Too many eyes, Edward thinks. The tingling areas on his skin grow hotter as he navigates the bustling sidewalk. He makes an about-face and, parting the crowd with his arms, hurries back toward his apartment building. Stinging pain spreads over him as if he were under attack from a swarm of bees. He shoves aside a man with a briefcase, apologizes, and begins running, peeling off his jacket and flinging it to the ground. He needs an alleyway, a doorway, a storefront — anywhere without eyes. But they’re everywhere. He feels about to burst into flames when his apartment building looms into view. Fight it for just a few more seconds. He could swear he sees smoke. Is it coming from him or that woman vaping? Not much time left. A couple more steps. “Don’t look at me!” he shouts to no one and everyone. Hand shaking, he taps in the code. No click. Holding his wrist with his other hand, he tries again. The lock releases; he barges through the door and collapses to the floor. Sweat stinging his eyes and soaking his shirt, he tries to catch his breath. As the hot spots subside, the elevator dings. Eyes emerge from the lift. Edward crawls to the stairwell just in time.
***
“Good morning, Edward. I thought we were going to try our first video session.”
Edward shuts his laptop, lays his phone on it, and, resting his elbows on the kitchen table, rubs his temples. “Can’t, Dr. Franklin.” The room is dimly lit. He hasn’t bothered turning on any lights and keeps the shades down throughout his apartment. A couple years ago, he was shocked by dangling eyes and doesn’t want the window washers to catch him off guard again.
“Maybe we’ll try video next time. So … how was your outing?” Sometimes Edward finds the doctor’s tone relaxing. Today it’s grating.
“Horrible. I told you I wasn’t ready.” Edward hears Dr. Franklin sigh. “I’m not blaming you. It’s just …”
“I understand, Edward. Try to relax. What happened?”
Edward takes a deep breath and describes feeling like he was going to burst into flames when people looked at him.
“I’m sorry you went through that. But you understand it wasn’t real, right?”
“In the moment it is. I —” Edward hears typing. “Am I on speaker? Is someone with you?”
“Making a couple notes, Edward. It’s just us here.”
“I’m getting worse instead of better.” Edward chews his cheek.
“Remember,” the doctor says, “sometimes we take a step back. It’s not uncommon with scopophobia. And the way it’s manifested in you is…”
“Bizarre, strange, weird. Whatever you call it, I’m a freak.”
“No, Edward, you’re someone who’s been through a lot and is trying to cope. Think about how far you’ve come. Just a few weeks ago, you were able to be among people for the first time in years.”
“That was at night. Fewer eyes.”
“A small step, but a step. Then you did the elevator exercise.”
Sweat slicks Edward’s palms as he recalls plunging into the lift and finding it packed. He was stuck facing everyone like an orchestra conductor who’d forgotten the score. “I felt my skin blistering under their gaze.”
“But you stayed … all three floors down to the lobby of your building. Another step.”
Edward shudders. “Maybe. But yesterday was a disaster.”
“I understand you’re upset, Edward, but these negative thoughts are only reinforcing your phobia. Let’s focus on what you did right.”
“What I did right?” Edward’s frustration starts to boil. “I panicked and ran.”
“It takes courage to face your fear, Edward. And it’s okay to have difficult days. You think people are staring at you, but they’re not. There’s nothing special about you.” Dr. Franklin clears his throat. “I mean that in a good way, Edward. You don’t look strange. You’ll beat this. Your condition is rare but not unheard of. Please —”
“Not unheard of? Really? Do other people with my ‘condition’ feel as if they’re burning when people look at them? Tell me, Doctor—”
“Breathe, Edward. As I said, sometimes there’s a step or two back. You—”
“Oh, I’ve fallen back more than a step or two. Yesterday I couldn’t watch TV. What’s next? Will I have to cover the mirrors? Sweat drips onto Edward’s phone. “Dr. Franklin, I dreamt I was married. My sweet wife wore a blindfold. We sewed our daughter’s eyes shut.” Edward’s heart races. “I’m your first hopeless case, Doctor.”
“What you endured in foster care was horrible, Edward. We need to address that … when you’re ready.”
A young boy trying to make himself invisible crouches in a basement utility room. A faint odor of fuel oil mingles with that of damp concrete. Please don’t find me please don’t find me. When the furnace ignites and roars, the boy flinches and gasps. “I see you,” a man’s voice singsongs.
“Don’t want to talk about it, Dr. Franklin. Don’t want to.” Edward stands. He sits. He rocks back and forth. “I’m sorry, Doctor. I need to go. Next time.”
“Edward-don’t let the past ruin your future. I can help but it’s up to—”
Panic tangling his thoughts, Edward disconnects the call, rushes to the bathroom and strips. In the shower, he can practically hear the cold water hissing as it hits his hot skin. When he steps out, he’s shocked to see the bathroom filled with steam. Edward wipes the fog from the mirror, gasps and twists away. After several moments, he puts his hand over his eyes and cracks his fingers to look at the image. “I see you.”
Edward wraps the towel around his waist, tramps wet footprints to the kitchen and calls Dr. Franklin.
*****
David Henson’s work has been nominated for four Pushcart Prizes, Best of the Net and two Best Small Fictions and has appeared in various journals including Maudlin House, Gastropoda, Literally Stories, Pithead Chapel, Gone Lawn, and Moonpark Review. His website is http://writings217.wordpress.com. His Twitter is @annalou8.
