Page 95 of Secrets (The Sins Trilogy 2)
I pick up Iris’s hand. It’s like ice. I envelop both her hands in mine, trying to warm them. “Let’s get you checked out and make sure you aren’t sick or hurt.”
Iris looks like she’s about to argue, then finally sighs. “Okay.”
* * *
Iris
The first thing Dr. Young does when she walks into our bedroom is shoo Tony out. “I can’t let you stay here. Privacy laws, you know? So out. If she wants you to know, she’ll tell you later.”
Tony glares at her like he wants to put up a fight, but leaves without a word.
Dr. Young turns to me. She’s in a bright purple dress today, her hair sleek and perfect. Compared to her, I’m underdressed in my nightshirt. At least my hair’s dry, thanks to Tony.
I know why he called her in, but I don’t know how she’s supposed to help me. It isn’t like she can wave a magic wand and fix what’s broken in me. It’s just going to be a tiring episode of me trying to hide what’s really wrong, so I can reassure everyone I’m fine.
She takes me to the edge of the bed and has me sit down. The she pulls a chair from the makeup vanity, sets it opposite me and takes a seat. Her sharp eyes probe, but not unkindly. “I heard the general gist from Bobbi. How are you feeling?”
“Tony shouldn’t have asked you to come,” I say, not wanting to even think about Sam or his visit.
“Why not? I heard you jumped into the pool downstairs.”
“I just slipped.” I hate to lie to her, but I can’t tell her why either.
Her expression remains the same. Not even her eyebrows twitch. “He’s worried about you.”
She’s being too kind. And I can’t stand the reminder that I’m making him worry. “He shouldn’t be. I’m not worth it.” My voice cracks.
Finally, a frown furrows her forehead. “Sure you are. He adores you.”
“He only loves an image. He doesn’t know the real me.” He doesn’t know I killed someone.
“Then show him the real you.”
“I can’t.” I wouldn’t be able to bear it if he turned away from me in disgust. Or worse, in disillusionment and disappointment.
“Is there something that’s upsetting you? You can tell me. I’m bound by law to not discuss it with anybody.”
I stare at her. I want to tell her—get some advice. I’m too confused to sort things out on my own. And I have no one to talk to. As much as I like Yuna, I can’t just call her and demand that she tell me about such an ugly and shocking event from my past. And Tony… He’s the last person I want to discuss it with.
But to talk about it… It’s like baring my shame to somebody. Inhaling deeply, I try to gather some courage. “I did something no decent person should ever do. And the worst thing is, I don’t really remember exactly what happened.”
“I see.” She regards me with empathy. And it chips at me like a chisel. I don’t want to share the story with anybody, but she’s looking at me too kindly, and I’m so desperate for guidance…and reassurance that I’m not a monster or that I’m going to be okay…
My shield cracks and falls apart. I tell her about the accident, my words pouring out in a torrent. She listens, without uttering a single sound.
“I feel like I should know, but I don’t. I only remember a little bit. What does that say about me?” I ask.
“Nothing. Sometimes when we experience a great trauma, we don’t always remember every detail. Haven’t you heard that eyewitnesses are notoriously biased and inaccurate?”
I shake my head. She has a remarkable gift of compassion and kindness, and I’m grateful there isn’t even a hint of judgment on her face.
“Ask two people about the same event, and you’ll get two very different answers. There have been studies. And let me give you a piece of advice, as someone who’s had more life experience—not as a doctor.” She leans forward. “Everyone’s done something they’re ashamed of. We may never talk about it, but we react to it in some way. When something reminds us of it, we tend to withdraw or lash out more harshly than we would otherwise.”
The shame she’s talking about has to be something along the lines of pocketing an extra dollar or two when somebody gave you too much change. What I did is way, way past that. “I might have killed someone.”
“Or not. Maybe it’s the car maker’s fault the seatbelt buckle didn’t work because of a paperclip. Or really, it’s the fault of the boy who dropped it into the buckle. For all we know, the girl could’ve died even if everything worked perfectly in your car. Are you the only person who could’ve prevented the accident? Be honest.”
“I was speeding,” I point out, in case she forgot about that.
“So? Millions of people speed every day. Right at this moment, hundreds of thousands of people are speeding and breaking other rules. Are they all guilty?”
I shake my head, frustrated she doesn’t understand. It isn’t just that I sped, but that I killed somebody. Not only that, I don’t remember the incident. So I’ve been living guilt-free, while the girl’s mom has lived every day in pain. But what was I expecting? Dr. Young isn’t a shrink.
“Be kind to yourself, Iris,” she adds. “You’re an exceptional young woman.”
I look away. Her words make me feel worse. It amazes me that a woman as smart as her can’t see I’m a fraud.
A soft sigh. “Let me check you over.” Her tone is brisk now. “Make sure you aren’t coming down with anything.”
