Survivor by Kaye Draper Page A

apartment to get it.  My visits to the old psychologist’s office were
something that I both looked forward to and hated at the same time.  On one
hand, he was knowledgeable and kind, and it was nice to be able to tell someone
how I was feeling- someone who would actually listen and give me constructive
feedback, unlike my family.  On the other hand, the visits reminded me that I
wasn’t normal, that there were countless things that were hard for me, and that
they would continue to be hard for me for the rest of my life.
    As an added bit of stress, I was still trying to
figure out how much to tell him about Peter.  I couldn’t exactly explain most
of the reasons why my relationship with the vampire was difficult, but still,
maybe he could help.
    Dr. Walton sat in his big leather chair, jotting a
note in a manila folder.  I made my way to the desk and he looked up with a
warm smile.  “Hello melody, how are things?”
    I looked at the blue veins in the back of his age
spotted hands and wondered, as I had a million times, what his life was like
outside the office.  What would it be like to live to a ripe old age without
needing mental help?  Most people probably would have been more comfortable
speaking to someone closer to their own age, but not me.  For some reason, I
always found his age comforting.  I soaked in his calming presence like a
sponge.  He had the ability to make all of my problems seem smaller, less
immediate.
    We started every session with a sort of checklist. 
“How are your headaches,” he asked, pen and chart at the ready.  I pressed my
lips together, trying to remember.  “I think they’ve been better, for the most
part.  I don’t have them as often, but when I do, they’re still pretty bad. 
Probably an eight out of ten.”  He scribbled in his chart and frowned at me,
his wild white eyebrows drawing together. 
    “You didn’t bring your notebook.  Have you been
using it to write things down?”  I was supposed to be tracking these things and
brining it with me to sessions so that I was more accurate. 
    I shifted in my seat.  “I forgot it in the car.  I
try to write in it every day… but sometimes I forget.”  Okay, not sometimes,
all the time.  Especially when I’m distracted- like, say, when my handsome new
friend declares himself a vampire, then starts telling people he’s my
boyfriend, then treats me to mind blowing sex- that kind of thing.
    The doctor’s thick fingers paused in their
scratching and he peered at me over the top of his wire-rimmed glasses.  “How
about the fatigue?”
    I licked my lips and considered saying it was fine,
but in the end, I told the truth.  I’m not a very good liar.  “Worse.  It’s way
worse lately.”
    He nodded and jotted it down.  “How is your mood? 
Have you been having anymore bouts of depression since we talked last?”
    I shook my head.  “None,” I said truthfully.  “I’ve
been… really happy.”
    He arched his eyebrows at me, but looked relieved. 
“That is good news,” he said jovially.  Putting the chart aside, he leaned back
in his chair and crossed his arms loosely over his middle, settling in for the
real therapy, and looking like nothing so much as a professional version of
Santa Claus.
    “What has changed?”  His voice was even and calm, as
he led me to explore my own head.  I shrugged and he tried again.  “Melody, you
are more tired, and when you have headaches, they are worse, but your mood has
improved drastically.  It seems like maybe you are doing something different?” 
I was silent.  “Maybe something you love, but it’s tiring?  Do you have a new
hobby?”
    He knew, damn him.  I glared at him, suddenly
feeling betrayed.  He knew I wasn’t going to say I’d taken up bingo and found
it draining.  “Mom called you didn’t she?”
    His blueberry eyes crinkled up at the corners and he
laughed.  “About an hour ago,” he admitted.  “She has some concerns about