Page 35 of The Sound of Him

Would he really let me throw it at him?That’d get someone killed back in the compound.In fact, that’s what almost got-

“You can also ask to see my notes at any time,” Dr. Singh continues. “The notes for your sessions, of course. Not anyone else’s. I can make copies for you at any time, or I can hand over the whole book if you ever want me to. I have one for each person I work with, so it’s all yours if you ask.”

It’s not something I can respond to wtihyesorno, it’s not even a question really, so I just wait.

He stares at me for a few uncomfortable seconds before giving me a smile that I can tell is forced.

Maybe not communicating wasn’t the right answer this time around?

I’m already so tired of playing this game. Of taking this test. Of… all of this. Any of this. Of life.

I am so, so tired of life.

“Now, I have the notes from your appointment with Dr. Deacon, since I like to know what medical conditions I need to keep in mind when working. He and I have worked safehouses together before and usually meet regularly to discuss our survivors. I’ve always been a strong advocate for a team mindset when it comes to recovery. It helps to have a sounding board with someone who knows what you know. Because of confidentiality, that usually falls to Dr. Deacon. I like not to even share with the operatives, since they’re recovering too now, in their own way, and don’t need to be tangled up in your ownjourney. Especially not if you don’t want them to be a part of it in that way. And I obviously won’t share with the other survivors. Whatever we discuss here won’t be brought up in group therapy, unless you bring it up.”

So many words.

He’s saying… that he wants to share his notes with Dr. Deacon? And keep having Dr. Deacon share his notes with him? So they can help me better? But he won’t share them with anyone else?

And shit, now he’s looking at me like maybe he asked something and is waiting for me to answer. The silence is heavy with expectation.

Is that all he said, or was there more that I missed? If that’s all he said, then the question was probably him asking if it was… okay? For him to share? With Dr. Deacon? Maybe?

But what if thatwasn’tthe question and I say yes and then it turns out I agreed to something else-

“Matt?” I meet his eyes. It’s a little hard to breathe.When did it get hard to breathe?“Would it be okay if Dr. Deacon and I trade information about your care? Just the two of us. No one else.”

Okay. That’s easy. Or easier, at least.

I don’t actually know how I feel about that, but I don’t want to take too much time, so I’ll just say yes. I even make myself move to tap the card instead of just nodding.

He smiles. Right answer, then.

It’s a little easier to breathe.

"Thank you. I will let him know that’s what you decided.” He shifts in his chair, adjusting where the journal lays on his thigh. I realize he still hasn’t opened it. “I want to make it clear that this is another thing that you can change your mind about, though. It’s really important to me that you understand that. You can change your mind about anything, as often as you want. Thereare no rules. You can’t disappoint me or do the wrong thing. You have all of the control here. This isyourtherapy. Okay?”

It sounds nice. Too good to be true, especially with the way his smiles tell me if my answers are right or wrong, but still nice.

“Do you understand that, Matt?”

No.

I nod.

He smiles, looking a little relieved as he does. Another right answer, then, regardless of what he just claimed.

“Then I just have one more question for you and we can be finished here. Is that alright? We can be done now, if you need.Yesfor continue andnofor being done now,” he says as he points at each corresponding card. “What do you think, Matt? One more question?”

Being done now sounds better, but one more question can’t be that bad. Then it’s finished. Otherwise I’ll spend all my time worrying about what the question is, anyway. It’s best to get it over with.

I tap theYEScard, then sit back and tuck my hands into the front pocket of my sweatshirt. The soft fur of my bunny passes over my skin before my fingers bump into the apple I forgot all about. It settles something in me. Just one more question, then I can go hide with my bunny and eat my apple.

Something pinches in his face for a second, there and gone like a flash.Was that… not the right answer?

Except he says, “Thank you, Matt,” and looks relieved again.

Maybe I’m not as good at reading him as I thought. Or maybe there aren’t right answers after all.