Chapter 8: Doctor Leslie

Sunn's POV

"Miss Carter how have you been since we last spoke two weeks ago?"

I shifted around in the grey Sacco chair trying to find a comfortable spot. I gave up when the seat instead swallowed me up. I released a huff, I knew I looked silly fighting a bean bag but what the heck. My week had been horrible, one more mishap and I was bound to break down. Why couldn't life just see that I was trying and leave me alone?

Doctor Leslie was quiet, watching me intently. It took me longer than I expected to stop attacking the piece of cloth filled with whatever they made bean bags out of. Looking for a distraction I blew my curly bangs from out of my eyes. A tendril rested on top of my eyelashes, almost pricking me in my eye. What was I thinking when I decided to do a wash and go this morning?

"Sunn," Doctor Leslie tried out again. Maybe she could sense that I was on the edge of a mental breakdown. Our eyes collided across the room. She was so easy to read. It was like she wore her emotions on her sleeve. That same pitiful look was there. I didn't need pity, I wanted her to fix me. I wanted to stop blacking out. I wanted the voices to stop. I just wanted a normal life.

"How was your week?" Doctor Leslie asked, her eyes burning straight into mine. I glanced away. Sure that if I held her stance any longer I was bound to be an emotional mess. "Good," I answered, forcing the word out in a cheerful tone. Doctor Leslie's pen clicked open and she began scribbling away in her black notepad. I always wondered what she wrote down, before I hadn't cared enough to want to know. But today.. "We barely said anything, what are you writing down?"

Her pen stopped mid-sentence. "You're behavior. It's how I track your progress each time you visit." I rose my eyebrows up at that. "And.. And am I any better?" I asked timidly, afraid of the answer. Doctor Leslie looked lost in thought before she spoke again. "Some days yes, most days no." She leaned forward so that she was a little closer to me. "But each time you come I can tell you're holding back. Like you aren't being truthful. This is why I decided that this session should only be us. You are a big girl after all. So, tell me, because I want to know, how have you been?"

I gulped. She was right. I didn't want Mom to freak out and worry about me anymore than she already was. But what if I told Doctor Leslie everything and she still couldn't help me? But what if I did and she was able to? Oh, heck. What did I have to lose? Maybe it was the way how she waited patiently for me to grab unto the words floating around in my brain or how her eyes gave away that she really did care.

Because as soon as I opened up my mouth the words came tumbling out over each other. I told her about everything, leaving nothing unsaid. I told that each time I blacked out, I woke up not remembering who I was. I tried my best to explain the voices in my head and the long scratches that I seemingly awakened with each morning. There was one thing I kept back to myself though, I didn't mention that I got whiskers and claws during each black out. I didn't tell her that my teeth got longer and sharper. I didn't think she would believe me. Not that I would blame her. But I had to keep back a little something to myself. Therapy sure wasn't going to fix that problem.

Doctor Leslie sat there, unmoving after I had completed my last sentence. Usually she wore whatever she was feeling on her sleeve, but now it was hard to decipher her expressions. Ouch. Was it that bad? I watched as she closed her book and walked over to where I sat. She pulled me up and buried me in the crook of her shoulder in a tight hug. And that was it, the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. I sobbed loudly while she patted my back, whispering sweet nothings in my ear.

Her words soothed me and for the first time in my life I felt as if someone truly accepted me. She knew who I was and instead of running she embraced me. The real me, the ugly unfiltered me. The me that mom was terrified of. My crying rose an octave higher as I let everything out. I immediately felt better. Who knew crying was the answer to my problems?

I quietened down and eased out of her warm embrace slowly. Doctor Leslie displayed a radiant smile on her over the top made up face. She resembled someone who didn't know how to tell Doctor Miami no. I wondered how she even breathed through the narrow canal she called a nose.

She handed me a Kleenex. I wiped away the last of my tears and blew my nose. "Now that we have that out of the way, how about I give you something sure to work." A white paper with her signature scrambled on was pressed into my hands. I peered at it and as I did the drug, Benzodiazepines, jumped out at me.

For some reason I chose to believe her this time. Maybe it was because of the bond we shared earlier through my tears or maybe it was the fancy name that did the trick. I picked up my bag ready to leave because our hour had just ended, when Doctor Leslie called me back. She gave me another warm hug. "Call me if you ever want to talk some more. I mean it, any hour, any day, I'll be available." She tiled my chin up, her eyes searching mine for unspoken truths. I closed them shut, wishing to keep some parts of me hidden.

I opened them as fresh tears created a thin coat across my eyeballs causing them to be glossy. I promised her that I would and I left her office feeling a lot lighter than I did an hour ago.

First successful therapy sessions of many: tick.