The Perfectionists

Chapter 11

AT SIX THAT NIGHT, MAL pushed open the door of a nondescript office building in downtown Auradon. The waiting room was empty, save for a few other chairs, a vase of flowers, and some dog-eared magazines. She looked at the second door that led into another hallway. ELLIOT FIELDER, MSW, it said in big letters at the top.

The headshrinker. She so wasn't looking forward to this, but she'd promised the Evie. And now that Ben's death was being investigated, it was more important than ever that she learn to keep it together.

The door opened, and a man appeared. He had tousled dark hair, and his eyes were slightly shadowed in a serious, brooding way. He had a lean, muscular runner's frame. He blinked at her.

"Um . . . ," he said. Mal stood up, embarrassed by all the thoughts that had just rushed through her mind. "I'm Mal ," she said. "Mal Moors. Evie's friend?"

His gaze remained on her. It wasn't a gawk, though, just a half squint, as if he was trying to figure out something about her. Then he cleared his throat and took her clipboard. "Oh, right. Evie mentioned you'd be coming. Come on in and sit down."

She walked past him into the office. The overhead fluorescent light was off, but a few floor lamps gave off a gentle glow from the corners of the room. Outside the window, the sky was as flat and gray as her mood.

She flopped down on the loveseat, throwing her legs up over one arm. Fielder shut the door and sat down on a desk chair, pulling it out to the middle of the room. For a few moments, he stared at her with an expression she couldn't read. The wall clock ticked off the minutes of silence.

"Why do you keep staring at me?" she finally snapped. "I realize I have scars. You don't have to make me feel like more of a freak."

Fielder frowned. "Scars?" Mal scoffed. "Good party trick, doctor. But they're right here." She gestured to her face, half hidden under her hoodie. "I know my face looks like it went through a meat processor, okay?"

"I don't see any scars," Fielder said defiantly. He licked his lips. "I'm sorry, Mal . It's just that Evie told me a little about you, and I have to admit I'm a little surprised you came today."

What had Evie said? Probably the same crap she said to Mal every day—It's like you've just given up. If you'd just make an effort. Blah, blah, blah. "Evie's my best friend, and she thinks she knows it all. But sometimes, she's wrong." He smiled a little. "Evie is worried about you, Mal."

She snorted. "Evie worries about everything. I can take care of myself. I mean, I've been through hell, and I'm still standing. That's got to count for something, Dr. Fielder."

He nodded slowly, stroking his chin. "Please, call me Elliot. And I'm not actually a doctor. I'm a counselor, which means I'm more interested in listening to you than fixing you. Okay?"

Mal frowned warily. Call me Elliot. I'm interested in listening. I don't see any scars. This guy was full of lines. "And you're right," he continued. "You're obviously a tough girl, Mal. A fighter. But that doesn't mean that you have to deal with all this alone."

She looked away, down her long, slender legs in their scuffed motorcycle boots. "Do you want to talk about what happened?" Elliot's voice was soft, gentle. She gave a dismissive shrug. "It's not a big deal."

"You sure about that?" She looked at him again. A hollow ache pulsed in her sternum. It'd been a long time since anyone but Evie had treated her like a human being. She cleared her throat. "So my dad used to hit me. No biggie." Elliot's eyes widened. "It seems like a big deal to me."

A bark of laughter fought out of her throat. "I deserved it. That's what my mom always told me—I antagonized him. I was always messing up. He'd overhear me talking about some party on the phone, or he'd catch me coming out of school with my skirt hitched up higher than was allowed. There was always one reason or another." She kept her eyes down, away from the therapist, twisting a lock of hair around one finger.