Page 96 of The Last Man on Earth
I’m stunned when she tells me it’s November. I think back, trying to recall when I stopped counting the days. It had to have been long before I was pregnant.
I’m bewildered.
She asks me about the crash. I detail it as best I can, speaking slowly so she can scribble notes on her pad.
“When you realized the others had died, how did that affect you?”
I stare down at my hands, tracing scars and scratches I didn’t notice were there. “I felt…numb at first. I was in work mode. It’s how our minds work. But after, I felt guilty. I was part of the crew. I was responsible.”
“But you literally buckled people in.”
“I did. But it wasn’t enough. And I kept asking myself if I could have done more.”
She waits a beat. “But you don’t wonder anymore?”
I shake my head. “When you’re trying to survive, you don’t have room to wallow in self-pity.”
She nods. “Any nightmares? Flashbacks?”
“Not really. Not of the crash. I feel jumpy all the time, though. Anxious.”
She’s writing again. “How do you feel physically?”
“Tired. Hungry. My back hurts. And…” I pause, feeling my cheeks heat. “Obviously, I’m pregnant.”
“Congratulations,” she says with a smile. “How do you feel about that?”
“Scared,” I say immediately. “I don’t even know how far along I am. And I don’t know if I’ve been eating enough. I didn’t take prenatal vitamins. Vincent gave me his, but they were for men, so who knows if that even helped.”
Her gaze is steady, but soft. “It’s normal to feel fear. Pregnant women feel anxious even in the most ideal conditions.”
I nod. That helps a little. “It would probably be easier to deal with if they would let me see the father of my child.”
She smiles warmly. “As far as I know, you’ll see him today.”
“Okay, but I don’t understand this,” I say. “You’re a psychologist. Maybe you can explain it to me. He’s the onlyperson I’ve seen every day for almost a year, and the day we get rescued, y’all separate us. How does that make sense? How does that help me?”
She nods quickly. “I understand your frustration. I will tell you what I told Mr. Newcastle. It’s completely normal to become trauma bonded in a situation like this, but your recovery and healing are your own. The coping skills you develop must be your own.”
I sit back against the bed, considering her words. “I was supposed to get my phone back last night. Would you happen to know where it is?”
“I can ask.” She leans in, giving me a warm smile. “But it’s okay to stay unplugged for a little while. It might even be good for your mental health. Of course, it is your choice.”
“Thank you.”
She snaps the cap on her pen and stands, getting all the way to the door before she says, “I want to see you again before you leave. Just to help you sort your thoughts. To get you grounded before you go back home. Is that okay?”
I nod.
“And once you get back home, I’d like for you to find someone to speak to, maybe once a week.”
“I will.”
“Good. I’ll go ask about your phone.”
As the door swings shut, something in me bristles. I think it was the words she used.Trauma bond.
I think she misunderstood what I was saying. What Vincent and I have is real, not trauma. At least, I believe it is.
