"Well? How long has it been?"
I scratched at the stubble on my face, mind wandering along a beach somewhere. I could feel each of my toes sink into the wet sand and squish some of the fine grains up between them. It was a yellow sand, I decided. I had been to the beaches of South Carolina when I was just a kid, and I remembered how strikingly yellow it had all looked. White sand was definitely overrated, I thought. Yellow sand had much more character.
"Thomas? Are you with me?"
"What? Sorry. Mind wandered off again... haven't got much sleep, you know how it is." I brushed my shaggy raven locks out of my eyes and tried to pay attention. David was here to help, I had to remind myself. He was the last hope I had after a long streak of crashing and burning. It was going to get better, I promised myself
"I asked you how long it's been," David said, setting his notepad aside and leaning forward, elbows on his knees. David had striking blue eyes that pierced a look like shards of jagged ice. Ted, the man who lived under the bridge, had the same eyes as David--I could still picture them glassed over and half-open as blood spurted from the gaping wound in Ted's chest. I still had nightmares about it--that was why I was seeing David now, and not rotting away in some prison cell.
"I'm not sure... six months, maybe? Maybe less."
"Six months?" David sniffed and bobbed his head approvingly. "That's pretty good, Thomas. I'm proud of you."
I laughed, a short barking sort of sound. "Please. You know I'm a fuck-up."
"You're not a fuck-up, Thomas. One hundred and eighty days off is pretty admirable; you and I both know that."
I blinked. David didn't usually curse. We sat in silence for a little while, him watching me as I slowly rubbed my dry, cracked hands together. One hundred and eighty days... maybe less. It always seemed like more, though. When I slipped that needle into my vein, the instant sense of euphoria made hours pass like seconds. I wet my lips, feeling my mouth begin to water just a bit. My own mind was what made me weak.
"So, where do we go from here?"
David studied me for a moment. "Where would you like to go?"
"I... I don't know." I hadn't given the subject any thought.
"We just have to do one more session, and then you're free to go. We don't have a regimen, as I'm sure you figured out. We can talk about whatever you'd like." David collected his notebook from the little side table and clicked his pen several times, somewhat annoyingly. Though irritated, the sound soothed me; it made David human. We all had our faults. Pen-clicking was a little easier to understand than heroine addiction, I supposed with an inward chuckle. I wasn't a saint; I never pretended I was.
"Tell me about your dad again, Thomas."
"What's to tell?" I leaned back and ran a hand slowly down over my face. "He used to beat me and Jenny up pretty bad; you know that. One day, when I was seventeen, I couldn't take that shit anymore and I busted a bottle over his head. Haven't seen him since."
"Do you miss him?"
Again, I laughed bitterly. "Are you kidding? I've never been happier to have been orphaned than when I imagine the look on his face when he stormed out the door."
"I see." David scribbled some notes on his pad. I craned my neck to see them, but his handwriting was crowded and messy. "Tell me about Jenny."
I sucked in my breath. "Can we not?"
"Why?"
"I don't like talking about her when she's not present," I said, gritting my teeth.
"She's important to you, no?"
"Of course she is! I'd do anything for her."
"Why's that?"
"She's my sister." If David wanted more, he was out of luck. Jenny was family, and that's all that mattered. Rain or shine, I'd be there for Jenny no matter what she needed.
"I see." David scribbled down a note or two and peered up at me over the framed of his wire-framed reading glasses. "Do you talk to her a lot?"
"Every day," I said immediately. "Usually once when we get up in the morning... a couple times during the day, maybe. And we have long talks before we go to sleep."
"What do you talk about?" David didn't look up from his notes; he was scribbling much more quickly now.
"I don't know. Life, I guess. She always wants to know what's going on in my life, I guess. She likes to help me with my problems." I scratched my head and yawned, smiling a little at the thought of Jenny's impish grin and her kid-;like features. She had always looked a little young for her age, but lately it had seemed more noticeable. Jenny would be turning twenty in October, I realized. My baby sister wasn't such a baby anymore.
"What kind of problems does Jenny help you with?" David took off his glasses and dabbed at his forehead with an old kerchief, looking preoccupied.
"You know... problems. She helped me get the lady who works at the supermarket's phone number. We're supposed to go on a date soon."
"Jenny... Jenny helped you do this?" David clarified, pen poised just above the yellow lines of his pad. My gaze wandered out the window, where a fall drizzle had begun to soak the golden, fiery leaves into sad, sodden mush in the gutters. Autumn was Jenny's favorite season, I remembered. She would hate to see it looking so sorry like this.
"Thomas?"
"Hmm?" There was a little girl outside, wearing big red rubber rain boots and a purple raincoat. She splashed from puddle to puddle, face distorted in a silent, mirthful laugh. Jenny loved to play in the rain, I remembered.
"Well? How long has it been?"
"Been... since what?"
"The funeral, Thomas."
"I'm not sure... six months, maybe? Maybe less."
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