Page 85

“No, of course not!” I said, outraged. “They were good, ordinary, musical, academic people. Both of them, and I loved them very much.” My voice cracked.

“So how do you feel about their deaths?”

I gaped at him in horror.

“How do I feel? How do I feel!” My voice climbed two octaves. “How do you think I feel? I’m devastated. And really, really fucking angry they’re gone. I can’t believe they’re no longer here and I miss them so much. How would you feel if all the people you loved and who loved you disappeared one day? If they were mangled in a horrific accident that left you alive with barely a scratch? How do you think I feel? My heart has been smashed into a million pieces. I’m broken. I’m angry. I’m hurt. I want to be with them. I don’t understand why I survived! I want to be with them—” I stopped. Broken, breathless, and sobbing as tears streamed down my face.

I should be with them.

“Did you intend to take those sleeping tablets?”

“No!” I shouted. “And how do you know about that?”

“Dr. Mills—Claire—briefed me. Is that why you threw them all on the kitchen floor?”

“I didn’t throw them on the kitchen floor.”

“Oh?”

“I didn’t throw them on the kitchen floor!” I shouted again, more vehement this time.

“Okay. I believe you. Who did?”

“Someone else did. Please don’t ask me anymore about that,” I whispered.

“Okay.” He paused to write some notes, then looked up. “Guilt’s a very natural response to surviving an accident that killed the rest of your family.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

“Is that the only reason you feel guilty?”

“I spoke to Dr. Mills about all this. Did she not brief you about that too?”

“It must be awful feeling that you’re a burden to Dylan.”

I flushed. “Yes. He’s even paying for my education now,” I said through gritted teeth.

Make this stop!

“It’s Dylan’s money. He’s your guardian. He’s doing what he thinks is best for you as anyone in a parental role would. Has he complained to you about this? Has he made you feel like you’re a burden?”

I shook my head.

“You need to accept what he’s doing for you in the spirit that he’s doing it. He obviously cares for you. For all intents and purposes, you’re his sister’s child. Your parents would have done the same for his children. It’s what families do, Emily.”

“Their duty,” I whispered.

“You think he’s doing this from a sense of duty? Is that so bad?”

“Duty has obligation behind it, and therefore, I’m an obligation.”

“You’re overthinking this. Do you think you would be here if Dylan was just acting from a sense of duty?”

I didn’t want to do this. I didn’t want to think about Dylan and all he’d done for me. It added to my guilt. And I didn’t want to care for him. I didn’t want to care for anyone.

But images of him flashed through my mind, unbidden: Dylan soaking and standing with me in the rain, admiring my painting, shaking me hard when he thought I’d taken the tablets, grabbing me when I was running, hurting his feet, pulling me into his lap and holding me…

I gasped.