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Summer lets herself in now. After knocking on my door constantly and me resolutely ignoring her, she realised she was going to have to take matters into her own hands if she wanted me to take my meds. I regret giving her a key, but I feel like she would find a way to get one again anyway if I did change the locks. And I just can’t be bothered.
The only words we’ve exchanged have been about this. Me insisting she can leave the drugs with me and I can take care of myself, Summer protesting that since the prescription is now in her name, she has to administer them herself. She watches me like a damn hawk, inspecting my tonsils each time for proof that I’ve swallowed.
I mean sure, she’s tried apologising a handful of times each visit, but my stony silence on the matter is wearing her down. She barely bothers now.
She looks miserable to be sure, but then again, so do I. If I’m not texting Cove or Bhodi, I don’t feel joy.
I could almost be persuaded to soften towards Summer if it weren’t for her occasional “I’m sorry but it was for your own good” bullshit she still attempts sporadically. Apologies should never contain a but or an if.
Not that I’m used to being apologised to, I’m usually the one having to say I’m sorry all the time. The first time I said “I’m sorry if…” I never got to finish the sentence because my dad backhanded me so hard I passed out.
It’s been a week since I came out of the hospital and I’m going stir crazy despite daily therapy sessions. Thankfully, just the talking kind. The highlight of my days has been speaking to Cove, not my therapist – though talking to him hasn’t been all that bad either.
“What are you thinking, Malia?”
“Hmm?”
“I think you left me for a second there,” Dr. Jones chuckles gently.
I glance at the computer screen and sigh.
No matter how much I try to deny it, there’s no escaping the fact that I have a crush on my therapist. He’s absolutely gorgeous, undeniably. But it’s more than that. He gets me. Or at least, he accepts me for who I am. He gets to see the ugly sides of me that I hide from Cove and Bhodi, even Summer. And he’s not repulsed by them. If anything, he encourages me to embrace those parts of myself too, to see myself as a whole person with flaws, rather than a fractured being. I break off the parts of me that are anything less than perfect, and there’s not a lot of ‘me’ left now.
He’s trying to make me see how unhealthy my obsessions with perfection and control are, but I refuse to talk about the root cause of my problems.
And yet, he doesn’t give up on me. Maybe it’s crazy, but it feels like he’s truly invested in helping me. In helping me to help myself. Maybe it’s normal behaviour for a therapist, but I’ve never had one like him before. It’s no wonder I have a crush on him.
And although I keep telling myself that nothing could ever happen, my brain isn’t listening and I’m not getting over it.
Seeing him every day this week and hearing the genuine concern in his voice is not helping matters either. I feel like my brain and my attention is constantly being pulled in three different directions: Cove, Bhodi and the doctor.
It’s ridiculous.
I’mridiculous.
“Sorry, Doctor.”
“You never have to apologise for being lost in your thoughts, Malia.”
“I know.” I sigh again. I really suck at this.
“What would you like to talk about?”
“I don’t know,” I tell him honestly. I’m not evasive, my head’s all over the place.
“Do you want to talk about Summer?”
“No.”
“What about your parents?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Shall we discuss your latest stay in hospital?”
The colour drains from my face and I visibly shake.
“Okay, I’ll take that as a no too then. What about the music? Have you had a chance to listen to any of the songs I sent you yet?”
