beautifully broken:if i break 3(36)

“Is it okay if I give you a hug?” she asks cautiously, and I can feel my cheeks heat up, embarrassed about what happened the last time I saw her. I nod, meeting her half way. Her embrace isn’t awkward or stiff, which is how I expected it to be, but warm and comforting. I wonder if the Helen I knew, is the real Helen. Cool, calm, collected and sharp. Was that the role she had to play to observe me, to make sure I was a good fit for him? Or is she playing the role now as a nice kind ear just ready to listen and filled wisdom and knowledge. The thought makes me stiffen up. She pulls back from me, her expression sad and full of sincerity.

“I just want to say how sorry I am Lauren,” she says with my hands in hers, “and if someone did to me what I did to you I would have reacted just as you did.”

“I know why you did what you did. I don’t think it was right, and I really wish that you didn’t, but that’s in the past. I really need your help in understanding what our future is going to be like,” I tell her.

“Right,” she nods in understanding and gestures to one of the big white chairs in front of her desk. I take a seat in what feels like a piece of heaven and hope I don’t drift off right there.

Grace reappears with a pitcher of lemon iced water and two glasses which she pours for both of us.

“Thank you Grace, that will be all, and can you please make sure I have no interruptions?" Grace nods in response before closing the door behind her as she leaves.

“How are you?” she asks and I start to answer, attempting to tell her that I’m fine and just ready to work on making things right, but the moment my mouth opens my lip starts to quiver and I unleash everything that has been pent up. I cry for what Cal and I had, I cry for not knowing the truth for so long. I cry for the dreams I had for him and I that will never happen, for what Chris and I had seeming so far away, for everything that I have no control over, for the things that I can never fix, what I don’t even know needs to be fixed. I cry in her arms for I don’t even know how long until I can’t cry anymore. When I’m done she hands me the glass of water, after I use the Kleenex on her desk to clean my face.

“How do you feel now?” she asks, going back around her desk and sitting down. I manage a smirk.

“I feel numb now, which is better than how I felt before I got here,” I admit.

“How are things with the Scotts?” she asks, her tone empathetic.

“Mr. Scott hates me,” I chuckle.

“He hates you?”

“Yes. He hates me. He hates Cal and he thinks I trigger Cal so he in turn hates me.”

“He has never been fond of Cal but to reflect his hate on you…”

“Is he right? Do I bring Cal out?” I ask her.

“It’s not a bad thing Lauren.” I look at her in disbelief.

“Have you grown to resent him, Lauren?” she asks and my mouth falls agape.

“Of course not,” I say, feeling my defenses rise.

“I don’t mean to insult you and I could see it being a perfectly normal reaction after everything.”

“I don’t resent Cal. I resent some of the things that he does and how he goes about things but I could never resent him. I love him.”

“Good,” Helen says with a warm smile.

“You’re the only person that seems to think so,” I say, resting my head in my hands.

“Do you feel guilty for loving Cal since you’ve met Chris?” I look up at her and my eyes glide to the wall full of certificates and degrees and it hits me that Helen is the real deal. I never knew her this way. I knew she was smart and she used to be a doctor, though I never really thought to ask her what kind, I just had her pegged as this beautiful, trophy wife.

“I do.” I admit, and it feels good to be able to say it out loud.

“Since I’ve met him and his parents and knowing all they’ve been through, I feel guilty for wanting Cal back. Especially knowing that when he’s back they lose their son.” She nods as if she understands and leans forward on her desk.

“The hardest thing about treating patients with DID, Dissociative Identity Disorder, is getting them to understand that each and every alter is a side of them. To not look at them differently or as an appendage they want severed.”

“I-I still feel really new to this.” I let out a deep sigh. “This is just from what I was able to pull off google, but integration is the final goal?”

“Yes. But it has to be their goal. As long as they still fight one another and can’t come to common ground, integration isn’t a possibility,” she explains sullenly. I run my hands across my face.