Requiem of the Ivory Bride: An Ode to the Seven Deadly Sins

Interlude II

"Brenden's clinical depression appears to have deeply impacted your own psyche," the doctor began, studying my reaction as I recounted Brenden's "Ambien Savior" ritual.

Then I felt it. Hot, wet, disgusting betrayers of my heart racing out of my eye and toward my chin. I quickly wiped it away, but it was too late - he saw it and took note.

His eyes were on his paper, fastidiously scribbling some psychoanalytic insight. Surprisingly, he didn't try to comfort me. In the past, others in the long succession of therapists had - handed me a tissue, validated my tears and emotions surround those affected by Brenden's fight for life.

Not this doctor. What did I expect anyway? That he'd care? He was paid to sit there as I exposed all my filthy, blackened parts.

"Well," I started, responding to his stoic statement, drying my eyes and trying to man up. "I think when someone you know hides a ritual dedicated to their own death... yeah, it impacts you." I had to remind myself not to get defensive. Keep it cool, Kyle.

"Have you tried to help him?" he asked.

My shoulders slumped. Brenden exists 'out there' - beyond my reaching at the moment. He knows I exist, I know he exists - yet, we are each one of the long shadows, friends no more.

Oh God, what have I done? I truly am the monster I hoped I wasn't. I am one of Brenden's ghosts!

"I used to. I tried to get him and Janeli to 'play nice'," I replied, quoting the air. Tears began to sting again, but I forced them back down.

"Can you expand on how you had them play nice, as you called it?" he asked, pushing his glasses back atop his head. Was he finally done writing for now? Geesh.

"I just have always wanted everyone to get along. They love each other, but they're not well-suited, and its destroying both of them slowly. It hurts me that Brenden and I no longer speak. Jesus, do you know how it feels to realize you're probably one of his pills?"

The doctor nodded, pretending to understand. Of course he didn't. His life wasn't as fucked up as mine, you could tell that from his expensive clothes and massive collection of books and displays of degrees and certificates.

"So this has caused you a great deal of angst?" he asked, already assigning some misdiagnosis to me. They all liked to jump to conclusions.

"Of course. But we're all older now, so I'm not comfortable with the word 'angst'. I would say that if I wore a weighted, chained necklace for every regret and failure I've had, there would be one with his name on it."

"Why?" the doctor asked. Did he really care? Or was it an obligatory question? Yet, I was surprised. I suddenly didn't know anymore. Why do we cling onto all the horrid things we've done or that happen to us?

"I guess I feel obligated," I quietly replied, feeling hollowed out as I tried to understand my own warped mind and heart.

"Obligated? That's a strong word. Would you say you feel as obligated to Brenden's current state as you would, say, your sister...." he paused, pulling the glasses back down, flipping backward in the file. Neatly stacked papers, with black and white words spelling out my life as though it was merely a research paper of one deeply hurt and troubled person. Nevermind all the incomplete stories in the white spaces all around the little black words, screaming out just to be heard, to be known.

"Felicia?" I asked, hesitantly, hoping he wouldn't need to go there today. God, let's save that one for another visit.

"Ah, yes. Felicia," he replied without meeting my eyes. Was he ignoring the uncomfortable shift in my seat?

"Well, she's not really my sister. Just like a sister, though. I've known Felicia since I was a kid," I clarified. God, this office just got really stuffy. My throat felt hot, and I could tell some sweat was beading above my upper lip.

"That's fine. Still a closer connection than others, so it's worth exploring. Do you feel as obligated to Felicia's untimely demise as you do Brenden?" he asked, blank eyes staring me down. He had no idea what memories he'd just unlocked.

"Oh geez," I blurted out, uncontrolled. "They're two separate things, completely."

He nodded, and wrote down some notes. When he looked up, I already knew what he was going to ask. I dreaded recounting her story, and could feel the bile rise in my throat.

"Tell me again about Felicia," he simply stated, as though this one was easy to talk about. My palms grew moist as I gripped the sides of my chair for support.

I'm not sure how much longer I can do this.