“I don’t want you to deal with this alone.”“I have been alone my whole life.”“Shelly,” he whispers sadly. “I fucked up, but I can fix it.”“It’s broken for good, Todd,” I whisper. “We can’t be fixed.”A knock bangs at the door. “Hello, Shelly. My name is Erica and I am a psychologist. We had an appointment booked for this morning.”Grateful for the interruption, I smile. “Yes, of course. Come in, please.”I’ve been in rehab for two weeks. It’s been six weeks since I was shot. I finally got the message through to Todd and he stopped coming to see me, although he still rings me every morning and night. The psychologist has diagnosed me with Stockholm syndrome, and so, for now, I am just playing along and agreeing with themSix long weeks since I lost the other half of me.Does he think about me all the time, like I do him? Sometimes I wake up and I feel like I won’t be able to survive another hour without him.Are they right?Am I crazy?It doesn’t really matter anymore, I suppose, an
Last Updated : 2024-08-18 Read more