Don't you ever say

Why would he ever?

“Where are you now?” Megan asked.

Dorothea looked up and down the busy city street. She was somewhere between a depressing looking café and a depressing looking pharmacy. Dorothea was nervous. She didn’t want to be here, and now she was late and lost. In her desperation, she had called the psychiatrist’s office, but the receptionist had gone home early. The psychiatrist picked up. Every little mistake Dorothea made felt like another cross against her name.

“I’m outside a pharmacy, and there is a small, shitty looking café nearby,” Dorothea hadn’t meant to be so explicit.

“Can you see a red dog in the window of the pharmacy?” Megan asked.

Dorothea searched the pharmacy window with her eyes, sure enough there was a small toy red dog.

“You must be Dorothea”, Megan said.

Megan held out her hand and gestured to Dorothea to sit on either a white bean bag or white armchair. Megan matched her décor. She was tall. Blonde. Dressed in the strangest mix of white and beige. Dorothea thought to herself that this was a mistake, but Megan was the only psychiatrist nearby that had any free appointments.

“I was seeing someone, and it didn’t go well,” Dorothea fidgeted in her seat.

Words are easy sitting on the inside of Dorothea’s head, on the edge of her tongue. Getting those words out into the world was difficult. The room came in on Dorothea and she felt incredibly claustrophobic. The psychiatrist prodded Dorothea for more. The dam broke.

“I was seeing someone. Someone, yeah Keith. We were going out for maybe, you know, 12 weeks, no, it was 5 months. I don’t know why I said 12 weeks. Five months. Keith. We were dating. Dating. He was weird. Hot and cold. Weird. I didn’t know what to make of him, but I really liked him. Anyway, he did this weird thing. Like every couple of weeks, he would break up with me. On time, like a clock. I didn’t know it at first, but then, you know, after the seventh or eighth time, you tend to notice these sorts of things”.

Megan wrote everything down diligently. Everytime she thought Dorothea had finished, more came out. Megan wondered how someone could talk so much in only ten minutes.

“Now Keith, yeah Keith, he ruined my birthday. He ruined his. And after that, I couldn’t take it anymore. I told myself, the next time Keith breaks up with me, I’m going to agree and then, done. So sure as shit, time comes around almost two weeks later and Keith drops a late night text saying we should break up. So, like Johnny on the spot, I text back that I want to break up to.”

Megan held out her pen to grab Dorothea’s attention. Dorothea paused.

“Now, I have this part of the story. The bit I am having trouble following is what Keith said when he wrote back,” Megan said calmly.

“Silence. Nothing back that night. The next day Keith texts me this magnum opus, at least 500 words. I can’t understand half of it because it is gibberish, just nonsense. I ignored it. Then nothing again. Until that Friday night. Keith, he sends me a message around 1030pm telling me he has tested positive for HIV and that I might have it too. And I go into meltdown. The next day, I go to a clinic, get tested, have counselling, start popping all sorts of pills. The instant test comes back negative, but I am not good, it feels like the world is caving in. And this whole time in the back of my head, I am thinking – poor Keith. He must be devastated.

A few days later, he calls me, some of the stuff he says seems weird. He didn’t get any pamphlets, no counselling, no pills. Something’s not right. Then he asks me if I cheated on him. I said no. I mean, I thought about it. Normally, that is probably something I would do, but I liked Keith. A lot. I was in love with him. So, no, I didn’t sleep with anyone else. I say no. He asks me if I slept with some German guy, who’s a friend of a friend of his, which I did not,” Dorothea said.

“What’s the name of the German man?” asked Megan.

“It’s not important, it’s never important. You should know by now the German guy was a distraction, because Keith tells me he never had HIV. It was all a test. And I passed. He said ‘I’m so so sorry’. He said stills loves me, but I’m broken. I never thought he would do something like that. It’s so cruel. I can’t sleep. I haven’t slept more than an hour or two in past two months. I can’t sleep, I gamble. I can’t sleep, I drink. I have tried everything. It feels like someone ripped out my heart. My stomach. My soul. Why would he ever be so cruel to me?”.

Better times ahead

Dorothea could see the back of Peter’s head. Thick black hair spread everywhere on Dorothea’s spare pillow. Peter liked to sleep against the wall. Right up against the wall. Nestled there in his pajamas, quiet as a mouse. Peter was a freak. He always woke up looking great. He never had morning breath. He slept perfectly everytime. Never needed an afternoon nap. He could go to bed at any time and wake up refreshed at any time. He never woke up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom. He was a freak.

Peter had a gorgeous smile that gently crept across his face. His eyes were black, and his skin was flawless. Dorothea was in love. That kind of love that filled up her chest with warmth. It made her feel just that little bit more optimistic in the morning. It made going to work ok, because she knew that she would get to see him at night.

Peter rolled over, blinked his eyes a few times and woke up perfect. It was hard, but Dorothea both loved Peter and absolutely hated him. Dorothea had woken up almost an hour ago. Dragged her barely alive carcass to the bathroom and somehow summoned enough energy to attempt a shower. Thirty minutes later she came back from the bathroom, groomed to within an inch of her life, and she snuck back into bed. She had also hidden a bottle of mouthwash, some eyedrops, face wipes under her bed just in case she ever slept in and might only have a minute or two before Peter woke up.

Today was Sunday. It was almost two weeks until they were going on their surprise trip. Almost a month ago, Dorothea had found out that Peter had never been to Melbourne. She sussed out a weekend when they would both be free and had secretly booked flights and accommodation to Melbourne. Today was planning day. Today Dorothea had planned a secret number of activities to determine the types of restaurants, wineries and other places Peter would want to go to in Melbourne, without revealing that they were going to Melbourne.

“You look lost in thought,” Peter said.

Dorothea turned around and looked at Peter eating breakfast. She closed the fridge door and brought over the juice that Peter asked for. Eating was Peter’s weakness. It was the one thing he couldn’t do while still looking handsome. Food would go everywhere and today it did. Egg had dribbled all over his shirt. Dorothea has subconsciously brought over paper towels and handed them to Peter.

“We should hurry up, otherwise we are going to be late,’ Peter said.

Dorothea opened the door and saw a small package wrapped in brown paper sitting on her doorstep. She looked back for Peter but he had darted to use the toilet before they left. Dorothea thought about calling out to Peter about the package, but didn’t want to bother him in the bathroom. There was a small note tapped on the side of the package. Dorothea grabbed the package and stepped back into the doorstep to have a closer look. She unfurled the note. It said “I’m so so sorry”. Nothing else. Dorothea put the package inside her hallway cupboard and waited for Peter.

Don’t you ever say

“Where are you now?” Megan asks.

Dorothea shifted uncomfortably in her seat. It’s been almost three years and Megan has relocated her business to a place around 20 minutes out of the city. Dorothea could have probably found a better therapist, she could’ve probably found a closer therapist, but it would be a lot of effort to have to tell someone everything again.

“At home. I put the package near my kitchen. I look at it every day. I don’t know what he put in it.”

“Would you ever consider opening it?” Megan pressed.

Dorothea closed her eyes. She thought about the box. Its straight brown edges. The slightly frayed brown wrapping paper. That stupid note. He wasn’t ‘so so sorry’. Dorothea had a good idea what was inside the box. Keith was a jerk. It would most likely be some random collection of crap he thought Dorothea would never want back.

“I don’t know why you keep that box there,” Simon said.

Simon leaned up against Dorothea’s kitchen wall. He had a casual way of doing things that Dorothea liked. He held his morning coffee in one hand and a spoon in the other. He liked to gesticulate with the spoon while he drank his coffee every morning. He never got a drop of coffee on his suit. Dorothea liked that Simon kept spare clothes here. Made it feel like they were a real couple. Not just two people who met three weeks ago. It was a sudden escalation. Coffee on a Tuesday. Dinner on a Thursday. A weekend together. Simon had slept over almost every night since. Simon locked eyes on the package again and pointed his spoon towards it.

“Have you thought about throwing it out?” Megan asked.

“Everyday,” Dorothea said.

“Who are you with now?” Megan asked.

Simon passed a slice of pizza to Dorothea. He seemed so proud of his ‘invention’. Simon rolled the pizza up and then dipped it in the jar of aioli. He ate it with joy, careful not to get anything on his clothes. Dorothea tried it. It was pretty awesome. Simon cracked open two beers and passed one to Dorothea. She took her beer and drank it while slowly sneaking peaks at Simon watching TV. Dorothea thought this was great. It was simple. Sweet. Intimate. Fun. She finished her beer and laid down on the couch with her head in Simon’s lap. She could feel the warmth of his body. She was in love.

“Are you asleep?” Megan asked.

Dorothea shook her head and opened her eyes.

“No. Sorry. Sometimes, I get a little lost. I was with Simon,” Dorothea.

“Is the medication helping?” Megan asked.

Megan looked a little concerned. Dorothea didn’t want to lie. Most of the medication wasn’t helping at all, but she was able to get some sleep. Dorothea lied anyway. Megan noticed and decided to try something new to help push Dorothea forward.

“I want you to do some homework for me, Dorothea. I want you to start keeping a journal. When you have moments like before, I want you to record where you are, when you are, and who you are with. If its Peter, Simon or Keith, I think it would be helpful to know how you have partitioned this man in your memory. In your reality, you have split him up into different people, good memories, bad memories, and great ones. If we could start piecing these men, sorry, this man together, I could help you find out who he actually is.”