SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL, J.HUGHES

SIXTY TWO

"How does it feel to be back on my chair?" Dr. Jensen asks, pointing at the chair I'm slumped in with her pen. Her voice is sharp, like she's trying to poke at something in me.

I gulp, trying to swallow the knot in my throat. "I don't know," I mutter, my fingers fidgeting with the hem of my sweater. "Is it a step forward or three steps back? I have no idea."

I sit there, my hand tracing the lines of my palm, like it holds some kind of answer. I don't know how I feel about being back in her chair. After more than a year, I thought I was doing okay, you know? I guess I am. But I also just need someone to pat me on the back and tell me that everything is actually fine.

I shrug, lifting my shoulders in this half-hearted way. I'm not sure if I'm embarrassed or just... lost.

"Have you cried recently?" she asks, adjusting her glasses like she's adjusting her gaze on me.

I chuckle, but there's no humor in it. Hell yes, I've cried. Probably at least once a day. After work, after appointments, after Jack's hockey games, even during work. I cry every damn day, and it doesn't make me feel any better.

"How come people say it's healthy when I just feel like I'm drowning in my own tears?" I snap, my voice coming out sharper than I intended. But yeah, I feel hopeless, even when I see some light at the end of the tunnel. I feel like I'm getting happier, that things are falling into place, but I can't shake this damn weight.

Dr. Jensen leans back in her chair, giving me that look she does when she's about to dig deeper. "What's on your mind, Morgan?"

I let out a loud breath, sinking further into the chair. "It's weird. I don't get how our brains work with memories. We're born with something so smart, right? Like, a sponge that soaks up every detail and emotion. But the more I grow up, the more I forget. I don't remember being this hurt or this sad when I first got cancer. But I must've been, right? Probably even more. I just seem to be forgetting."

Dr. Jensen's face is calm, almost too calm. It grates on me. "Why do you think that is?" she asks, her tone soft but probing, like she's trying to lead me to some grand revelation.

"I don't know, that's why I'm asking you," I snap again. "You're the shrink."

She chuckles, leaning forward, like she's got some secret. "You're creating new memories, and your brain's just making space for them. You don't forget the old ones forever—they're just stored in a drawer, far, far away."

I nod slowly, like I get it, but I'm not sure I really do. "Yeah, but still..."

My voice trails off, and there's this heavy silence between us, the kind that makes your skin crawl.

"Speaking of drawers," I start, feeling my heart pick up pace, "I reopened mine with Jack. You know, the guy I couldn't shut up about in our first session?"

She nods, and there's a knowing look in her eyes, like she remembers every word. I'm pretty sure if she went back to her notes, she'd find something like, "Be careful, she could be dangerous with Jack—she's obsessed with him."

I remember the first time I met Dr. Jensen. I hated her. Seriously, I thought she was just some stuck-up bitch with her designer glasses and her 'too cool for you' attitude. I mean, she's always been like that, and it's kind of unnerving how unempathic she can be. Like, she's a goddamn shrink—shouldn't empathy be part of the job?

But I think that's why I respect her now. She's probably one of the most honest people I know. No bullshit, no sugar-coating. Just raw, sometimes brutal, honesty. And weirdly, that's what I need.