Thin Page 13

  Another assignment. Great. Between her and Dr. Iverson, it seemed I was in for a lot of self-discovery over the next two months.

  “I want you to make a collage, of all the things you think encompass who you are. The more important the object or idea, the larger I want it to be on the canvas. This is a helpful tool in determining where your priorities lie, and can perhaps give perspective on what needs to change to help your ongoing recovery.”

  “I can do that,” I replied. “How long do I have?”

  She smiled and patted my shoulder. “As long as you need. I’m always here if you need guidance.”

  Leaving me alone at my easel, she began to pack up to leave for the night. Slipping out quietly, she left me alone with my clean canvas, and the noises coming from the next room. Unable to think past those sounds that reminded me he was in the next room, I rose and stomped toward the door. I stood in the open doorway for what felt like an eternity, watching him work, his gaze so intent on what he was doing that he didn’t notice me at first.

  Finally noticing me, he straightened, setting his tools aside and raising his goggles. His gaze locked with mine as he removed his gloves, but he didn’t talk. He simply clenched his jaw and stared, seeming to wait for me to speak.

  “You couldn’t even bother to tell me yourself?” I asked, my voice low. “You send Dr. Iverson to do your dirty work?”

  “I think we both know we couldn’t go on the way we were. Our relationship as counselor and patient has been compromised, and I can’t in good conscience keep treating you.”

  Coming fully into the room, I slammed the door behind me, casting us into near darkness. “Stop talking to me like a patient, and speak to me like a goddamn person, Royce!”

  Removing his goggles completely and throwing them across the room, he took a few steps toward me, then paused as if thinking better of it.

  “Okay, you want me to talk to you like a person? I like you … more than I should, and more than is appropriate. I almost kissed you, and it could have cost me my job. It might have cost you your place in this program. One of us had to do the right thing.”

  Grunting in frustration, I ran my fingers through my hair. “It was a stupid mistake, and we could have gotten past it. But, instead, you decide to throw me aside.”

  “That’s not what this is,” he argued.

  “Like hell it’s not,” I hissed.

  He crossed his arms over his chest and gave me a pointed look. “Why do you care? You have Aaron, right?”

  His statement caught me off guard, as I read his tone of voice and what it conveyed. He was jealous.

  Lifting my chin, I raised an eyebrow at him. “I guess I do.”

  Snorting, he turned and stared across the room, as if he couldn’t bear the sight of me anymore. “Then you don’t need me. You have a facility full of counselors, and a man waiting for you back home. Stop playing with fire, and stay away … or I can’t promise I won’t stop giving a damn about that guy, or the rules, or what’s right or wrong.”

  I shuddered at the thought of him losing control, and taking me with him. “You say that like it’s a certainty.”

  He glanced at me, his eyes unblinking as he pierced me with his penetrating stare. “It is.”

  We fell silent again for a beat, avoiding looking at each other. The tension made being in such a confined space with him unbearable, and I felt like I might burst into flames.

  “Can’t you see, I’m trying to protect you?” he whispered. “If we kept going the way we were, it couldn’t have ended well. The last thing I want is for you to be hurt.”

  Shaking my head, I opened the door. “Too late,” I declared, before leaving and slamming it behind me.

  Ignoring the canvas and easel, I left the room altogether, forcing myself not to look back. I decided then and there, that the best thing I could do was throw myself into getting better so I could put this place, and Royce, behind me.

  Chapter Fourteen

  4 weeks later …

  My second month at Willow Creek seemed to pass even faster than the first. I settled back into my routine, with Tiffany as my group therapy counselor instead of Royce. I did my best to pretend he didn’t exist, which actually became easier than I’d first thought it might be. Whenever I entered the art studio, I found the door to the sculpting room closed off. Whether he was in there alone, or working with another patient, that door separated him from the studio. He either arrived before me, or came after I’d already set up, breezing past me without so much as a glance in my direction. When I left, he remained behind the closed door. I never even passed him in the hallway before or after my group therapy sessions, and soon it was as if he’d never existed at all for me.

  So, I did the only thing that I could: focused on my recovery. By the end of my second month at Willow Creek, my food journal showed I was eating three squares a day. My medical chart showed weight gain of ten pounds, and my energy levels were astounding. I was working out daily, sometimes twice a day if I could manage it. My sessions with Dr. Iverson were having quite an effect as well. Together, he and I had determined something I’d always known deep down, but had tried not to consider. My mother’s expectations had guided a lot of my decisions, and while I wasn’t willing to place all the blame at her feet, I knew that I couldn’t go on living this way.

  When I’d taken my career list back to Dr. Iverson, it had taken me only one session to sense the pattern he was trying to show me. I knew the pattern needed to be broken, but finding a way to go about it would be harder than coming to this realization had.

  The afternoon before my second family day saw me in Dr. Iverson’s office, with the registration packet in my lap. Watching me with that sharp gaze of his, he folded his hands in his lap and waited.

  “I think … I might want to change my major.”

  Until I said the words out loud, I hadn’t realized I’d already made this decision. I’d been wrestling with it for the past month, ever since Dr. Iverson and I had gone through my career list, only to discover that I’d never allowed myself to consider any career path my mother deemed impractical for any reason. While I’d shown an aptitude for math at a young age, I could never remember actually choosing it for myself. A lot of my ambitions began to feel less like my own and more like someone else’s. Even cheerleading, which I’d enjoyed, had come into my life as an activity to put on my transcripts; a means to an end.

  “That’s a big decision,” Dr. Iverson replied.

  His tone didn’t indicate whether he approved or not.

  I nodded. “Yes … but I realized that a career in finance for the rest of my life isn’t what I want. I mean, I’m good at it … like, crazy good. But I thought a lot about what you said, and I realized you were right. I’ve been perfect little Kinsley my whole life, doing everything I can to please everyone else. Being perfect even ruined the things I actually loved, like cheerleading, and my relationship with Aaron. I got so caught up in the competitive nature of it, that it became just one more thing to stress over, one more thing I had to be perfect for. I just don’t want to do it anymore.”

  “So … you plan to return in the fall to study something new?”

  “Yes,” I answered without hesitation. I took a deep breath and smiled as I exhaled. It felt good to say a second time.

  “Any ideas what you want to study?”

  Holding up the course catalog to the page I had dog-eared weeks ago when first toying with my decision, I grinned.

  “Art.”

  Dr. Iverson smiled. “Ah, yes. You excel at painting, right? Joy speaks highly of you … even wants to display some of your work in the studio after you’ve left. Are you certain the decision is wise?”

  Laughing, I shook my head. “No. In fact, I’m terrified that I’m making the biggest mistake of my life. The thing is, I’ve never let myself make mistakes. I’ve always taken the safe road, chosen the path I knew would work out, because it was the smart path. But it’s not making me happy. It’s ac
tually been killing me.”

  Inclining his head, he raised his eyebrows and studied me in silence for a moment. “I think someone’s had their breakthrough.”

  I laughed. “I guess so.”

  “Just be careful,” he said. “Change is good, especially when pinpointing the areas of your life that might be triggering unhealthy behaviors. However, too much too fast could cause stress, which can also trigger those same behaviors. Your perfectionism doesn’t have to be a negative thing all the time. It’s part of who you are. It’s what causes you to be so good as an artist, because you are going to work on a painting until it’s just right, perhaps giving it the attention to detail other artists might not. This is a good thing, so don’t feel that you need to stifle it all the time. It’s important to find balance.”

  Glancing down at the course booklet and forms in my lap—the spaces still blank aside from my name and other pertinent information—I sighed.

  “So … maybe I should wait before I decide for sure?”

  “It might be best to wait before making a move on your decision. I won’t invalidate your choice, because it sounds as if you know what you want. I’m simply saying … perhaps take more time to think about the changes this will require, the steps you’ll have to take. You need a plan, even if it’s just a loose idea of how you will execute it. Just like you have a plan in here, you’ll need one out there, too.”

  I left Dr. Iverson’s office a few minutes later, my thoughts swarming in so many different directions I hardly knew what was what. One thing was certain—changing my major was a decision I was sticking with. However, he’d been right to remind me to plan for the changes. I’d never tolerated too many changes at once, too fast. It was what had begun my downward spiral. First, my parents finally breaking up, then me and Aaron falling apart, swiftly followed by me almost losing my spot on the cheerleading team because I’d gained a few pounds. One by one, the changes had consumed me, making it harder and harder for me to cope. I’d used dieting, pills, and purging as a way to control the one thing I could—my body.

  Which meant I needed to take this one step at a time, step one being getting my parents onboard. This was probably going to be my biggest hurdle, and it seemed best for me to tackle it while I still had time left at Willow Creek, just in case I needed a month of therapy to bring me back from the trauma of the inevitable nuclear meltdown that would follow my announcement. I hoped my friends would stay away this month so I could focus all my energy with the conversation I needed to have with my parents.

  That decided, I went to bed the night before family day with my stomach in knots. I’d gotten used to my new medication, so it didn’t put me down like an elephant tranquilizer anymore. I finally fell asleep, but woke up feeling like it hadn’t made much of a difference.

  Still, I dragged myself out of bed and prepared to face them. Digging through my drawers, I found them nearly empty, as my laundry still hadn’t come back, and likely wouldn’t until Monday. I only had a few pairs of clean underwear left, one of which included the lacy numbers that Chloe had snuck into my suitcase. Picking them up, along with her note, I laughed. I supposed it couldn’t hurt to wear them today, since according to Chloe I needed the boost of confidence. Sliding into the lacy lingerie, I turned and faced the mirror before pulling my clothes on over them. I smiled to find that my ribs weren’t as prominent, and my stomach was no longer a caved hollow. My hip bones were still protruding a bit, but my thighs had started to plump back up, and my breasts almost filled out the cups of my bra.

  “Thanks, Chloe,” I murmured, turning around to inspect my butt. A bit flatter than I would have liked, but a vast improvement.

  I got dressed and hurried to meet Dawn and Derek for breakfast. I’d forgotten my food journal, but at this point it had become a crutch I no longer needed. Filling my plate with a waffle, scrambled eggs, and two sausage links, I joined them at our usual table. Derek sat frowning at a bowl of yogurt and granola, while Dawn picked at a plate of cantaloupe—and nothing else.

  “How do you bitches eat this stuff?” he complained, scooping up a spoonful of the yogurt and staring at it.

  “I don’t do yogurt anymore,” Dawn murmured between bites of cantaloupe. “Dairy is harder to purge … plus, I might be lactose intolerant. I don’t know these days. I barely tolerate any solids.”

  Frowning, I glanced at her from the corner of one eye. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days, and her skin had taken on a ghostly color.

  “Maybe you should go see one of the nurses,” I urged. “You don’t look so hot.”

  Shrugging one shoulder, she poked at a chunk of fruit with her fork. “I’m fine. Just need to sleep or something. While you guys are stuck at stupid family day, I’ll be taking a nap.”

  Without another word, she stood, abandoning her tray at the table and stumbling toward the elevators. Watching her go, I furrowed my brow in concern.

  “She’s even crankier than usual,” I said. “What’s the deal with her family, anyway? Why don’t they ever come to see her?”

  Taking a bite of the yogurt, Derek frowned, but chewed the granola and swallowed before speaking.

  “Her mom’s like an heiress or something, and her dad produces television. They’re rich as hell, so they pay whatever they can to get her treatment and keep her out of sight. She’s, like, an embarrassment to them or whatever. The only family that girl has is here … which is why she doesn’t want to leave.”

  Realizing it must be time for her ninety days to end, I became even more concerned. What would Dawn do now? She was obviously nowhere near ready to leave, nor was any progress she’d made immediately noticeable.

  “Should we talk to someone about her?” I asked, lowering my voice so no one else could hear. “I’m worried, Derek.”

  He shrugged between bites of his breakfast. “Look, you can if you want, but Dawn would never forgive you. It’s just how she is, and we’ve all gotten used to it. No one can blame her, because we’ve all got our own shit to deal with, and every one of us is messed up in some way.”

  Derek was right, of course, but that didn’t stop me from feeling responsible for her. I remembered all-too well how close I’d come to almost killing myself with pills. Only Chloe’s interference and willingness to risk pissing me off by sticking her nose in my business saved my life. This was why, just before going to finish getting ready for family day, I made a stop by the nurse’s station.

  A pretty, young nurse’s aide named Tracy was working the desk. She smiled at me as I approached.

  “Hey, Kinsley. Everything okay? Do you need some aspirin, or something?”

  I shook my head. “I’m not here for me. I just … listen, you didn’t hear this from me, but I’m concerned about Dawn. Maybe someone should keep an eye on her?”

  Eyes wide, the nurse nodded, seeming to understand the situation. “No problem, I’ll check in on her, and make sure the night nurse knows to do the same. Thanks, Kinsley.”

  Nodding, I left the desk, shifting my focus to my own issues. The hour I had left to prepare for family day sped by, and before I knew it, I was back in the dining room, watching my mother walk through the door. Alone.

  I blinked and shook my head, then craned my neck to try to see behind her … because, I needed my dad to be here. Facing my mom with this decision alone was not how I’d wanted this to go down.

  When she spotted me and started in my direction, I resigned myself to what was about to happen, as it became increasingly clear I was on my own here.

  “Mom,” I said, forcing a smile as she came closer. “Just you this time?”

  “Your father had to travel out of town for his job unexpectedly, and because he was called at the last minute, couldn’t get out of it.” Reaching out, she hugged me, though her posture remained stiff. “How have you been? Are you progressing well?”

  Leave it to Mom to ask for my report card within seconds of arriving. “Everything’s great. Actually, I wanted to talk to you in privat
e about that. Can you come with me to my room?”

  I’d cleared this little field trip with Dr. Swanson the previous day. While families typically weren’t allowed on the floor where we lived, I’d assured her it would only be long enough for us to speak in private. With Dr. Iverson for backup, we managed to convince her that a private talk with my parents was needed at this phase. He’d even offered to mediate, but I hadn’t wanted to pull him away from hanging out with his other patients and their families. It was time for me to start speaking up for myself, anyway.

  She seemed dubious, but followed me nevertheless. Once we’d broken free of the dining hall, and the noise had died down, she turned to face me.

  “What is this about, Kinsley?” she asked.

  “You’ll see,” I replied. “It’s important, and I just think it’d be better to do this in a quiet place.”

  “All right,” she agreed, following me onto the elevator. “I had wanted to speak with your therapist again before I leave. I’d like to check in with him about your treatment.”

  “Actually,” I told her as the elevator let us off on the right floor, “he encouraged me to have this talk with you … well, you and Dad both, but since he’s not here …”

  “I am certain that whatever you need to tell me can be conveyed to your father at a later date.”

  Opening the door to my room, I ushered her inside. Taking a cursory glance around, I tried to see the space through her eyes, wondering what she might think of what she saw. Someone had come in to make the bed, which I’d forgotten this morning. Aaron’s flowers had died and been dumped out, but for some reason the container they’d been in still sat on my nightstand beside the framed photo of me with my friends. My body image poster covered in the scrawl of those in my old therapy group took up part of the wall near my armchair. Two canvases hung on the wall—my first painting, as well as the collage Joy had asked me to make.

  Noticing that the seat cushion of my armchair lay on the floor, I frowned. That was odd, I hardly ever sat in the chair, and couldn’t remember it being on the floor before. Shrugging, I crossed the room to pick it up, settling it back in its place.