The Edge of Normal Read Online Free Page A

smoothly. “You can take pride in that, and you don’t need to be angry with yourself. There is no timeline.”
    Reeve places her fingertips against her temples, pressing hard, as if trying to force her thoughts into place.
    “But you are the one who is having difficulty connecting with others,” he continues, “and you are the one judging yourself for it, don’t you see?”
    “Okay, but the thing is,” she takes a breath and says carefully, “I’ve been reading some of your studies.”
    “You have.” He says this as a statement, as if he knew it all along.
    “The one last month in the American Journal of Forensic Psychology , for instance.”
    “And?”
    “And I think I’ve found myself in there.”
    He sighs. “Reeve, we’ve talked about this. You know I wouldn’t write about you without your permission. My articles are based on other cases.”
    “Well, but anyway, I recognized myself, okay?”
    “How do you mean?”
    “In the part about being hypercontrolled. About being ‘locked in a phase of arrested recovery.’”
    “Is that what you think?”
    She gives a small shrug. “Don’t you?”
    “Reeve, listen. That article is about a completely different situation, about a young woman who was imprisoned by her father. You were both young, you both suffered. But incest and sadism have very different psychic impacts.”
    “I know all that.”
    He’s watching her, and she knows that he understands what she doesn’t need to say: that even after all these years, even knowing that she is safe in San Francisco while Daryl Wayne Flint is incarcerated far away, the dark years of her captivity still linger like a bad taste. “Intellectually, I know it,” she says, glancing around at the Persian rug, the framed art.
    When her gaze settles back on Dr. Lerner, he leans toward her, saying, “Reeve, I know you read the studies, and I commend you for wanting to understand more about the long-term psychological effects of captivity.” His voice is soft but heavy with emphasis. “But not everything in the literature applies to you.”
    She makes a face. “The curse of being self-absorbed.”
    He sits quietly, watching her.
    “Okay. I know. I can’t assume that every article on these subjects has bearing on my individual situation,” she says, parroting his jargon. “But I just want to stop feeling like I have this ugly part of myself that no one can possibly understand. I want to have a normal life and be a normal adult.” She glances at him and then looks away. “I know you don’t like that word, but you know what I mean.”
    “Reeve, you are normal. But you’ve survived a uniquely traumatic situation. That’s no small thing, and it’s understandable if you’re still having trouble adjusting, or if you’re uncomfortable with men, or—”
    “I’m comfortable with you.”
    “So give yourself some credit. And relax. Because you’re still young, and you can’t let your desire for self-protection preclude you from having any new relationships for the rest of your life.”
    “Why not?”
    An elastic silence stretches between them. She knows this was a flip question, and that he is waiting for her to come up with her own answer. But she holds her breath, settles back on the sofa, and stubbornly says nothing.
    He taps his chin with his thumb, studying her. “Okay, here’s your homework,” he says, as he often does when their session concludes. “Think about your own personal definition of a comfortable relationship: friend or romance, asexual or bisexual or whatever. Nothing is off-limits. And if you don’t want to share the exact details with me, that’s fine. Consider it private, and consider that you are in absolute control. But give yourself permission to at least think about making a true, intimate connection with someone, even if you’re only fantasizing about it at this point. How’s that?”
    “An intimate connection?”
    “Correct.”
    “Just try to imagine it, is all?”
    He