"His mother did awful things to him. And then my father. Something happened to him. He was tortured."
She sits back and crosses her legs. Folding her hands over her lap as she watches me carefully.
"Why do you feel the need to validate, Isabella?"
"I see how you look at me," I answer. "I see how you all look at me. How you scribble your notes. How my father whispers to you when I can't hear. I know what you think. But you won't change my mind. You won't fix me. Or unbreak me. Or convince me that what I feel isn't real."
She sets her pen aside. Her notebook is empty today. And I'm glad.
"What if I said that I do believe you?" she asks. "What if I told you that what you feel is real? That your love for Javi is real. Would you believe me?"
I trace over the roses again.
"I don't think so."
"Then perhaps the person you are trying to convince is yourself.”
Her words confuse me. They make my head hurt. I don't need to convince myself. I already know that my love for Javi is real.
"Do you feel guilt for loving him?" she continues. "Or is it guilt for his death?"
Death.
The word punches me in the gut all over again. I want to tell her to shut up. I want to tell her that he isn't dead. But he is.
He's right here beside me. And I'll never hold him again. I squeeze my eyes shut, and the only thing I can see is that look on his face.
The betrayal.
It's the only thing I see. Day and night. Every other memory has vanished, and this is all that remains. The haunting final moments when he was there, and then he wasn’t.
"He thought I did it," I whisper. "He thought it was me. It was the last thing he thought."
Tears leak from my eyes and I feel weak for crying all the time.
The therapist doesn't say anything. She lets me cry. She lets me feel. And it hurts so much. I wish she would just give me some pills. To numb everything. To make it go away. But she hasn't given me any.
I ask her why, and she reaches for her pen again, tapping it against the corner of the desk.
"I can't give you any pills, Isabella.”
"But why?" I ask her again. "Isn't that the whole point? The whole point of me being here?"
"The whole point of you being here is to rest," she replies. "To be well."
I ignore her and go back to tracing over the roses. She watches me. She is silent for a long time before she speaks again.
"I think you are strong, Isabella. I think you are brave. And I think Javi would want you to be well too. He would want you to be at peace."
"How can I be at peace?" I demand. "When he isn't here?"
She is quiet again. Her brow furrowed.
"What if I told you that a part of him was? What if I told you that you had another reason to be strong?"
Her words capture me. She knows it. But she does not explain right away. She watches me closely, gauging my reactions. And then when she has determined that I am ready to hear it, she goes on.
"Do you remember when your father brought you here? Do you remember the tests we ran that first day, Isabella?"