Page 84 of I Almost Do

She makes another note, then says, "How is Clarissa different?"

"I made a promise to her father to protect her and keep her safe. It feels like a violation of trust."

"What do you feel as though you need to protect your wife from?"

I lean back against the chair. “Everything."

Early October

"I’mthinkingaboutcallingthese appointments quits," I say.

"Why is that?"

"Because I feelworse. You're not helping me. This is exactly what happened last time. Talking about this shit is stirring it all up inside. It used to sit there under the surface. Now I'm thinking about it all the time. I'm fucking falling apart."

"Explain what you mean by falling apart," she says.

I give her an incredulous look. "I'm feeling this stuff. I'm thinking about it constantly."

She sits quietly and allows me to collect myself, then asks, "How are you feeling right now?"

"Angry. Guilty. Sad… afraid," I say.

"Any time you need to take a moment for your breathing exercises, go ahead and do that."

I shoot her an acidic look. "I don't need your permission."

She agrees. "No you don't."

After a moment of silence, she says, "Those feelings—anger, guilt, sadness, fear—they sound a lot like the feelings you mentioned regarding your friend Marcus's death. Do they feel similar?"

Late October

"Tellmeaboutyourmother's death," Dr. Carlson says.

"Is this part necessary?" I ask.

“Usually, I would say no. Our immediate goal is to focus on the present and the situations that are currently distressing to you. But intrusive thoughts of the past are something you’ve said are a current problem, so you may find it helpful.”

I swallow, and she continues. “You decide what you're willing to discuss, James. I’m not here to badger you, only guide you. You’ve mentioned your guilt and the need to protect Clarissa feel similar to the way you feel about your mother. Understanding what happened there can clarify those emotions for you."

In for a penny, in for a pound."When I was seven, I let my father murder my mother," I say.

"Youlethim? Do you feel his actions were your responsibility?"

"I was capable of stopping him. If I'd fought for her sooner, I could have. He beat us all the time. I don't remember anything about that time except having the shit beaten out of us or worrying about the next time we'd have the shit beaten out of us."

"That's rough," she says.

I shrug. "It's over now.” Except it isn’t. I relive it every day.

"Why do you believe you were capable of stopping him from hurting your mother?"

"The night he killed her, I tried to kill him. He was… hurting her. In the kitchen.”

I stop for a moment, then force myself to say it, my voice as flat and unemotional as I can make it. “He was strangling her and raping her. I stabbed him with a steak knife."

I roll my eyes to the ceiling, then just sit there, trying to get the tension to leave my shoulders and my gut.

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