Monday, March 30th, 2020
I drum my fingers nervously against the cold metal school chair. It's digging into my back as I sit patiently out the front of Mrs Thornbury's counselling office.
The day after Kennedy revealed that someone else in town had been affected by my brother's crimes, I booked a counselling session. You had to do it through a private school forum, typing in your details and session time. I'd pressed the ASAP button which probably made it look like an emergency. Maybe it was.
It's three-thirty. School ended fifteen minutes ago. I had to tell my parents that I was staying back at the library to do homework. They didn't ask questions. We still weren't really speaking.
The door to Mrs Thornbury's office swings open. A student who I've never seen before walks out, teary-eyed.
"We'll talk some more next week, love," the woman says. She wraps her arm around the boy before he walks off.
I can only presume this is Mrs Thornbury. I'd never actually seen her in person.
Despite having multiple year level assemblies that preached the importance of our wellbeing, Kennedy has told me that Mrs Thornbury didn't leave her office much. She was booked out all the time. I had been lucky enough to get a session with her.
"London Hall?"
My fingers stop drumming on the chair and I stand up.
"Eh...yeah. Hi," I stammer, giving her a small wave.
She smiles at me, her eyes lighting up.
Mrs Thornbury had small round glasses perched at the end of her nose, making her seem much older than she looked. Her frizzy brown hair hung around her face, except for two strands that were pushed back with bobby pins. She wore a floral floor-length dress that made her look as if she was about to attend Coachella and not a therapy session.
I was nervous. The way she was looking at me made it abundantly clear that she knew that too.
"Well, I'm Mrs Thornbury but you can call me Sal. All my students are allowed to call me Sal," she smiles, ushering me inside her office with an outstretched arm.
Sal. She was clearly trying to make me feel comfortable. It wasn't working.
"Take a seat, London."
Her office wasn't really what I had been expecting. There wasn't a desk like in a Principal's office. Instead, there were two couches, both a bright pastel pink. A large coffee table with an array of paint-splattered colours sat in between the couches. The walls were covered in posters, most of them regarding wellbeing phone numbers and websites available for teens.
Mrs Thornbury sits on the couch opposite to me, crossing one leg over the other.
"So, before we begin, I'd just like to get to know you a bit," Mrs Thornbury smiles.
No matter what, I don't think I'll ever be able to call her Sal. It was weird to think of teachers having first names.
"Oh, um, sure."
Mrs Thornbury unclasps the latch on the folder sitting next to her on the couch. She produces a sheet of paper, sliding it across to me on the coffee table.
She passes me a pen just as I read over the paper, tentatively picking it up between my fingers.
"It's just your typical get-to-know-me sheet."
I skim the page, gulping. I was really regretting listening to Harry at this point.
"Fill it out in your own time. It doesn't have to be completed by today. Take it home, London."
I must crinkle my nose up at the mention of my full name because she pauses, her hand halfway in the air, about to close her folder.
"Would you prefer to be called something else?"
"Lonnie is fine," I mutter, folding the piece of paper and tucking it into my blazer pocket.
"Lonnie. I love that," she beams.
"It sure beats London," I whisper.
"So you feel resentful towards your first name? Is this anger directed at your parents?"
Well, I guess we've started then.
"What? No, uh, I mean, maybe? But not for that. I mean, maybe when I was like, ten, I did. But now, my name is the least of my worries."
She cocks her head to the side. My gaze suddenly lands on her hand rubbing her swollen stomach. I hadn't even realised she was pregnant. Goes to show how preoccupied I was with my nerves.
"Twenty-four weeks," she smiles, placing both her hands on her stomach. "Little bubba is supposed to arrive on my thirty-first birthday. What are the chances, right?"
She smiles down at her stomach and for the first time today, I actually feel relaxed.
"Do you know the gender?" I ask.
She shakes her head. "My husband, Scott and I decided we wanted it to be a surprise."
"My mum and dad were too impatient. They had to know the gender as soon as they could. It was probably because they were only eighteen when my mum feel pregnant with my brother—"
Holy shit.
I ball my hands into fists, trying to control my breathing. I can feel all the colour draining from my face.
"I feel like we've stumbled onto something here," she gently prods, leaning forward.
I can't find the words. I don't know what to say. I can't even deny that she's right.
Mrs Thornbury had made me feel so comfortable, like I was speaking to an old friend. She made it easy for me to slip-up.
"So, you have a brother. Older than you by the sounds of it. What's he like?"
"Um..."
I pause. Well, I pause for two minutes. The clock ticks loudly on the wall behind Mrs Thornbury's head.
"Take you time," she reassures me.
I can already feel the tears starting to drip down my cheeks.
She reaches to the side of her, producing a tissue. I tentatively thank her, wiping my cheeks.
"Sorry," I whisper.
"Don't apologise. You never have to apologise for anything you feel in this room. This is a safe space, Lonnie."
I breathe out slowly, nodding my head.
"It's hard sometimes," I say, swallowing. "I can't tell many people about...my brother."
I hadn't noticed until now but Mrs Thornbury wasn't taking notes like most counsellors seemed to do. She was leaning forward, concern was written across her expression. She was really listening.
"And why is that? Why do you feel like it's hard to talk about him?"
"Well," I breathe, "for starters, he died. Last November."
She shakes her head solemnly. "I'm sorry to hear that."
A bitter laugh leaves my throat, turning into a sob. "You won't be sorry when you know what he did."
She sits back into the couch, placing her hands in her lap.
"So, we've established so far that you find it difficult to talk about your brother. Is this something that bothers you? Do you wish you could speak about him?"
"Yes and no," I whisper. "I can't— people can't know about him. If they do, well, let's just say they won't want to know me anymore."
"Okay. So your brother— what's his name?"
"Nix."
"Okay. So you can't talk about Nix with anyone in your life who doesn't already know about him because it will change their opinion about you?"
"Correct," I agree.
"How do you know for sure? How do you know that they won't support you no matter what?"
I shake my head, sniffing. "Because of what he did. It makes me a monster by association."
"So, Nix did something. Some completely unforgivable? And now you can't talk about him because you're afraid. Afraid that people will think you are condoning his behaviour."
Her words hit me like a tonne of bricks. How could someone I'd known for less than an hour already know exactly how I felt?
"Y— Yes," I whisper, nervously bouncing my knee.
"Do you miss him?"
My eyes begin to fill with tears again. I nod, too lost to find the words.
No matter what Nix did, I'd always miss the brother I thought I knew. The Nix before last November's events.
"Do you still love him?"
That was a trickier question. How could you still love someone who hurt so many people?
"I wish I didn't, but yes."
"Why do you wish you didn't? What makes you say that?"
"Well, most people don't want to love people who have hurt others. Most people don't love monsters, do they? That's why."
Mrs Thornbury nods her head, leaning forward again. She absentmindedly rubs her stomach and my gut clenches.
It was weird sitting here in this room. I was facing a new, unborn baby, soon to enter the world and talking about the death of my brother, haunting me forever.
"Can I tell you something, Lonnie?"
I nod, tucking my hands under my legs and meeting her eyes.
"You haven't let yourself grieve. Not fully, anyway. You're so afraid of what others might think of you that you haven't been able to think of yourself.
You wish you could hate your brother, so you focus all your energy on one emotion. Despite what your brother did, you still love him but you think you shouldn't, so you're punishing yourself for remembering the good parts of him."
I'm sobbing so hard that I can't even see clearly.
I can't. I can't. I can't.
"No matter what your brother did, you need to know that you are your own person. You are the only person who gets to decide what your future holds, too. Don't let other people's opinions of your past affect what you do in your future."
I can't. I can't. I can't.
"The problem with all that, Lonnie, is that you aren't being open with yourself and the people around you. You don't want them to find out about your brother, so—"
Enough.
I'm running out the door before Mrs Thornbury can even stop me.
She doesn't call after me, knowing that she's probably pushed too hard for my first session.
The truth is, I wasn't ready. I thought I was but when I had to face it, I clearly wasn't.
I reach the main doors of the school, pushing them open with all my might. They bounce back against their hinges, almost knocking against me.
Luckily the school is completely deserted at this point because I can't stop the tears.
In fact, I welcome them. At least I wasn't feeling numb for once.