Almost Perfect - Brian Katcher [103]
I thought back to my freshman year when some burnout senior had hanged himself in an abandoned barn. I wondered if he’d tried to warn anyone.
“Can I see her?”
“In a moment. I just wanted to talk with you for a few minutes.”
My defenses went up again. Was she going to try to get me to talk about Sage? Reveal things she’d told me in private? Or … talk about what Sage and I had done?
“So talk.”
The doctor toyed with her glasses. “Sage has told me a lot about you. She talks about you at every therapy session.”
“What does she say?” I asked, eager for information and a little flattered that Sage discussed me with her therapist.
The doctor flipped through a file on the table. “I’m afraid that’s confidential. Though she thinks highly of you. She still does. And that may be a problem.”
I suddenly felt trapped. I’d heard how these psychiatrists can twist your words, make you say things you didn’t mean, reveal things you didn’t want to admit. She continued.
“Logan, when people visit here, they usually feel guilty. They think of a thousand things they did wrong, ways they feel they might have hurt the patient. They’re often desperate to make things right.”
I remembered telling Sage I couldn’t see her again, then later driving her to the hospital, her face a bloody mess. I would have done a lot to undo that.
“What’s your point?”
“My point is, please be careful what you say. When you see her, you’ll be ready to promise the world, to say anything to make her happy. But don’t. This”—she gestured to the empty walls—“isn’t the real world. Things that happen in here aren’t the same as on the outside. I guess what I’m trying to say is, be careful what you tell her. Don’t make her any promises that you might not be able to keep. You’ll end up hurting her.”
The doctor was clearly warning me against trying to get back together with Sage. I’d been mulling over the same thing. I’d even considered asking her to take me back, hoping it would help her out of her depression. Or help me.
“What business is that of yours?” I asked, trying to remind the doctor that I wasn’t her patient and didn’t have to do what she said.
“It’s my business because I care about her. Just like you do. Sage is hurting right now. Just go in there and listen. She needs an understanding friend right now more than anything.”
I wouldn’t admit it, but the doctor was right. I would have promised Sage whatever she asked to make her happy again, but when she left the hospital, nothing would be different.
“Are we through here?”
Dr. McGregor smiled and led me through another door. It was an airy room, painted light green, with bright, wire-mesh windows and many plastic plants. Games, puzzles, and books were stacked on various tables. Overhead, a TV watched us with a blank blue face.
Sage sat slumped on a couch staring at her hands. She was wearing sweatpants, a sweater, and slippers. Those might have been men’s clothes, but it didn’t matter; she still looked like a girl. An ID bracelet was strapped around her wrist. Her face was turned away.
“I’ll let you two talk,” said the doctor. “And remember …” She pointed to an overhead security camera, then left.
Sage didn’t acknowledge me, just kind of sat there. Jesus, they hadn’t drugged her, had they? I sat down on the same couch, a cushion away.
“Sage?”
She didn’t look up. “You shouldn’t have come, Logan.”
“How could I not have come?” That sounded too defensive, like I was doing her a favor by being there.
Sage looked up at me, and I cringed before I could stop myself. My face had almost totally healed. Hers had gotten much worse. Her left eye, nose, and lip had all swollen together, melting the side of her face into some kind of grotesque clown mask. Her braces had been removed, and there was a gap where a tooth had been. What would that maniac have done if Sage hadn’t pretended to be unconscious? That guy might have killed her.
“Pretty nasty, huh?” said Sage.
“You look fine.”
“Liar.” There was just a hint