop asking questions.
I don't know why she's accusing me of having an attitude, or why I'm not allowed to tell Dad. I'm just curious about what was happening. Trying to explain this doesn't save my backside, which hurts for two days after. Mom hits hard.
Dad finds out all on his own, but it's a different man he catches her with. Mom still blames me. So, when Dad storms out of the house, I get another spanking.
Connor sees it this time, yells at Mom to leave me alone. He gets spanked too. We spend the rest of the evening taking turns between crying and comforting.
When he gets back, Dad assumes we were scared by the yelling and hugs us to him, promising it'll be okay.
He files for divorce the next day, and when it's all said and done, he doesn't get custody.
XXX
"That must've been incredibly difficult," Doc says. "Am I to assume you went to live with your mother?"
Isn't that what I just said?
"Yeah, she got herself an apartment. Nothing fancy, but not a dump, paid for largely by the child support Connor and I brought in."
"Did she not get much from the divorce itself?"
"No, Dad had made her sign a prenup before they got hitched. That's why she fought so hard for us in court, so she'd still get something."
He makes more notes. "And how long did you stay with her?"
"'Bout three years."
I don't wait for him to ask why it wasn't longer, launching into the story.
XXX
Like Joe, Connor and I are only with Dad every other weekend, but we're on opposite weekends, so we don't often see Joe.
The rest of the time, we're with Mom, and I hate it. She drinks all the time, and she's moved past spanking. From then on, she's slapping us, pushing us around, and kicking at us like we're dogs.
I don't like the guys she brings over either. They dress different than the ones she saw when she and dad were still married, and these ones are meaner, have no qualms about smacking us around. We work up to telling Dad, but by then Mom gets sneaky about it, gets her 'friends' to be more careful too, and there's not much to be done without evidence.
Then one of Mom's new friends punches me in the face so hard, I still have a black eye when it's time for us to stay with Dad. Dad spots the bruise under all the powder Mom slapped on my face. He pretends he doesn't, though, until she leaves. Then he takes us to the police station.
I don't much appreciate being forced to explain to a cop what happened, but my five-year-old brain figures they don't need to know everything. They only need to hear that I got hit, not why.
Connor backs up what I've said, once he's stopped begging to pet the 'cute doggy' that's come in with another officer. I don't know what's so cute about an animal that could swallow us whole, but whatever. Connor comes through for me, goes on to say it's not the first time we've been hit, that Mommy hits us too, not just her friends. A report is filed, and we go home.
The incident allows Dad to finally get custody of us. The courts issue some mandatory therapy for Mom before she's allowed to see us again, through supervised visits only. Dad bribes her to get lost instead. I don't know why she goes. I'd have thought she'd stick around out of spite. Might be wishful thinking, but I suspect she's ashamed, since she can't properly look at me.
XXX
"Why did you get hit?"
Doc comes back into focus. "Gotta build up to that, and our time's up for today."
"Is it?" He glances at the clock to our left and sees exactly an hour has passed.
I haven't looked at it once, or my watch, and he jots down another scribble.
"Possible obsession with time," I say airily, guessing about the note. "I've got no problem admitting that one straight up. Makes me feel safer somehow, always knowing what time it is, and I've learned to be discrete about checking."
He doesn't know what to say, other than, "Make an appointment for next week with my secretary."
The day after my 'breakthrough' with Doc, I meet my brother for lunch, taking in his shaggy appearance. It's not fair that he looks so effortlessly cool. Sure, I can look badass too, but I have to work at it. And I always end up looking hot instead of cool, which is fine. Just ain't the same, is all.
But Connor? The guy's living in the office at my club, something I'm turning a blind eye to, and still manages to get three women eying him as soon as we walk in this picturesque café. Guess his style helps, makes him look like a cross between an auburn-haired Kurt Cobain and a younger version of Dad, although I can't picture our old man in denim.
"What?" Connor says, noticing me starting.
"I'm seeing a psychiatrist again," I say, switching my train of thought.
His eyes widen. "No shit?"
"No shit."
Can't say I blame him for being surprised. I decide not to shock him further by telling him Doc's practice is back in San Fran. I know it's a ridiculous commute to make once a week, but I have my reasons.
"Why?"
I shrug. "Stuff with Meg brought back some things."
"Because of her accident?"
It amazes me how naïve he can be after all we've been through. "You taught her how to drive, Connor. You really think it was an accident, on a dry road, with no other cars around?"
I regret putting it so bluntly when his skin turns three shades paler than its natural color. "They said it was at night, so I assumed…"
"She tried to off herself," I say, calm as ever, because I don't know how to be anything else. My stomach isn't churning. No way.
Connor is not calm. He stands up, movements jerky and abrupt as he storms out, causing the other patrons to pause their eating and watch him warily. I follow him to a nearby alley, allow him to freak out properly. Best if he gets it over with.
"Fuck," Connor croaks, then, louder, "Fuck!"
He lights a cigarette so fast I could almost believe it was magic. Usually, I hate when he smokes, but I can take a drag without coughing, and I hold out my hand for one. He lights it for me. We stand there, willing the nicotine to sooth our nerves, until he breaks the silence.
"Why'd she do it?"
I debate how much to tell him. "Shit at school, and Dad's gotten worse."
"How much worse?"
Now that's a complicated question. If Connor's asking me whether I think Dad's started handing out beatings, then no, but Emma did tell me he slapped Meg. I'm ninety-seven percent sure it was a onetime thing, an involuntary reaction of fear rather than a habit in the making. I don't mention it.
"Yells more," I say. "When he bothers to talk at all. You know how he is."
In my opinion, unprofessional though it is, Dad's a textbook case for depression. He's mostly numb, gets real down in the dumps, has unpredictable flares of anger, and thinks we all hate him. I don't hate him, not as much as I pity him anyway. Life's been chipping away at him for years, and what happened with Izzy did him in. I get it. Don't need to stick around and watch, though.
"Yeah," Connor agrees, "I know how he is."
XXX
"Let's talk about Joe, Ms. Curtis."
"Call me Courtney," I tell him casually.
His choosing Joe as our topic throws me for a loop. Figured we'd be tackling my issues with Mom again, but it seems he wants to knock me off balance. This could be interesting.
"Courtney," he says, "tell me about Joe."
"I think Joe loves his mother, and other than that, has few redeeming qualities."
Scribble, scribble. "Who is his mother?"
"A whiny princess named Rachel."
He latches onto that. "What's Rachel like?"
"Don't think of her as family, that's for sure."
"And why is that?"
I weigh the pros and cons of discussing Rachel, mentally debate if it'd be better to change the subject, decide to suck it up. "Too many reasons, but mostly because I'm almost sure she still wants Dad back. Thing is, she wants him fixed and good as new without having to put in any effort to get him there."
"Fixed?"
"Let's just say it wouldn't hurt him to give you a call."
"Ah." Another note. "And do you feel it's Rachel's responsibility to heal your father?"
"No, but she doesn't get to cut him deeper, to get jealous over anyone who does try to help."
"Like who?"
"Izzy."
He opens his mouth to ask who Izzy is, but I beat him to it.
XXX
Dad introduces Connor and me to Isabel Perez when we're eight. They've been dating for a while before now, but they only just decided to tell us, and that makes me feel like I've been lied to. So, I decide to hate her, writing her off as another Rachel. I act like a complete brat and convince Connor to do the same.
Isabel doesn't let it get to her, treating us with respect so unearned it hurts, and I find myself liking her against my will. There are two things that cinch it for me.
The first is, she tells us to call her Izzy, which is fun to say. Connor even makes little rhymes out of her name. Fizzy Izzy, who gets in a tizzy, spins us around, and makes us dizzy. See what I mean? Fun.
Secondly, when I come down with a cold, almost two months after our initial meeting, Izzy goes all out to take care of me. She makes chicken soup made from scratch, lets me have ice-cream for my sore throat, and she rents The Breakfast Club from the video store. I feel rebellious watching it, because when I asked to rent it the previous week, Dad said it was too mature for me.
Izzy takes off from work and watches that movie with me once a day, for four days straight. Molly Ringwald becomes my hero, because she's a redhead, and my hair is reddish too, but I identify with Ally Sheedy and Judd Nelson's characters the most. Anyway, the film becomes our movie, something just for Izzy and me, the first 'girl thing' I get to share with someone.
When they're confident they've well and truly won me over, and Connor by default, Dad and Izzy decide to get married.
It's a big wedding, crazy and fun, especially since Joe isn't allowed to come. Rachel forbade it, and I'm only upset that it made Dad upset. A Joe-free day is something to celebrate in my opinion. Besides, I meet lots of new family members to make up for his absence.
Izzy has a multitude of siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles, nieces, and nephews. I lose count of them, only remembering Jimmy and Teresa, another brother-sister duo. They're closest in age to me and Connor and are fascinated with us being twins.
Teresa goes by Tess, and she and I hit it off right away. She likes Molly Ringwald too, and we make plans to write over the summer, maybe pester our parents into arranging a sleep over. We don't understand how living in different cities might make it a hard sell.
On Dad's side of the family, there's only an uncle I've never met before, his family sitting awkwardly with him in the corner. Dad calls this uncle 'Darry', and I don't like him. He's got that look adults get when they're upset and trying to hide it. I don't know what his problem is, but I see Dad is having a good time until he goes over to Darry's table.
I don't hear most of what Darry says, except, "third one," which makes Dad's face crumble. Later, I realize he's berating my father for being on his third marriage. Apparently, Uncle Darry's real big on commitments and family. That's hypocritical of him, since he doesn't bother to properly meet me or Connor.
Aside from Darry, the wedding is a hit, and life after is even better.
Tess and I get to have that sleepover after all, her staying at our place for a couple of weeks that summer. We watch Molly Ringwald movies, she teaches me Spanish cuss words, and Izzy keeps us supplied in ice-cream and popcorn. On the weekends, Dad drives us around, acting as our tour guide as we show Tess all the sights.
Jimmy also tags along to keep Connor from feeling left out. He shows Connor how to throw a real punch, instead of just flailing around and hoping for the best. Connor says he'll try it against Joe next time he tries to pick a fight.
All good things must come to an end, though, and it feels like the end about three years later, when Izzy announces she's pregnant.
I go crazy, start acting out again, prompting a similar reaction in Connor. But I'm proud to say our tantrums are nothing compared to Joe's.
Joe rants about having another sibling, calls Izzy a slut, and says the baby's a bastard even though she and Dad are married. Dad grounds him for saying all that, which is when Rachel gets involved. She barges in during dinner, starts chewing Dad out for his 'rough treatment'.
"Can't you see he's just feeling insecure?" she simpers, talking like Joe is turning four instead of almost fourteen. "So are the twins, and you've done nothing to them."
"Refusing to eat vegetables and not helping with house chores is a far cry from verbal abuse. Where'd Joe learn to talk like that anyway?"
Rachel's face goes red. "Maybe from the Cheryl, or from the oh-so-perfect twins the skank gave you."
"Don't call her that," I hear myself say, the whole situation making me feel distant, like I'm not really there.
Dad furrows his brow at my stoic demeanor and rests his hand on my shoulder. "Watch it, Rach. For all her faults, Cheryl is still their mom. And of course, the twins aren't perfect, but Joe needs to calm down."
They go back and forth like that until Izzy suggests getting all us kids therapy. "To help with the sibling rivalry and the jealousy they feel over the new baby."
Rachel flies off the handle. "How dare you suggest my son needs a shrink! I'm a good mother, you upstart, little–"
"Enough!" Dad snaps.
Izzy gestures for Rachel to continue. "No, let her finish. Maybe we'll hear where Joe learns all his bad words."
Dad shoots her an exasperated glare, but I see him trying not to laugh.
"Are you gonna let her talk to me like this?" Rachel demands to know.
My poor father is at the end of his rope. "You know what? I think I am."
Rachel bursts into tears. Dad and Izzy glance awkwardly at each other before coming a compromise. Rachel will talk to Joe about watching his mouth, while Connor and I see the therapist.
XXX
"Did therapy help back then?"
I give a little nod. "Some."
He wants me to elaborate. "What's one thing you appreciated from therapy?"
I think on it. "It got us talking more, and Dad admitted something to us."
He sits up straighter. "Which was?"
"That the reason he was lenient with Joe was because he looked like his brother."
"His brother, Darry?"
I wish. "No, his other brother, who was in Vietnam. I don't know how he died, if the war got him, or if something happened after. Dad wouldn't say anything else."
Scribble, scratch, scribble. "What are your thoughts on this deceased relative?"
"Never met him. Don't miss him. Kinda hate him."
"Hate him?"
"You should've seen my dad's face, Doc. Not even I ever looked that broken." I point to the clock before he can say anything else. "Time's up."
"Feeling wild tonight?" Kyle says as I climb on top of him for a second time.
Kyle Caraway is from an upper-class family. So am I, but he doesn't know that.
It's easy enough to fool him when my apartment is a dump. I like it here because it's cheap, and I can save my pennies. Besides, I've never felt the need to hide away in a castle.
Also, I've never told him that I own the club where he met me. He thinks I'm simply a cocktail waitress there, assumes I'm from a neighborhood like this one or worse. It's why he'll never treat me as anything but a casual fuck buddy.
"You've never seen me wild," I whisper in his ear.
Wild is losing my innocence to a biker in an open field. It's treating sex like a video game, always dialing up the levels. It's learning how to strip like a pro from Tess, who needed the cash to get through school, until I'm more confident naked than most people are fully clothed.
Riding a guy twice in one night isn't wild, but it's all relative. Kyle's frame of reference is different than mine, sheltered boy that he is, and I wonder how the hell we can be nearly the same age when he's so much younger than me.
I don't know why I like him. Could be, I like dirtying him up some, exposing him to my madness. Mostly, I like how he makes me feel. Feel what, I don't know, but I feel something.
After round two, I ask him when he estimates he'll make up with Tammy this time. He thinks it's cool how I don't mind talking about his on-again-off-again girlfriend. I do mind, but not enough to make a fuss. Kyle's not the only guy I keep on reserve, so I don't have any right to be upset, do I?
"Probably a month," he says. "She said we were done 'for real' this time, so it'll be longer than our usual two weeks. Part of me wishes we were done, because this is getting tedious, but her mom and mine will push us together again, and our fathers will back them up, and we'll cave like we always do."
I let him talk, knowing that's what he comes here for, maybe more than the sex. I think of my new doctor and suppose I'm part therapist myself sometimes.
Speaking of, I wonder if I ought to mention this to Doc. What would he think about why I sleep around, why I let this guy use me? My bet is he'd say it's about control, about doing something on my terms, and since I already know that, I don't need to bring it up.
XXX
"Relationships are stupid," I start right off the bat next session. "And love is a lie."
"Why do you say that?"
I lean back, tilt my head up at the ceiling. "Just is. Why bother when everyone leaves one way or another?"
"Leave how?"
"Jeez, take your pick, Doc. Mom left for money, Dad left emotionally, the guy I'm seeing leaves for his ex, and Izzy…"
The way I trail off gets his attention. "What about Izzy?"
I sit back up. "Izzy was pregnant. I told you about that, didn't I?"
"You did."
"She named the baby Megan, after a college friend of hers, I think. We just call her Meg."
XXX
Connor takes a liking to our new sister before I do. He pampers the hell out of her, holding her, feeding her, playing with her, trying to get her to say she wants a dog when she can't say 'dada' yet.
I hang back, still wary, sure this kid is gonna 'displace me', as Dr. Huber would say.
"She's not so bad," Connor says, as she drools on him.
It's not fair that he's so good with a baby. He's only eleven. Shouldn't he be confused and freaked out by her too? Or maybe not pay her any mind?
Turns out my jealousy wasn't to come from the refocused attention of Dad and Izzy after all. Instead, I feel like I'm losing my brother, my partner in crime. Meg can't be that interesting, not when she can't even talk.
I write to Tess about it, and she's sympathetic. She writes back about how she has a bunch of little cousins she's always having to babysit, for free no less, and she'd just go out of her mind if she had a little sister to look out for too. I'm glad someone gets it.
So, it takes me a while to accept Meg, but I warm up to her eventually.
My best memory of her is when she's about five. That's when Connor, my sixteen-year-old, I-can-take-on-the-world twin bursts into tears as he catches sight of Dad's newspaper.
Dad freaks out. "What is it? What's wrong?"
I explain that the headline announces Kurt Cobain's suicide. Dad skims the article, and I expect him to grumble that it's just a celebrity, but he softens and tells Connor he can stay home from school if he wants. I get the green light too, in case Connor needs looking after, and Meg demands to help. Izzy might be upset later, but Dad caves, telling me to watch them both.
I don't get it. I mean, I can see it's sad news, but I don't understand how Connor can feel so personally affected. We've been through worse, haven't we, with people we actually know?
"Who is he?" Meg asks as she sees the picture Connor is sniffling over.
"Nirvana's lead singer," I tell her as Connor collects himself.
Meg tilts her head, dark hair falling over her face. "What's Nirvana?"
Connor's sniffles some more. "Only the best band ever."
I roll my eyes. Don't get me wrong, I like some of their songs, but 'best band ever' is a stretch.
Then again, maybe I'm not the best person to ask. I know I don't look it, but I'm a fan of country music. Started as a way to mildly annoy my family, and it grew on me. But that's not the point.
Point is, I think this is a gross over reaction. Of course, I don't say that, but I don't wallow with Connor either. Meg is oozing sympathy, though.
"What're some of their songs?" she asks.
Connor digs his portable CD player from his backpack and puts the headphones over her ears. I make a mental note to remind Izzy, Connor wants new headphones for his birthday. Then I watch as Meg starts nodding and singing to the music. She's getting most of the words wrong, but it makes Connor smile. As I behold their lame jam session, I envision flannel shirts and denim jackets in Meg's future.
"Sing with us!" she squeals as she hums Come as You Are.
I look at her, look at Connor, sigh, and join in. I don't know how long we stay there, but that's where Izzy finds us when she comes home much earlier than usual. She's teary eyed too, and I briefly wonder if she's also upset by Cobain's demise.
She's not, hasn't even heard about it. No, she's got worse news. Her father passed away.
XXX
I've never been to a funeral before we attend the one for Izzy's dad. First time I've ever been to Los Angeles too, and I kinda like it, wishing I could've visited under better circumstances. It has a different feel from San Francisco.
Tess tells me to come back another time, and she'll show me around her favorite places, places the tourists don't know about. I intend to take her up on that, although I feel a bit guilty at making travel plans during such a somber event.
"Don't worry," Tess says. "Mexican funerals are always part family reunion too, so it's not all teardrops and rain."
She's right. The reception after needs be held at a community center to include everybody in attendance. There's a ton of food, kids are running around outside, and everyone's swapping stories.
The content of the stories ranges from snippets about the deceased to news about other relatives. I am swiftly caught up on who's doing what, and where, and why, and who's not here, and why, and who's in jail, and who's pregnant, who's getting married, and good gracious, look who showed up.
We don't get back to the hotel until late, and the next morning at our complimentary breakfast, Izzy has more news.
"My uncle needs help at the firm," she says. "He and dad started it, and he asked if I could help out until he finds someone else to take over."
Dad stills, his pancake laden fork hanging inches from his mouth. "You mean, you'd stay here?"
Izzy holds his searching gaze. "Yes, if I agreed to help, I'd stay here for a while."
Connor taps Meg's shoulder, and they scoot over to another table. I follow, not wanting to hear what Dad and Izzy are saying. I don't need to. I can see their tense postures, hear the harshness of their whispers.
Izzy stays in LA, and the next few months are hell. Dad is running around like a headless chicken, Meg is asking when her mother is coming home, and I get a job at a bar with my first fake ID. Connor gets a fake too, uses it to buy cigarettes, taking up smoking as a way to cope. I'm just grateful Joe's away at college, so we're free of his bullshit during this hectic time.
Dad and Izzy's phone calls get louder as the weeks go by, and one day I hear him shout something along the lines of, "We may as well get divorced then!"
I calmly explain to Meg that her parents might not live together again. She cries to Connor. He berates me for telling her.
"She's too young to understand," he says.
I thought I was helping. "Just trying to prepare her."
Turns out Dad and Izzy don't ever get divorced, because she gets shot on the way to her car from her uncle's offices. Mugging gone wrong, the cops say. They never do catch the guy.
Dad holds it together surprisingly well as we drive back to LA, as Meg cries through the funeral, as we go to the same cemetery from a few months earlier. Izzy's got a spot near her father.
He even holds it together when Uncle Darry shows up, no family with him this time. Darry offers his condolences, tells Dad to call sometime and not get stuck in a vacuum 'like before'. Dad nods through the entire exchange, too numb to say a word.
I follow Darry out to his car, kick the back tire of his rental hard enough to make him turn around. He stares at me a moment, and I hold out my hand.
"I'm Courtney," I say, "since you never asked."
He sighs. "Look, kid, I'm sorry about your stepmom, but that's no reason to throw a fit."
My hand falls back to my side. Fit? No, he hasn't seen a fit yet. I don't throw fits. Fits are for children and Joe. What I have is an off switch that makes me impervious to anyone's bullshit. Izzy called it my glacier-mode.
I let myself see through Darry, stare him down until I've got him figured out, and then I strike. "Dad's your last brother."
His hands play with his keys. "Yeah, I know."
"Your last brother," I press on, "and you make him feel worthless, so the next time you think about visiting, don't."
"Hang on–" he starts, anger and pain in those icy blue eyes of his.
If it's a competition of who's colder, he's just lost. I turn my back on him and walk away, knowing it'll hurt more than if I were to stay and argue. He doesn't run after me, but Connor was waiting not far away, in case he did.
"Think we'll see him again?" Connor asks, cigarette between his lips.
I hope not.
"No."
"You know," Connor says after a moment, "Izzy should've just come home. None of this would've happened if she hadn't stayed here."
The bitterness closing around him is palpable. Poor Meg. She's losing her caring big brother and getting a spiteful shadow of him in return. As for me, I've got my sidekick back.
"We've gone soft," I murmur.
Connor grins, looking all the world like a caged wolf who just got sprung. "Think it's time we fixed that."
We do.
XXX
"How did you 'fix' being soft?"
I smile serenely. "Stopped going to therapy for a start."
He jots something down, scans his paper. "Do you really think Darry makes your father worse?"
Doc has no idea.
There was a Thanksgiving, a few years before Izzy's murder, when Darry came over with his brats and his wife. He mentioned Rachel so much I almost thought he had a thing for her.
At least his wife was sweet, or we'd never have gotten through dinner, but Darry still never said a word to Connor and me, or even acknowledged Meg, only asking about Joe. Izzy kept herself composed, but it hurt her. I remember it hurt her.
But we can't unpack that today. "Sorry. Time's up."
"Tell me about Emma," Doc says. "You haven't mentioned her yet."
I take a moment to respond. My mind's on Abigail Ruiz, Doc's secretary. Before the session started, she popped in to tell us she's taking an early lunch, something out of character for her.
Abigail is a receptionist, not a secretary, and she takes care of all of the doctors' appointments, not just Doc's. But Doc treats her like she's only there for him. That's why, when Doc is anywhere near her, she all but snarls at him, ruining her sweet face.
I don't blame her. Arrogance aside, he's not even worth his salt as a shrink. If he was, he'd make me stick to a topic, delve deeper, not go wider. But he doesn't care about helping me. He wants to hear more stories, hear how it ends, and he doesn't need to know about little Emma for that.
I change the subject. "I'm ready to talk about what brought me back to therapy."
His eagerness, the way he squirms in his seat, makes me confident in my decision. It's choices like this that make me glad my trauma is so entertaining.
XXX
Meg has an accident, and I only hear about it after she's out of the hospital.
I hit the road late Saturday, get in by Sunday morning, but I don't go to the house right away. Something doesn't feel right about the whole thing, so I track down String-bean Dean instead. He's been her best friend since sixth grade. If anyone knows what really went down, it'll be him.
He doesn't like me, doesn't like how I call him String-bean, or that he's always found me intimidating. I work the intimidation to my advantage, and he folds like a cheap suit. String-bean says he thinks Meg crashed her car on purpose.
He says he told Meg not to fall for Jason's bullshit, and I remember the name. Meg didn't listen, and String-bean goes on to say, maybe if she had, she wouldn't be in this situation. I slap the back of his head, tell him to never even think that again, especially not near Meg. She'll go to pieces if he turns on her.
I go to the house, send a rambling Emma to her room, barge into Meg's.
"Ever hear of knocking?" is all Meg says to me.
She looks awful, and I wanna hit her. I wanna shake her, ask her, didn't I warn her to be careful about underhanded sleazes like this Jason guy she gave it up to? An irrational part of me also wants to hug her.
But all I do is say, "You're going back to school tomorrow?"
She nods, face closed off in a way that's all too familiar. We don't look remotely alike, but no one could tell us apart today.
"I'm choosing your outfit," I tell her.
There's a spark in those dark eyes. She's angry. That's good.
With a scowl, she lights a cigarette, not even scared of getting caught with it in the house. I'm almost proud, except I despise smoke. I absently blame Connor for getting her in the habit, leaving his packs around all the time.
"I don't need your help."
"I wasn't asking." I open a window to air out the room. "Knowing your lack of fashion sense, you'd walk out the door in a trash bag."
The scowl deepens. "Be better than looking like a hooker."
I let the taunt slide. "Whatever I dress you in, you better wear it with confidence. I don't wanna hear that you spent the whole day looking at your shoes."
"What do you care?" she mumbles around her smoke. "Thought you hated me."
"I do," I assure her, but I don't elaborate or answer her question.
It's simple really. She's my sister, and I don't believe in letting guys like Jason win, guys who hurt little girls and give them black eyes. I shut down an unwanted memory and enter glacier-mode. Meg needs the icy bitch, not the fellow victim.
Weirdly, my proclamation of hate relaxes Meg, enough for her to softly admit, "I thought he liked me."
If I knew for sure I could get away with it, Jason would be dead by nightfall. I tear away from that train of thought, lest I break my hand on the wall, and I feel that ridiculous urge to hug her again. I don't.
"Shows how dumb you are."
She becomes stone once more, stowing the vulnerability. Good. She can't afford to show weakness, not while the whole school is whispering behind her back about her indiscretion. The gossip will be compounded by the timing of her 'accident' too. What a mess.
"Not as dumb as you."
It's a weak insult, but I narrow my eyes like I'm really offended. "Just for that, I'm doing your makeup too."
"I hate you," she whispers, and it's like she's saying the opposite.
"Ditto," I say, meaning the same thing.
I can't say it, though. Can't tell her I love her, that this never should've happened to her, that I'm sorry, that I'd kill Jason for her, if she said it'd make her feel better. I realize I've never said it, to anyone, and I wonder what the fuck is wrong with me.
XXX
"I don't understand," Doc says when I finish. "Did this Jason sexually assault your sister?"
Of course, that's what he'd take away from my narrative. He doesn't even pick up on the clues I've left for him about why I got that black eye all those years ago. Typical, but it works to my advantage, because I was never gonna go in depth about that anyway.
"No, Doc. That's the only reason I haven't completely lost my shit. Meg says it was consensual, and from her description, not half bad for a girl's first time."
He's confused. "Then why was she so upset, because he boasted about it?"
"Yeah, and because right after they did it, he told her it was all for bragging rights and cash. When she started to cry, he laughed and told to get her out of his house."
"But it wasn't rape," he clarifies.
And this is where I deliver the punchline. "Suppose not. Still, what a shitty thing for Jason Brice to do."
Doc is frozen. "Jason Brice?"
"Oh yeah," I yawn, stretch like a cat. "That's your son, isn't it?"
There's a panicky look animals get when a predator's nearby. That's Doc all over. Hello, little mouse.
"Y-yes, yes, it is."
Glacier-mode takes over, and I shed the charm, the feigned openness. "I talk big, but I don't actually like threatening kids. Their parents, though? Fair game."
Dr. Brice stands up and backs away from me. "What do you want?"
"To finish the story," I say, rising from my own chair with deliberate slowness.
"O-okay, and, uh, how are you going to do that?"
"I never told you what Joe does for a living, did I?"
His head wags side to side. "No."
"He's a forensic accountant, and while I don't like to compliment him, I have to admit he's good at his job. This is important, because I started to watch you and your family, and I realized that you live far above your means, even for an overpriced shrink."
Doc's brows are furrowed, trying to see the big picture. I give him more pieces, let him put it together, what I've been up to.
"Then I got to talking with that lovely receptionist of yours, and she was beyond eager to help me dig up dirt on you. Come to find out, you've been writing prescriptions for fake patients. I can only imagine what you're doing that for."
He's gaping, trying to figure out how to explain it away. I twist the knife.
"We also uncovered evidence that suggests you're stealing from the practice. I wonder what your partners will think of such a thing."
"You can't prove anything," he squeaks, but he doesn't really believe that.
"Abigail is giving a statement to the police now. She's decided she won't work for a thieving drug dealer anymore, and she's got documents to back her up."
Doc swallows thickly. "The cops won't be able to make sense of those."
"Even if that were true, that's where Joe comes in. He owes us, see, and you don't need to know why. All you need to know is, he'll be loaning his expertise to this cop friend of his, just a casual thing, to alleviate boredom and help them unravel all those pesky financial statements."
It's getting harder for Doc to breathe, and he loosens his tie, coming to terms with his crumbling world. "Why?"
Wow, he truly is a shit listener. "Told you, I can't tell my family I love them, but it's okay. Actions speak louder than words."
He puts his head in his hands. "You're insane."
"And you're a bad father," I whisper, because he really should've raised his kid better. "And when they freeze your assets, take away your house, and drag your name through the mud, I want you to know it was all Jason's fault."
My job is done, and I turn to go, but he calls out, "Wait!"
"Yes?"
"Was anything you told me true?"
He still wants the story, I realize. I regard him steadily. Yeah, every word was true. The truth yields more pain than any lie, but I leave him in suspense, incline my head toward the clock.
"We've gone over time, Doc "
Joe calls me up less than a week later while I'm closing up the club with Connor. "Courtney, you know that guy you set me onto?"
I hold my cell next to my ear with my shoulder and keep sweeping, hoping Connor doesn't pick up on who I'm talking to, or why. "Yeah."
Connor narrows his eyes, and I mentally swear at his inconvenient intuitiveness. I flash him a grin to ease his mind and give Joe my full attention.
Briefly, I wonder if I've broken any rules posing as Doc's patient. I got Abby to keep my name off the books, so I should be in the clear, but even the best laid plans can go pear shaped.
"He blew his brains out," Joe says, voice low, and I wonder why he's calling if he can't speak freely right now. "Know anything about that?"
It means nothing to me, which is terrifying in and of itself, but at least I'm able to give a clear answer in the negative. "No."
He breathes deeply. "Okay. That's good. Gotta go."
"Everything okay?" Connor asks, still loitering behind me.
What can I say, I drove a man to suicide and feel no remorse? No chance.
"Yeah," I say. "Why wouldn't it be?"
Connor sighs and stops his rag mid-wipe on one of the tables. "Remember when you opened this place?"
XXX
Everyone in high school used to talk about how Courtney can down alcohol like water, but they got it wrong. No doubt she has a decent tolerance, but she's not a heavy drinker, and she never wants to be. I don't think she'll ever stop trying to be Mom's opposite, where she can. She's just good at fooling people.
Courtney likes the club and bar scene, though, and ever since her first fake, she's wanted to open her own place.
She could go to college, like I do, maybe get a management degree. Dad offers to pay for her tuition, same as mine, but it's not for her. Instead, she starts pitching her idea to investors straight out of high school.
The investors are a perverted bunch. They're mostly old guys who work with our dad, or used to, and they like to stare at my sister's legs. They make a lot of lewd comments about remembering Mom, and Courtney can't even say anything, because it's not like it isn't true.
"Keep an eye on them," Dad orders me. "Can't helped it if they fucked my wife, but I'll kill them if they touch my daughter."
"You'll have to get in line," I say.
But Court can handle herself, and she gets their money without having to do them favors. She also keeps them so distracted they don't notice how she gives herself most of the power. Or maybe they do notice and don't care so long as she stays sweet and gives them a little show of skin.
"Why'd you call it The Evil Twin?" I ask her as we stand outside. She's giving me a tour before the opening night.
"'Cause I'm meaner than you," is her answer as I admire the florescent title, amazed at how well her hard work has paid off.
She's twenty-four with her own business. How many people can say that?
I snort and stroll inside. "No, you just look it."
She'll never believe me, thinks I'm trying to spare her feelings. All she sees is how much she's not, because she's not what she should be in people's eyes. I can kinda see what she means.
Most people hear the name 'Courtney' and picture a wholesome blonde who gets straight A's and plays volleyball or joins the cheer squad.
That's not her. She's our family's guardian, armed with a cutthroat attitude, bad taste in music, and a good heart.
And under the guardian, she's a little girl. The little girl can't stand being called pretty, hates to have her hair brushed by someone else, and gets sick at the mere thought of blood in her mouth. I'm older than her, but she's always been stronger, and I'm so damn proud of her.
"Thank you," I say, but the words are insignificant, because nothing can ever express how grateful I am for her.
"For what?" She's genuinely confused.
I crack a grin. "For the job you're gonna give me. You said I could bartend, right?"
"About that," she says, all impish joy now. "Consider this your interview, and pour me a drink."
XXX
"What's your point?" I ask once Connor's done reliving that night.
"That I'm due a raise." His sarcasm cuts me. "What do you think, Court? It's not your fault, none of it, not what happened back then, and not whatever's got you spooked now."
My throat feels funny, and my guts are twisting. "You don't know what I did."
He shrugs. "Don't care. You're not my 'evil twin' or the 'bad one'. You're my sister, and I love you, and you love me."
I don't look up at him, just keep sweeping the floor, which is oddly blurry. "I can't say it."
"You don't need to."
My grip on the broom tightens. "Yes, I do."
He starts wiping the table again. "Then we'll work on it. No rush."
No rush? I take the reprieve and start breathing again. It hurts, and the air tastes like smoke, but I'm alive.
No quote this time. Nothing seemed to fit, but I hope y'all liked this rather bleak and extensive look inside Courtney's mind.
