I want her to have the upperhand here, but she doesn’t seem to want to lead the conversation. "You wanted to talk," she says after handing the waiter the menu back. "So talk."
I nod, taking a sip of lemon water. My mouth is dry. "Can I start with an apology?"
"You apologize a lot."
"Yeah, well, I fuck up a lot."
She raises her eyebrows. She doesn’t believe me. "I don't know why, but I find that hard to believe."
I wave her off. "I assume today was hard for you."
"Was that standard for you?" She asks. I watch as she grabs her lemon water. Her hand is shaking a bit, but her back is square, and I can see defiance written all over her body. As I look at her, her brown eyes flicker as she gazes up at me. She’s fighting her instincts here. I think she wants to run away. I hate that I feel like I’ve hurt her.
I sigh, choosing my words carefully. "Are you asking me if that was what it was like with you?"
She considers this. "No. I'm asking if that's normal, and if I was normal, so I guess…I mean, I would like to know."
I shake my head, waving her off. I guess I need to go into this. She deserves to know the truth. I can tell the guys about it tomorrow, or maybe tonight when I get back to the hotel. "It's gendered."
"What?"
"The way people manifest...the way the phenomena looks with each person. It's gendered."
"What?"
"Men and boys are more likely to be violent and inappropriate. Women and girls are more likely to be catatonic, unresponsive, prone to anxiety. When possessed women have fits, they're more likely to sob or retrieve."
"Okay…"
"I mean, look, it's never the same for everyone and obviously it's all a spectrum, but yeah. Your presentation was pretty typically feminine."
"My presentation?" she asks incredulously. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "Fuck. Are you supposed to sleep with your patients?"
"I don't have patients," I respond. I sound angrier than I expect to. I don't want to get into an argument with her, especially not in public and especially not about this. I remind myself that her anger is righteous. Even then, I can't help but grind my teeth at the accusation in her words. "And that's for a reason."
"Because you wanted to help those afflicted with demonic possession instead?" she asks. "And then sleep with them. Once you were done."
"You’re the first…you’re the only one," I say.
She wrinkles her nose. "Don’t I feel special," she says. I don’t think she feels special. She should. "But you are a licensed psychiatrist, right? So what is it about demonic possession that…"
The waiter arrives with her starter and she digs into her mozzarella sticks before I can answer her. I wonder if she'll go back to that.
"When you first found me, what was I like? Do you remember?"
I close my eyes, remembering the smell in the apartment as we first walked inside. The smell is almost always the same; sweet but rancid, like fruit that's been left out for too long. She doesn't need to know that.
"How many details do you want?" I ask her.
She chews slowly, looking right at me as her eyes narrow. "All of them. And don't try to protect me. I need to know."
I sigh, my head suddenly pounding. I know she's right. I just hate it. I wish she wasn't asking me this. "Fine," I say. "Then I guess it all started with a phone call."