We'll Never Be Apart by Emiko Jean Page B

anything from you.” He takes a deep breath. “I’ll help you.”
    I am uncomfortable with this. I’m not used to people doing things for free. “Why?”
    He takes off his hat and runs a hand through his greasy hair. “You remind me of someone, all right?” I open my mouth but he rushes on. “Don’t ask me about it. That’s what you can do. Leave it at that. You remind of someone, and I’ll help you.”
    I don’t like it. But he’s offering to help, and I’m in no position to refuse. “Okay,” I say.
    â€œOkay.” He spits into his palm and holds it out for me to shake, a triumphant smile on his face, like the devil after he’s won someone’s soul. I grimace and back away. “C’mon, Sparky. You’re gonna have to get over your aversion to fluids if we’re going to do this. It’s blood in, blood out.”
    I open my palm and remember a time when Jason traced my lifeline with his finger. It was the first time we held hands. I spit.
    Soon. I’m coming for you soon, Cellie.
    Â 
    â€œHow was your first day back, Alice?” Dr. Goodman asks. We sit across from each other. It’s still raining out, and in the corner of the room, just above Doc’s right shoulder, is a water stain, wetness collects in the middle of it, and drips into a metal bucket. One drop. Two drops. Three drops.
    â€œAlice?” He prompts me.
    I map the lines on his face. How was my first day back? I think about the sugary vanilla scent, the taste of stale cake in my mouth, and the sound of flies buzzing. “It was great.” My voice sounds a touch too high, falsely bright.
    â€œNurse Dummel told me that you were ill,” he says.
    I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say, so I shrug. “Yeah, she said something about the medication not being right.”
    He scrutinizes me. “Tell me about it.”
    I choose ignorance instead of confrontation. “I just got really sick all of a sudden.”
    â€œWould you tell me if something else was going on?” His voice settles over me, wrought with concern.
    â€œWhat else could be going on?” I volley back.
    â€œI don’t know. I can’t see inside your head. But you’re on some pretty heavy medications, and there can be all kinds of side effects. If we’re going to have a successful relationship, you need to trust me. Part of that trust is telling me what you’re feeling. Do you trust me, Alice?”
    He’s searching, and I know what he wants, so I say the only thing I know that’s acceptable. “Yes, of course I do.” But I don’t. Not really. Couldn’t even if I tried. Distrust is second nature to me. Like swallowing or breathing.
    â€œExcellent.” He settles back in his chair. “And how’s the journaling been going?”
    I think of the leather-bound notebook he gave me just under twenty-four hours ago. I’ve already filled a good portion of the pages. “It’s all right.”
    â€œGood, good,” he says, as if I’ve conceded something. He picks up his ever-present legal pad from the side table. Pen poised, he says, “Now I want you to tell me about the fire again.”
    I tell the doctor the same thing I told him yesterday. Cellie set the fire. I know he wants more, that he will keep digging like an archaeologist, trying to unearth all my secrets until they’re brushed and picked clean. He asks me about Jason, and that’s when the cooperative rope breaks. I take out a piece of origami paper and fold it, making a frog. He feigns interest and asks me about my origami. But I stay mute. He scribbles on his yellow legal pad, page after page. We don’t talk for the rest of the session.
    Afterward, Dr. Goodman seems exhausted. He hands me two cups. One holds another white pill and the other just a swallow of water. I go through the motions again, show Doc that