Page 6 of Fixing Emilee

I press what I’m hoping is the send button because I can no longer see my screen. Pulling up my playlist, I click on the two songs I have been listening to on repeat. They both say what I’m feeling for her and everything I can’t right now. I’m unsure if she will read the message or listen to the songs, but I have to do something. Making sure the messages have been sent, I go through the house, kissing Luna on the cheek but not staying to talk. Crawling into my bed, I hug the same pillow Emilee did the first time she was here as sobs wrack my body.

The only sound I hear is the heartbroken cries coming from my mouth. The events of the longest day of my life feel like a massive weight crushing my heart. It becomes a physical pain. Turning on my side, I rub my chest, but it doesn’t help. The floorboard by my dresser that always creaks sounds when Luna enters my room. “L…Mom, why does it hurt so much?” I whisper, not sure if she can hear me. My throat is raw, making my voice rough.

The bed dips beside me. With my eyes closed, I blindly reach for her. When my hands touch her arms, I throw myself onto her small lap, like I did when I was younger and had a nightmare. My arms circle her waist as I bury my tear soaked face into her stomach. Her hands rub my back and run through my hair. “It hurts because it’s real. What you feel for Emilee is very much real. When you love someone as much as you do right now, you hurt when they hurt. Plus, the situation you were put in… I can’t imagine the heartbreak you are feeling right now.” Another sob comes from deep in my chest. I tighten my arms around her, holding on for dear life.

“But I do know that you are the sweetest, kindest, loving, and most stubborn young man I have ever known. When you want something, no one can stop you. I have all the faith in the world that you will fix everything. Emilee is hurting right now, but she will see that you love her wholeheartedly, and she will come back because, son, look at me.” She pulls my head to look at her. She wipes my tears away, “She loves you wholeheartedly. But right now, her heart is hurting, and she needs time to start healing. Give her that time, watch out for her from afar, but never give up on her baby.”

Luna holds me until my sobs turn to quiet hiccups, her shirt is soaked with tears, and exhaustion has come over me. “Sorry if calling you mom was weird….”

“Shut the fuck up, Parker West. I have been waiting years to hear that word come out of your mouth toward me, but I would never push the subject.” I turn my head to see her smiling down at me with tears brimming in her eyes. She places her small hand on my cheek. “You have been mine from the moment my sister placed you in my arms the day you were born. I felt an instant connection with you. You may have been too young to remember, but you lived with me for the first year of your life. I let you go back to my sister because I thought she changed….” One tear falls, then another. I sit up, pull her into my arms and hold her as she cries as she did for me.

“I missed you while you were gone, but I would never begrudge you a life with your mom. When she dropped you off four years later, I was torn between being pissed at my only sister and rejoicing because I had you back in my life. I refer to you as my son to everyone, Parker. I was just afraid that you didn’t see me that way.” A chuckle falls from my mouth as tears fall from my red puffy eyes.

“We both suck at communication. I have seen you as my mother for years but wasn’t sure if you saw me as your son.” I place a kiss on her head.

As she pushes out of my hold, she smiles a bright smile that lights up her entire face. “I love you, son, and everything will work itself out, I promise.”

“I love you too, mom.” God, that feels good to say, finally.

She pats my cheek standing up from the bed. “Get some sleep. You have had a long day.” She stops at the door, looks over her shoulders, and throws me a kiss like she did when I was younger. I kiss my palm, hold it out flat and blow a kiss back to her. After I change into shorts, the second my head hits the pillow, I sink into a deep sleep into a wonderful dream where my butterfly is perfect, fixed, and all mine again.

CHAPTER THREE

I’ve never had a big issue with being at a hospital. Some people hate it, but I’m indifferent. However, I swear if I have to spend one more night in this place, I will go even crazier. I can’t stand being here anymore. Four days are more than enough for me. The constant flow of people coming in and out of my room to check on me should offer me some kind of peace, especially since I just spent a year feeling invisible. Instead, all it’s doing is putting me on edge. A hospital is supposed to be where people come to rest and heal. I don’t see how anyone can rest in this place. I know I can’t.

Unfortunately, even though I want to get out of here more than anything right now, I’m not ready to do what the doctors told me I need to do for him to sign my release paper, talk.

“I don’t mind sitting here in silence, but Emilee, you know that in order to go home, you have to talk to me.” Sitting in front of me with a yellow legal pad is my new therapist Mr. Gold. We have sat in complete silence during our sessions for the past two days because I still can’t bring myself to talk about anything. It’s like there are two different voices inside my head. One is the hurt girl who says this won’t help, and nothing will change, so why try? The other voice screams at me to open my mouth and fix me.

A sigh falls from my lips as I roll my eyes. “I don’t see why I have to talk to you before I’m allowed to leave that place.” The doctor has let me leave the hospital only to come to Mr. Golds’ office. My papa has to take me back after the appointment.

“There it is. I’ve been wondering what your voice sounds like. It’s simple. The doctors and your family want you to take a step in the right direction toward healing before they feel comfortable with you not having someone around twenty-four-seven. Even if it’s about something small, talking to me is the right step.”

That’s the most he has spoken to me since my papa introduced us the day we had a small breakthrough ourselves. He usually just stares at me while I look everywhere but at him. He hasn’t once tried to force me to talk. My grandparents think I don’t talk because I’m scared of him, but that’s not true. I just don’t trust that what I say will not be used against me somehow. I actually feel comfortable around Mr. Gold. He reminds me of Santa if Santa had red hair and a red beard. His next words make me swear he’s a mind reader.

“Let’s start with why you don’t feel safe enough to talk here.” He motions to his office around him. Before stepping into his office, I pictured it like the therapists’ offices in movies. I expected the walls would be filled with different degrees and inspirational quotes, but it’s nothing like that. Instead, on his walls are beautiful pictures of landscapes. He has beanbags, a comfy armchair, and a small loveseat. He let me choose where I wanted to sit. I prefer the comfortable armchair.

The anxiety I feel even thinking about talking to him starts to take over my body, but I fight it because I really want to go home. “I don’t trust you.”

“Okay, can you explain what I did for you not to trust me?”

“Nothing. I just don’t trust anyone anymore.”

He writes something down in the notebook. What could he possibly have thought was so important from that little sentence? “Okay, can you explain that to me?”

I get angry at him for a reason that I’m sure he will want me to explain once he hears it. Does he think I got to the point of needing fucking therapy and being in the hospital because I was bored on a Tuesday? “Because I’ve been fucking screwed over by individuals that were supposed to be close to me. I trusted them because I loved them and thought they loved me too. However, I missed the fucking joke because no one loves me. Never has and never will.” My anxiety is getting dangerously high. The urge to leave the room covers me, and I wonder if he would try to stop me. Looking behind him, I stare at the picture of a beautiful forest. Focusing on that picture, I breathe in through my nose, hold it for four seconds, then exhale through my mouth for four seconds.

Not looking up from his stupid notepad, he asks, “Is there something I can do to reassure you that you are safe and that nothing you say here will cause you any harm?”

“No, because I know everything I tell you gets reported straight back to my grandparents.” That’s the main reason I don’t want to tell him anything. I don’t want anyone to see how weak, broken, and unfixable I am.

Something I said stops his pen from moving across the paper and has him looking up at me. Standing up, he walks over to his desk, pulls out a piece of paper, and hands it to me before he sits back down. I must have a perplexed look on my face. “This was in the papers I gave your grandparents when they first met with me. It’s my rules and the law regarding therapy. Take a second to read it, then we will move on.”

After reading the paper twice, I look at him, “So, as long as you don’t think I’m harming myself, you won’t tell anyone what I say?” I ask, confused about how that’s possible.

“No, Emilee, I will not break your trust and tell anyone what we talk about while that door is shut. I will encourage you to discuss things with your loved ones, but I’m here to help you understand your feelings. My job is to help you healthily work through your emotions. Plus, you’re now eighteen, meaning you are a legal adult,” he says, placing his arms on his legs, leaning forward to look me in the eyes.

“Okay,” I whisper.

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