The Fall Before Flight

by L.M. Halloran

Maybe I am a sociopath, but I don’t think so. I have feelings aplenty, just not fear. I love my twin, robust red wines, blueberry pancakes, and eighties flicks. And I even love my father. I loathe my ex and the dumb cow he screwed in our bed. I abhor the smell, texture, and taste of pickles. Baby animals make me cry, and there’s nothing funnier than crass jokes. See? Feelings. And I have a conscience. I don’t willfully hurt or manipulate others, unless they deserve it. I’m not crazy. Then again, crazy people rarely think they are.

I’m not actually sorry—I’m annoyed.

A weird sense of disassociation tingles through me—I’m that fence, visible one second and invisible the next. Impossible to pin down. Impossible to reach.

Dr. Chastain sighs. “Amelia.” Pleased to have elicited a response—a sigh from him is the equivalent of another man’s scream—I smile and flop into his usual seat during our private sessions. Throwing my bare, tanned legs over the arm of the oversized leather chair, I examine my fingernails.

“Are you all right?” he asks, eyes scanning my features. Unnerved by his proximity, I sneer. “If I were all right, do you think I’d be in a treatment facility for fucked-up adult children?”

“I’m broken,” I whisper. His lips graze the top of my head. “Everyone’s broken. Some of us are just better at gluing the pieces back together.”

He’s at least eight inches deep, a dirty-talking, hair-pulling fiend wrapped up in a suit-wearing, control-freak package. I’m ruined for life. But what a sweet way to go out.

He grunts. “Then what’s the point, huh? Why are we here?” I meet his dark, tired eyes. “Because somewhere inside us is a person who wants to live and be happy.” “And are you, Mia? Happy?” I snort. “No. But that’s got nothing to do with Oasis. But you know what? Today I can honestly say I want to live. And that, my friend, is a goddamn miracle.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers softly, fiercely. “If I could have found you in another time, another place…”

“No more accidents or stunts, Amelia. When you feel overwhelmed, remember that feelings aren’t facts. The storm will pass. Always. Find something that brings you happiness and give it all your passion.”

“You don’t have to answer. I understand. And fuck, I’m proud of you.

Dr. Wilson smiles. “You never needed fear, Amelia. You just needed to feel safe.”

“Amelia,” he whispers. His eyes lift to mine, indigo in the candlelight. “I want you so much.” Danger has never sounded so good.