Broken Together Page 4

  “But! Everybody – and I do mean everybody – has that one crazy friend they would just love to secretly analyze behind their backs, am I right?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at the students for effect. “I’m talkin’ about you, Susan,” she muttered, half to herself on her way back to her desk, provoking another chuckle from the class.

  “Alright, that’s all I got,” she shrugged, letting her hands fall back down at her sides. “See ya next time, and don’t forget to read chapter two in preparation for Monday’s discussion,” she added over the sound of shuffling papers and zipping backpacks.

  Jacob rose from his chair, politely waiting for Callie to finish gathering her things, even though they were about to part ways anyway.

  “Well, I guess I’ll be seeing you around, then,” Jacob stated once they got outside.

  “Yeah, definitely,” she replied with a smile.

  They gave each other a brief wave as he turned to leave, but he stopped when he remembered the next event on his to-do list for the weekend.

  “Oh, hey,” he interjected, halting her. “You said you’re from around here, right?”

  “Uh-huh,” she nodded eagerly.

  “Do you know if there’s, like, a… thrift store or a Walmart or something nearby?” he asked, thinking of all the basic necessities he still needed for college and trying not to let his mind dwell on the painfully small amount of cash he had in his wallet.

  “Yeah, there’s a Walmart just a couple blocks down the road,” she replied, gesturing in the direction of the store. “Do you want… I mean, I could take you there, if you want,” she offered half-heartedly.

  “Oh, no, that’s okay,” Jacob objected, not wanting to have to explain to his new friend why he - a grown man - didn’t own a toothbrush or a second pair of underwear. “Thanks, though,” he grinned, raising a hand in a wave as he headed in the direction of the store.

  He managed to get some of the basic provisions he needed, just enough to hold him off until one of the many scholarships he spent months applying for while he was at Bellevue arrived and he could work with the financial aid department to allow him to use a portion for non-school-related necessities. It had taken most of the evening for him to shop, given that it had been so long since he bought clothes for himself that he had no idea what size he wore. On top of that, he had to get creative with his budgeting, making the most of the sales and trying to prioritize his list into which necessities were urgently needed and which could wait a week or so.

  Of course, when he got up to the counter, the cashier excitedly informed him of their new credit cards, which was information he wished he would have had before having to decide if bed sheets outweighed a blanket and pillow on the urgency-scale. He filed that option away in his mind for next time.

  He stumbled into his room at the end of the night, letting the plastic shopping bags fall to the floor in exasperation. He racked his brain for priorities again, trying to decide what needed to be finished tonight and what could be dealt with in the morning. He was scheduled to meet his new therapist at nine the next morning, so he got his new alarm clock set up to wake him early enough to catch a bus to her office. Thankfully, he already had the route mapped out, and would head from there to meet with his parole officer for the first time. That was a meeting he was not looking forward to, but he had to remind himself that it’s because of those meetings that he’s even allowed to be in school at all. If it weren’t for the opportunity of parole, he would still be lying on a rock-hard bed, staring at a stark-white ceiling and trying to ignore the obnoxiously loud snoring of his Bellevue roommate.

  After the clock was set, he opened up his new toothbrush – definitely a necessity – brushed his teeth with hot water – toothpaste didn’t make the list yet – took his nighttime pills, and settled into bed on his uncovered mattress. He wrestled with his new blanket for several minutes before determining that it simply wasn’t long enough to cover his feet and shoulders at the same time. It wasn’t ideal, but he’d had worse nights on the streets, back in the days before Rodney took him under his grubby wing. At least this time, there was hope for a better tomorrow.

  JACOB’S FOOT TAPPED ANXIOUSLY against the tile floor. He hadn’t realized how nervous he was to meet his new therapist until he was waiting in the lobby, taking in the serene ambiance of the candles, cool colors, and luscious, green plants. It was clearly a setting created to elicit peace, but it didn’t seem to help as much as the interior designer might have hoped. He tried to ease his mind by flipping through a nearby magazine, but the article he settled on was such trivial dribble about some celebrity he didn’t recognize that it didn’t captivate his attention enough to distract him from his thoughts. He tossed the magazine back on its stack with a loud sigh, drawing the attention of the meek receptionist behind the sleek, glass counter. He gave her an embarrassed smile, turning his eyes to his hands in his lap.

  The door to the doctor’s office swung open, and two women came out, one dressed professionally and holding a box of tissues as the other sniffled and dabbed one against her puffy eyes.

  “I’m sure it’ll be easier than you think,” the nicely-dressed woman encouraged with an empathetic look. “You’ll have to let me know how it goes next week, okay?”

  The sniveling woman nodded. “Thank you,” she muttered behind her tissue before making her way quickly out the front door.

  The doctor stood in the doorway of her office for a moment, taking in a deep, calming breath. She was an attractive woman; her chocolate brown hair rested against her shoulders in loose, carefully constructed curls, and her piercing blue eyes contrasted her dark hair and tan skin.

  “Jacob?” she asked, turning her attention to where he sat.

  “Yes,” he answered, rising from his seat and smoothing out his plain t-shirt, feeling underdressed.

  “Come on back,” she invited with a bright smile, holding the door wider for him. “Go ahead and have a seat,” she said, closing the door behind them.

  The inside of her office resembled the lobby with its tranquil vibe. It was a small room, minimally decorated with a few choice, posh pieces, like the two white, wingback chairs pointed slightly toward each other and separated by a small, glass end table. One of the chairs held a stack of papers, a notebook, and a pen, so Jacob took the other seat.

  “Can I get you something? Coffee, tea, water?” the doctor asked, gesturing to the bar cart beside her that held a coffee maker, teapot, and a tray of mugs.

  “Coffee would be great, actually,” Jacob graciously accepted, having been too nervous about his first counseling session to visit the campus cafeteria that morning.

  “Perfect,” she replied, presenting him with a wooden tray of various shapes, sizes, and colors of mugs. “Pick your poison,” she instructed.

  He hesitated, briefly wondering if this was some kind of psychological experiment.

  “Don’t worry, it’s not a test,” she reassured, reading his mind. “I just like mugs,” she shrugged easily.

  He chuckled and plucked out a simple white cup from the center of the array.

  “Hm, interesting,” she noted, narrowing her eyes at his choice. When he met her gaze, however, she gave him a grin and a friendly wink to indicate her teasing.

  Jacob smiled and sat back in his seat, feeling more at ease.

  “So, Jacob, I’m Doctor Breanna Summers – sugar?” she interrupted herself, turning around from the drink station to receive his answer.

  “Oh,” he stuttered, taking a minute to process the sudden question. “Uh, black is fine, thanks.”

  “Perfect,” she smiled, bringing him his drink and setting her own cup of green tea on the table between them. “So, you can call me Doctor Summers, Breanna, Bree, whatever you feel comfortable with,” she offered, flipping to a blank page in her notebook as she settled into her seat.

  “Alright,” Jacob replied, taking a careful sip of his hot coffee.

  “So, Doctor…,” she trailed off as she flipped
through the papers in her lap, scanning the page quickly with her eyes, “Yang sent me some information about your situation and the treatment you received at Bellevue.”

  Jacob nodded, swallowing his nerves.

  “You know, I have to admit, I usually don’t even read this stuff,” she muttered in a low voice, like it was a secret, shrugging it off dismissively. “I prefer to make my own first impressions of a client, get to know you at your own pace,” she explained. “But, given the nature of your situation, being on parole, I thought it might be beneficial to get a bit of a head start.”

  “Sounds good,” Jacob said, unsure of how he was supposed to respond.

  Doctor Summers glanced up at him, assessing his poorly hidden anxiety. She gave him a warm smile, closing the file of papers on her lap and setting them aside. “Why don’t we start with this week,” she suggested. “I hear you’ve just started at a new school. How is that going so far?”

  “Pretty good,” Jacob nodded, thinking back over the previous day. “I mean, I’m still getting settled in, but my first couple classes were good, and I’ve already met a couple people.”

  “How do you like your roommate?” the doctor asked. “I know that relationship can kind of make or break the whole college experience.”

  “Well, actually, I got kinda lucky there,” Jacob replied after taking another sip of his coffee. “Apparently, there was an open single room, so they put me in there. No roommate.”

  “Oh, well that’s nice,” Doctor Summers noted with a smile.

  “Yeah, I guess,” he shrugged.

  “Were you looking forward to having a roommate?” she inquired, picking up on his dissatisfaction.

  “Well, no, not exactly,” he began, fiddling with the thin handle of his coffee mug. “But I guess I’m not exactly looking forward to being alone, either.”

  “Mmm,” she nodded. “Well, you’re not completely alone, you know,” she set down her tea and flipped open her notebook again. “You have me, of course, and I assume you’ve been assigned a parole officer here in town for regular check-ins?”

  “Yeah, that’s true. I’m meeting him after this,” he said.

  “Great! You’ll have to tell me how that goes next week,” she replied, jotting down a quick note in her book. “And you said you’ve met a few people at school already?” she asked, turning her attention back to him.

  Jacob told her about the girls he met in his first class, and his brief conversation with Callie as they walked together. He and the doctor made seemingly insignificant conversation about the rest of his journey from Bellevue to Westbridge, like the college courses he took while he was incarcerated, the difficulty in transferring those units to his new university, the financial aid situation, and his need for a job. Doctor Summers assured him that she would be with him every step of the way through his first year of college, including job searching if he wanted. He had heard that job assistance was something his parole officer would help with, though, so he preferred to use his time with her to discuss other things.

  He had been worried the first meeting with a new therapist would be awkward, but Doctor Summers had a serene presence that made him comfortable with her right away. The hour passed quickly, albeit without discussing anything particularly deep or meaningful, but in some ways, Jacob was grateful for the easy, surface-level conversation. He wasn’t sure how this new relationship would begin, and he had previously been concerned that she would want to delve too deep too quickly for his comfort. After that morning, however, his mind was put at ease with the pace and flow of their conversation.

  “Alright, so there a few logistics we need to go over before you head out of here,” the doctor announced, punctuating the last note she was taking in her miniature, white legal pad.

  “Okay,” Jacob agreed, sitting back in his seat while she perused his file.

  She flipped through her papers, scanning over the list of medications Jacob had been taking thus far. “How long have you been on estazolam?” she asked.

  “Since I started at Bellevue,” he answered. “So, about eight years, I guess.”

  “Really? Hm,” she pursed her lips, jotting something down on her notepad. “And when was the last time you experienced those night terrors?”

  “Um…,” he paused, thinking it over. “Honestly, I can’t remember,” he replied, surprising himself with that revelation.

  “Weeks, months, years…?” she shrugged, prodding for an estimation.

  “Years, for sure,” Jacob answered.

  “Great,” she nodded with a smile, recording that in her notes. “You know, Jacob,” she began, closing her file and folding her arms on top of it, giving him her full attention, “I prefer to focus on the counseling side of therapy, rather than the medical side,” she explained. “Not that there’s anything wrong with medication, of course, and it looks like most of the things your doctor has you on are pretty necessary for daily functioning,” she nodded, gesturing to the file. “But honestly, I’m not so sure I agree with keeping you on sedatives for this long.”

  Jacob’s heart raced a bit faster as a mild panic sank in, anticipating her next words.

  “Now, look, I know you’re dealing with a lot of new things right now, so I don’t want to spring any more big changes on you,” she reassured him, allowing him to take a calming breath. “I’m going to refill the prescription, for now, but that being said… if you feel so inclined to try sleeping without it…,” she trailed off with another casual shrug as she quickly filled out his prescription sheets and ripped them out for him.

  He nodded hesitantly.

  She gathered the papers together on her lap, grabbing a big, manila envelope from the bookshelf against the wall beside her and stuffing them inside. She handed it over to him with a smile, and he returned her grin politely, in spite of his anxiety over the thought of stopping his medication and potentially inviting those horrid nightmares back into his life.

  “I really think, given the other medications you’re on and all the progress you’ve made in getting past your PTSD, you’ll be just fine without them,” she encouraged. “But we’ll revisit that at the end of the year, once you’ve had a chance to get settled here and gotten through your first semester.”

  Jacob took in a deep breath. “Sounds good,” he fibbed.

  “Well, alrighty, then,” she stated, punctuating the statement by slapping her palms lightly on her lap. “It was wonderful to meet you today, Jacob. Do you have any other questions or concerns for me before I send you on your way?”

  “Uh,” he paused, racking his brain. “Not that I can think of, no.”

  “Sounds good,” she smiled. “Oh! One more thing,” she recalled, grabbing a business card from a small, cat-shaped holder on the bookshelf and handing it over to him. “This card has all of my contact information, including a work cell phone for any emergencies that may occur outside of office hours,” she explained.

  He nodded, looking over the card.

  “Emphasis on the word ‘emergency,’” she stated with polite severity. “I would appreciate your respect on that.”

  “Of course,” he nodded, slipping the card into the file with his prescriptions for safe keeping. “Thank you.”

  “And I don’t see a phone number here in your forms. Is there a way I can contact you if need be?” she asked, clicking her pen open to jot down his information.

  “Oh, um…,” he trailed off, pondering that for a moment. “Actually, I don’t have a phone right now.”

  “Okay,” she nodded, unfazed. “How about an email address?”

  “Uh… I don’t have one of those either,” he said. She pursed her lips at the predicament. “But I can set one up when I get back to school,” he offered.

  She smiled. “That would be great. And when you do, why don’t you send me a quick message so I have it for my records?” she suggested.

  “Yeah, of course. Will do,” he promised.

  “Perfect,” the doctor replied, rising and
placing her notebook on the chair behind her. Jacob followed as she led him to the door. “It was really great to meet you, Jacob,” she offered her hand for a shake.

  “Yeah, you too,” Jacob answered.

  “We’ll see you next week,” she said.

  He gave her a wave, nodded to the receptionist on his way out the door, and made his way to the bus stop with a smile on his face and his head held high. A weight was lifted off his shoulders after such a lovely first meeting with his doctor. He had been anxiously anticipating all of the worst scenarios that could arise, but she exceeded his expectations. In light of that, he walked into the office of his parole officer with newfound confidence. He vowed to stop expecting the worst and allowed himself a bit of hope, for once, that things would go smoothly.

  He checked in with the receptionist and waited a good twenty minutes in the lobby before she called him back. Stepping into the dimly lit hallway, his heartrate started to accelerate as she directed him to the door at the end of the hall. The name plate on the door read “Officer Johnathan Millburn.” Unlike with his therapist, he didn’t have any prior experience to fall back on when it came to parole. He had no idea what to expect, aside from the stories he had heard from his fellow patients at Bellevue. So, with a deep, calming breath, he reminded himself to hope for the best. He twisted the old, squeaky doorknob and put on his most confident face as he stepped into the small office.

  A gruff, unsmiling older gentleman sat at the desk in the center of the room. He flipped casually through papers, scowling at them from behind the tiny, rectangular reading glasses that rested on the tip of his nose. Not looking up upon Jacob’s entrance, he held out a hand and requested, “Urine sample,” in a tired, monotone voice.