‘So, tell me how you’re feeling since we last met, Scarlett?’
I glare at the stranger sitting across from me. Pretending to be my friend, like he knows me, cares about me, understands me, despite this being only the second time we’ve set eyes on each other. Why are guys so full of themselves? Why do they always presume to know what a woman wants or feels? And why should this guy be any different from the rest of them just because he has the title ‘Dr’ at the beginning of his name? Is that supposed to make me feel more comfortable in his presence? Should it give me more reason to trust him?
How can I be sure he won’t let me down too?
‘It’s not Scarlett.’ I scowl. ‘It’s Adriana. I never liked Scarlett; it was my mother who insisted on calling me by my middle name. But now that she’s dead, I’m free to use my first name. The name I prefer. Adriana.’
‘Sorry, of course,’ Dr Adams says. ‘I know you told me that at our first meeting and I should have remembered. I apologise.’
I’m guessing Dr Adams got the low-down on me from my aunt and uncle who brought me here to Guildford around a month ago. I bet they told him I went from being a quiet, timid thing at primary school who wouldn’t say boo to a goose, to a loud-mouthed trouble-stirrer at senior school, earning me a string of detentions and near expulsion. But what they don’t know is what caused me to go off the rails. And I guess that’s partly why I’m here. To find out what changed, whether it was just hormones, me falling in with the wrong crowd. Or something deeper. Darker. They also hope Dr Adams will help me deal with my grief. A grief no fourteen-year-old should have to endure.
‘’S OK,’ I grunt. ‘Just remember to call me Adriana from now on.’
He nods. ‘Of course.’
‘You asked me how I’m feeling? Well, my house burnt down, my parents are dead and I’ve been pulled away from my friends and the place I grew up in to start over in a new school where I don’t know a soul. How do you fucking think I’m feeling?’
‘I’m not your enemy, Adriana.’ Despite my foul-mouthed outburst, Dr Adams remains calm. His voice steady. His gaze sincere. I hate to admit it, but secretly I’m starting to like him, and I’m gradually feeling more comfortable in his presence. And although I haven’t told my aunt and uncle this, I secretly like living with them too. Find myself missing Eve and Xavier less and less. Although that could also be something to do with the fact that I’m slightly pissed they’ve not bothered to write back to me. Xavier I can understand, he’s a hothead and tends to hold grudges, but I expected more of Eve. It saddens me that my friends appear to have abandoned me so quickly. Then again, I’m the one who’s moved away. Perhaps Eve also feels I’ve let her down, even though, unlike Xavier, she gave me a big hug the day before I left. Said she understood and that she’d always be there for me if I needed her.
My aunt and uncle couldn’t have kids of their own and I get the feeling they’re starting to see me as the daughter they never had. Aunt Georgie is nothing like her sister, Steph, my mother. Neither in looks nor personality. She’s quite plump, pleasant enough to look at but not a stunner like Mother was. She’s super maternal too. Checks on me all the time, makes me cups of tea and is constantly asking if I need anything. We even watched a movie together the other night. She made popcorn, and after demolishing that, we shared a tub of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream – cookie dough flavour, which she knew was my favourite. Afterwards, I felt sick, was quite disgusted with myself, and was almost tempted to go and vomit it up like Mother used to after a blowout, and like she encouraged me to do if I didn’t want to get ‘fat’. She’d always accentuate the word ‘fat’ as if the word was evil. If only she’d paid more attention to the real evil that contaminated our house.
It’s clear Aunt Georgie and Uncle Philip have a good relationship too. They seem devoted to one another, no secrets between them. Secure and content in each other’s company. Satisfied with the simple things in life. Such a contrast to how things were between my parents. Who barely talked, almost lived separate lives, hardly a kind word passing between them. It takes some getting used to, but I have to admit I like the change. But it’s still too early to let my guard down completely.
‘I’m not here to trick you or make you feel bad,’ Dr Adams goes on. ‘You’ve been through a traumatic experience and it’s a lot to deal with. You’re angry and you’ve every right to be.’
I study his expression. He has a kind, open face. There’s nothing threatening about it whatsoever. But then again, appearances can be so deceptive, and I’ll not be so easily fooled, no matter his credentials, or the fact that I find myself warming to him. I need to give it a bit more time before I truly open up, tell him what’s on my mind, the things I’ve witnessed in my short life, even though I worry he’ll think less of me if I do. I watch him adjust the thick black-framed glasses he’s wearing, then sit back in his tan leather chair, a pad resting on his crossed knee, a pen poised in his right hand. I wonder what he’s written down about me in those notes of his. He’s not meant to discuss our conversations with anyone, not even my aunt and uncle. Nothing is supposed to go further than these four walls, and I so want to unburden myself, tell him everything, but how can I be certain he won’t tell on me?
He’s right, I just feel so angry with the world. With everything that’s happened to me. It’s like I can never seem to catch a break, that the world has for some reason conspired against me.
Can this really be my chance to start over, pretend that all the stuff I’ve seen and been forced to suffer never happened? Can it really be that easy to switch myself off from all that and simply forget? Make a fresh start.
I so want it to be the case, but I’m also smart enough to know that I can’t turn my life around by curling up into a ball and shielding myself from my past. I need to be honest with Dr Adams, to be open to healing.
If I do that, it’ll be half the battle won.