This might make me a pu**y, but she’s been the first thing I’ve thought of every morning this week when I woke up. And she’s the last thing I think about when I go to sleep. Not that I’d ever admit that to anyone.
I try not to break my neck as I hurry to the door and open it. Before Mila can even say a word, I grab her and kiss her hard, smashing her against my chest. I hear the crinkle of a paper bag as we smash it between us. Her arms come up and wrap around me, pulling me closer. She smells like flowers and vanilla. And winter.
“I missed you,” she murmurs against my neck. She’s cold from the outdoors and I pull her inside.
“You just saw me last night,” I remind her as I nibble at her lip. She smiles against me and I add, “But I missed you too.”
I really did.
And that scares the shit out of me.
But of course I don’t say that. Instead, I just pull her into my kitchen where we eat smashed doughnuts, perched atop breakfast bar stools.
Mila eyes hers. “I guess it still tastes the same,” she shrugs. “Even though you flattened it.”
She raises an eyebrow and takes a huge bite of her chocolate drizzled roll. She licks her finger, which causes my gut to clench.
“What time was my appointment?” I ask, looking away from her tongue and glancing at the clock.
“It’s in thirty minutes,” she tells me. “Dr. Nate Tyler. He’s in town. I texted you the address.”
I nod. “I’ve still got it. Don’t worry. I’m going to jump in the shower and then I’m out of here.”
She stares at me. “I really just wanted to tell you good luck. And that I’m proud of you for doing this. I know you don’t like to talk about personal stuff.”
“You got that right, sister,” I mutter as I swing around on my stool. I drop a kiss on her cheek. “I’ve got to get moving if I don’t want to be late. Want to join me?”
She grins wickedly. “I would. If we were two months further into our relationship.” She shrugs. “But as it is… no.”
I raise an eyebrow. “So you can paint na**d in front of me, but you can’t shower with me?”
She slugs me lightly on the arm, rolling her eyes. “Now you’re getting it.”
I smile. “Good. I’m just trying to get all of these dating rules down. It’s sort of complicated. Confusing, really.”
Mila grins, wide and beatific. “It’s not that hard. I still like to look, even if I’m not ready to touch yet. But good things come to those who wait, mister.”
I shake my head and start off for my bedroom. “I hope so,” I call over my shoulder. “My hand’s getting tired.”
I can still hear her laughing as I step into the shower and let the water beat down on me. I was only partially joking. My hand is getting tired. But that doesn’t stop me from using it.
********
“Tell me about your drug use,” Dr. Tyler instructs me. He is using the calm monotone that I always think of psychiatrists using. The one that says, If I talk slowly and quietly enough, I’ll keep the psychos at bay.
I shift my weight from one hip to the other in an ugly-as-fuck blue plaid chair. The doctor is older, graying at his temples and he’s wearing reading glasses even though he isn’t reading. I sigh. I really don’t want to be here. I feel like a bug under a microscope and the dark paneling of this doctor’s study seems to be closing in on me.
“My drug use isn’t the problem,” I tell him. “The dreams that I’ve been having are my problem. They’re f**ked up. I’m sorry,” I quickly correct. “They’re messed up.”
Dr. Tyler smiles a bit as he makes some sort of note on his notepad.
“Why do you think your dreams are messed up?” he probes, his dark eyes assessing me. “Have you ever dreamt them before?”
I shake my head. “They’re about my mother. And I haven’t dreamed about her since I was small. As an adult, I make a conscious effort to not think of her. I’ll admit it, I try to avoid painful things.”
The doctor nods as he takes notes. “That’s not unusual,” he tells me. “Avoidance is human nature. But tell me more about these dreams.”
So I do. I tell him how my mother is pleading. And how I am scared but I can’t see and how my mother has turned into Mila in them.
The doctor studies me yet again. “It sounds like you are somehow associating Mila with your mother. Was your mother like Mila in some way?”
I think on that. And even though it’s been a very long time since I’ve seen it, I can still remember my mother’s smile.
“My mother had a pretty smile,” I tell him. “It was very warm, like Mila’s. Maybe that’s it.”
The doctor scribbles. “Anything else?”
“I don’t know,” I muse. “Mila seems soft and graceful. I think my mother was the same way. My mother was actually a ballet dancer, before she retired when I was born. Mila is an artist…so they are both artistic types.”
More scribbling.
“Was your mother very accepting of you? She loved you unconditionally?”
I stare at him. “I was only seven when she died. But I’m guessing that, yes, that was the case.”
“Is Mila very accepting of you?” Dr. Tyler asks quietly, his pen paused above his pad. I stare back at him. He might have hit upon something.
“Yes,” I tell him. “For whatever reason, she’s been very patient with me.”
“Just like your mother,” the doctor says pointedly.
“Yes.” I agree, my heart pounding for a reason that I don’t understand. My hands are sweaty, too. I wipe them on my jeans.
“Tell me about the drug use,” Dr. Tyler says now, without looking up. I sigh again.
“You’re not going to give up on that drug use thing, are you?”
He smiles and shakes his head.
“People use drugs for many different reasons,” Dr. Tyler says. “I’d like to uncover yours.”
I try to hide my annoyance. I want to get to the root of my current issue, not dig into something useless. But I do my best to humor him.