Dr. Leslie said as she opened her office door. I had been a patient of Dr. Leslie Ackerman since I was fifteen-years-old when my mother must have had a lapse in reasoning and decided that she wanted to act like a parent for a day or two, deciding that we needed to go talk to someone to help bring us closer. I didn’t need a shrink. I needed a mother who was around and actually pretended to care even just a little about me. I couldn’t believe that I knew that, even at fifteen, and my mother hadn’t a clue. I continued to see the doctor after my father’s death, and saw her a few times when I needed someone to talk to when I was home from college. It had been years since we had last spoken, but since the night that Will had witnessed my nightmare a few weeks ago, they were becoming more and more frequent. She opened the door further, allowing me to enter. “Have a seat,” she said, pointing to the overstuffed leopard print chair that I remembered. I looked around her office.
