A Therapy Session

"Let's start." Professor Grant says and I'm nervous as to what to do. Should I start by introducing myself? They know me though. Do I talk at all, or should I let Rosie do all the talking? Should I watch her and do the same? Can I just disappear?

"Vanessa, you can just watch how it goes for your sister, okay?" He smiles, putting me out of my confusion. I nod.

"Last time we spoke about how my childhood affected my present self and we discussed measures of trying to overcome the decisions taken by my younger self." Rosie starts

Professor Grant nods, still smiling and I feel uncomfortable. Is Rosie really fine with me listening to all this? It's her personal stuff, right?

"And how has that gone?" He's in full therapist mode.

"Well, I went out with a couple of Vee's friends to a bar and that isn't something I'd happily do. But I tried pushing myself and after the initial nervousness, it seemed fine. Fun, even.

What? I didn't know that Rosie was so uncomfortable that she had to force herself. I mean, she was the one that asked me to go along. I really don't think she's holding back. Maybe she wants me to know?

"Mhmm, and how do you think you can stand up to your dad now," He gestures with his hands, finally settling on a bottle that he places on the table between us. "with this new strength and knowledge that it's not scary to be independent?"

I dare not glance at her. Instead, I bite my lip and listen as she hesitates, then grips the bottle and sticks a label on it that I quickly peek away, which reads: DAD.

"I'd tell him--" she gets cut off

"Talk to him, not me." Professor Grant says, motioning towards the bottle.

She nods, "Daddy-- I-- uh, I am not bound to your will anymore. Um-- and--" I can tell she finds it hard to say, "I'm not your possession anymore and I don't need to do everything you say. I can have a life of my own-- can tell people my story-- my troubles and-- and you can't get to me anymore. You can't lay a finger on me," she sniffles and I squeeze my eyes shut as memories flash through my mind.

I remember. Screams, then crying, a whip crack, agonized screaming, followed by yelling, my father ordering my sister to 'shut up! Or I'll kill you.'

She wouldn't return to our room that night. She'd be with our mom who'd be dabbing ointment on her bruised flesh. And I was so cowardly, I'd hide in my room, not coming out to help.

I end up biting my lip so hard that it bleeds and it is Professor Grant that notices before I do.

"Vee, do you want to leave? I'm sorry. I didn't think before I spoke," no. No! It was always her. Always get that went through everything. Yet, she wad still so caring. Not blaming me once. Did she never hate me, even for one second?

Before I know it, I hear a muffled gasp, followed by the scraping of a chair. My sister hugs me tight and excuses us to my room.

I hear Professor Grant say he'll leave for now and only when Rosie comes back to my side to wipe at my face do I realise I'm crying.

"You never cry," I never cry.

"What's wrong?" What's wrong?

"My baby," her baby.

No. Not her baby. Her sister. She does not have any responsibility for me. She does not _owe_ me anything.

I'm such a failure of a human being and I have an angel that has gone through so much but she still sacrifices everything, _everything_ for me.

She climbs into the bed with me still clutching onto her sleeve, and gently rubs my back until I fall asleep.

I'm once again in the middle of the forest. This time there's a book in the floor. I look around to see if the boy is there and if he's the one who dropped it, but, no boy. No one, but me.

I sit down, ignoring the book for a few minutes. I might as well calm down from one chapter of my life before jumping to another.

I don't think therapy is bad. I honestly don't. But, I don't think it's for me. I don't think I could ever open myself up like Rosie did. I mean, I haven't cried in years. Even now, in a dream-like state, I can feel my eyes swell and ache from crying.

I stay quiet for a while longer before turning to my side to regard the book. With a finger, I flip it open and browse through the first few pages.

There's pictures.

Pictures of...

I sit up and shut the book, looking on in horror.

It's pictures of my parents and us as children.

I leave that place and walk away. Aren't these dreams? Then why am I seeing this sort of stuff?

I kick a stone from where I started walking up to the waterfall I last saw the boy at. As expected, there's no one there. I lie down and pluck away at the grass, absentmindedly until I eventually wake up.

I end up ignoring the fact that I cried for an hour, clinging to my older sister at the age of 19, when I wake up that night. I walk into the kitchen to grab a snack and find myself watching TV.

I get a text from Matt asking why I'm up so late and I run to the window and peek out. I see him waving from his room in the house opposite to ours.

I text: can't sleep. Hungry.

He looks down at his phone and a second later my phone chimes.

'Meet me at Wendy's, by the lake'

I sign an 'okay' to him and get a coat to walk out in. I hug my body to keep out the cold and make my way to the lake.

As I pass Wendy's on the main road, I notice the time on the clock inside, 2:00 a.m.

As I reach the lake and stand around awkwardly, waiting, I see Creevey making his way over on his cycle, with a bag of stuff that makes me smile.

He grins and parks his bike, laying out a blanket for us to sit on.

I lie down and he mirrors me, handing me half a bar of chocolate.

"Why only half?" I ask

"I was doing my homework and eating the first half," he says sheepishly

I smile and take a bite, turning back to face the sky.

We lay like that without talking for a long time, until the comfortable silence soothes my erratic feelings of the day.