A couple days later, Charlotte came in just as I woke up. She opened the windows wide, making me groan, and smiled at the pajamas I was wearing. We had forgotten to pick some up at the store a couple days ago, so she picked some up yesterday and left them in a drawer for me. There were a huge variety of outfits, from fancy silk stuff to generic T-shirts but I chose the one that had Sheriff Woody from Toy Story on it and some black shorts. I loved the movie when I was a kid and the shirt was way too big, in the most comfortable way.
She looked around at the bags of clothes I had lying everywhere, and the shoes scattered in the corners and next to the bed.
"Good morning, sunshine." She said brightly, sitting at the foot of my bed.
"Hi." I said back, not used to this.
"So, I know it's only been a week of you staying here, but I think it's time for us to have our first session together. If you're ready, that is."
I sucked in my breath quietly and held it. "And what is in a session, exactly?" I asked.
"Good question! We'll just be in the office downstairs, and I'll ask you some questions, or you can talk to me about whatever you'd like. If I ever go too far, you can stop me, and you can fully expect that I'll get things wrong. I often do." she added, pausing to give me a warm smile. "I can guide the conversation if you'd like, or you can lead us, and I'll just follow along."
"I guess I can do that." I said, sitting up and pushing my long hair down on my head so it would look normal. She laughed and stood up, clapping her hands together. "Great! Meet me downstairs when you're fully awake!"
She began to leave the room but turned back at the last second.
"And Maya?"
"Yes?" I asked, groggily.
"You better put those clothes away by tonight. I didn't empty those drawers so you could leave 'em empty forever." She said with a wink, and a sly smile.
For some reason, I loved that she was giving me rules. I nodded and grinned, but it faded quickly as she walked away.
She said she emptied the drawers for me, but all of the boys had their own rooms. What was in this room before I got here? And why was I sure I wouldn't like the answer?
- - -
Sitting in one of the red comfy armchairs in her office was kind of fun, but kind of scary. I was worried, somehow, that she would make me tell her something I didn't want to or that she would hate my answers. I didn't want her to hate me, either. Although I had been ready to at least have a polite conversation, when I got to the room, I shut down. She could tell from my eyes that it was now up to her, but she didn't seem daunted.
She started out simply, asking how my week was going. I decided to try to be honest.
"Fun, sort of... I really like staying here and I think the boys don't all hate me anymore. I'm not sure of course, but they don't glare all the time." I wasn't sure if I was talking too much, or too little. Did I even answer the question she had asked?
She smiled apologetically but I waved away her concerns with my hand. "They're welcoming me fine, so don't tell them anything about it."
She nodded and said, "If you'd like that, I suppose."
"I think they didn't think I'd stand up for myself. But I do." I said, with a grin.
"Why is that?"
"Who else is gonna?" I said with a laugh.
"I'd stand up for you." She said, looking into my eyes again as if the absurd depth and adoration she possessed for people was entirely normal.
"That makes two of us, then." I replied, wryly. She chuckled and then her face turned a bit darker. Bad news was coming.
"Now, I want to talk a little bit about your last home, if that's alright." She said, clasping her hands together. I liked that she didn't have a notebook and pen like therapists on TV did... she just wanted to talk to me.
I controlled my expression and nodded once.
"Okay..." she began. "Can you tell me who you stayed with?"
I bit my cheek until it bled but stayed silent. If I said one thing, how could I stop myself there?
"Maya?" she asked gently, looking at me with her light eyes. She seemed like she cared about me, really, truly, but I knew she was lying. Talking about the past was just the reminder I needed.
I decided to tell her as much as I was ever going to. My tone was nonchalant, but my voice shook every couple of words.
"He's my uncle. He told me how my parents died when I was very young, and he decided to raise me. It was really hard for him to do, but he said I was always his favorite." I tried to stop the chill from shuddering through me. Didn't she know all this from what happened so recently, when they stopped him from hurting me?
She smiled gently and said, "Did you like being his favorite?"
No, I wanted to say. It hurt. It still hurts.
"Why would I not?" I asked back.
She moved on without an answer. "So, tell me about your uncle. What was he like?"
I gulped as my stomach clenched in fear and my head got light.
"Umm... do you have any water?" I asked, trying to stay sitting upright. "Of course!" she said, leaving the room to grab me a glass. I shut my eyes and tried not to cry, gripping the edge of my seat in pain.
When I opened my eyes, she was walking back in and passed me the cup. I downed a couple sips and took deep breaths, and then said, "What were we talking about?"
"Whatever you want to talk about." She replied. "I know it can be hard, and I'm not trying to get information out of you. I just want to help."
She seemed genuine, but they always did. You can't trust people, they'll always hurt you.
"My uncle..." What was there to say, besides everything?
"He was very tall, with not very much hair. He had blue eyes but they're dark, and a big smile. He laughed a lot." I didn't tell her at what.
"Was he a happy man?" she asked.
"Sometimes." I said with a curt nod. "If I was good."
"You're always good, Maya!" she said, scoffing.
"No." I answered with a serene smile. There wasn't much I was certain of, but this unequivocally fell into the category. "I'm quite the opposite."
"Bad?" she asked.
"Very bad."
"How so?"
I looked at the ceiling and let her question roll around my head, like a loose marble on a car ride.
"I just am. It's in me, it always has been."
"How do you know?" she asked, confused. How could I explain it to someone? I had never tried before.
"It's in my core. Do you know your own core?" I asked. "It's innate. It's strong."
"What does it make you think?" she asked.
"Hmm?"
"What does that feeling bring about? Any thoughts? Any ideas?"
I nodded my head, understanding her. "Well I know I deserve pain, if that's what you're asking." She looked shocked. I guess it wasn't what she was asking.
"You deserve pain?" Her voice was mild. I wanted to smile back and have her watch my face twist with cynicism. She should see the real me, but maybe not yet.
I nodded, silent. Then spoke up. "I haven't gotten hurt here yet, and it scares me. But I'll be ready when it comes."
I noticed my hands were shaking ever so slightly, and I found it hard not to focus on distant points in her office like the bookshelf behind her. My sight went so much farther than this room. She looked at me and said "I think that's enough for this week. We can pick back up next week, if you're feeling up to it." I shrugged as if it didn't matter to me.
She got up and opened the door, letting me leave. She told me to feel free to come to her office anytime to talk, not just for our sessions.
"Okay." I said, before heading up the stairs. The pain in my chest was unbearable. I didn't think talking could cause this much suffering.
I made it to my room but by the time I got inside, my legs gave out completely. I curled up against my door and held myself, as I always did when he hurt me. Even when he was miles away, he was hurting me. Luckily, I hadn't cried in years and today was no exception. When Caleb called through the door and told me it was time for dinner, I was the same that I had always been. Maybe my smile was a little forced, and my body a little bit on edge, but if I was? Nobody seemed to notice. As I took a serving of chicken fried rice from its box, I pretended that I couldn't notice either.