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October 11, 2028 - Wednesday

"I don't think you're looking at this in the correct light, Isa. This is good. This is progress," Dr. Russell tells me. I am sitting on the brown couch in her office, the rough texture scratching the back of my thighs through my yoga pants. I'm not hearing her, not really. Her voice makes her sound like she's underwater. Instead, I focus on the bright red lipstick stain on her front teeth as she continues to tell me that the treatment is working.

"I am supposed to be forgetting him. That's what you said would happen, but now I'm dreaming about him all the time."

Dr. Russell pauses, studying me, waiting for me to say something else, like there is some piece of information I am forgetting to tell her. But I've already been sitting in her office for an hour, telling her every detail about these dreams.

"You have to trust the process, Isa." I hate the way she says my name. I have told her it's "EYE-suh" more times than I can remember, and I'm tired of reminding her. I can't hear her anyway. "Let's try another session," she adds, standing from the couch and brushing off the front of her skirt.

I follow her through the short hallway in her office and down the stairs into the newly refurbished basement of the building. The walls are mint green, and Dr. Russell says the color is supposed to be calming. She ushers me into the familiar room with a large metal machine, similar in appearance to the ones they used to use to detect cancer in people years ago. I climb onto the cot and lay my head back as Dr. Russell presses a series of buttons and injects a cold, clear liquid into my arm. My brain feels fuzzy, and the colors in the room are heightened, sharper. Dr. Russell's voice is the last thing I hear, instructing me to close my eyes and focus on the sound of the ocean rushing in my ears.