the progress project [3]

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fiona

"is there a reason you won't open up to me?" dr. martin asks, hands clasped as she sits behind her gargantuan desk and wired glasses. "i'm here for your aid, fiona, to be your friend. let me help you."

fiona smiles, cool, collected. "i don't know what you're talking about. i've been honest. i've told you what you need to know."

"what i need to know or what you think i need to know? they are two very different things, and i can't provide you with what you need if you don't tell me."

she grins, the prozac has been working with boosting her mood. "i'm fine, see? a smile for a happy me."

dr. martin's face shifts from colored to pale, and she shakes her head. "you can lie to me all you want, but you are not happy. you tried to kill yourself, don't you remember? you can't insist on being happy if you attempted to end your life."

"you know nothing about me."

"then tell me about yourself. what is your family like? siblings, mother, father?"

fiona's posture is rigid, back pressed tightly against the chair. "i don't have any siblings. my mother is a radiologic technologist, and there was an clinic near our home x-ray her patients, so she could come home early. my father runs a firm that has been passed down to him from the generation of his family before him. we didn't to see him much when we were younger; he always had a case to work on and someone to defend. my parents are both hard workers, and refuse to give up on a challenge, which is probably why i refused to give up my dreams to help others too. they're my role models."

"you said we," dr. martin notes, writing. "when we were younger... who else are you talking about?"

"i didn't say that."

"yes, you did."

"i meant me and my mom."

dr. martin shakes her head, her eyes piercing into fiona's soul. "brother? sister?"

fiona sighs. "sister."

"why haven't i heard anything about her?"

"because," she snaps. "it's none of your business."

"then let's talk about elijah."

fiona is so sick of these 50 minute sessions every day. 50 minutes of bending the truth and putting on a façade and pretending that she is the star patient. 50 minutes of absolute bullshit. "i murdered him! i killed my blind boyfriend in a car accident after what had previously been the best night of my life! we danced in the middle of a restaurant and he said he loved me, and i refused to believe it! i refused to let him say it again because i could not comprehend the fact that i had finally found someone who loved me; who didn't cheat on me because i worked too much, who didn't claim they loved the idea of me! and i took my eyes off the road for five seconds, and hit a pothole, shooting the car out of control and into a tree off of the side of the road. this was my fault! not elijah's, or the car's, or the fucking pothole's— no. it was me. and now, everyday i have to wake up after having a nightmare with elijah's body smashed against the passenger side of the car, crying for help because i did nothing, and i have to realize that it wasn't a nightmare. it's a memory, and i killed him i killed him i killed him."

the sobs rack her body, shake her entire being to the core until she can't breathe. there is nothing she can do to bring him back.

dr. martin hands fiona tissues, slides next to her to rub her back, offering herself as a pillow to hug. "it's okay, fiona. it's all going to be okay."

will things ever get better? they better.