“Looking at her like that, in hindsight, I think anyone could see she was ready to skip town.” Before the therapist could pry further, Dylan forced his voice back up to normal volume, maybe a little higher, and pushed his shoulders back. “But I don’t need a picture to know the dream girl looks like Mom; everyone who ever met her tells me all I need is a mirror to see what she looked like. I somehow got all her genes.” Dylan self-consciously ran a pale, delicate hand through his straight, jet-black hair. “The girl in the dream has the same features. Not Mom exactly, but similar.” The doctor jotted down another note. “And what do you feel about her, this girl in your dream?” “Wow, that’s not a stereotypical question, not at all.” Dylan grinned. “Still, better than ‘Tell me about your mother’.”
Richards didn’t return the grin.
“We will return to her soon enough, but I want to get a better idea of the dream first; then we’ll dig into causes. So, how do you feel about her?” “Nothing motherly, I’ll tell you that,” Dylan said, feeling a blush warm his face. He looked around the
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