Red Hair, Black Soul (Red & Black #1)

40 | Emma

Additional complement*

Directed to: Ms. Brownstone

The idea of the notebook wasn't all that bad. 

P.S. Thank you

***

There's an immense satisfaction in me when I pass the red notebook to Ms. Brownstone.

Her fingers wrap around the cover and I let it go, internally screaming with joy.

This. This is my key to freedom. This is the sole reason for which I'll pass the threshold of this office only once a week come the New Year's Eve.

Ms. Brownstone smiles at my prideful expression as she slowly lowers the notebook to rest on the coffee table in front of her. "I see you're quite eager to let it go?" It's more of a statement than a question.

"I've spent the past two months staring at the red cover. I think I'm now scarred for life. It'll be your fault entirely if I come here after Christmas with dyed hair."

Ms. Brownstone chuckles and I start. I made her laugh. I made my therapist laugh without even meaning to. I said something she considered funny, and not in that you're-so-stubborn-it's-hilarious way of hers. It's an honest laugh, not sarcastic, not forced, and, what's most shocking, caused by me. Me. Ada Dearg. The girl who never smiles. The girl who's depressed for life and avoids contact with people.

Dear God. I think the Christmas Miracle happened a day too soon.

"You have no idea how nice it is to see you in such a good mood." Ms. Brownstone says, leaning back in her chair. "I never lose hope but sometimes I felt like -"

"Like I'm a lost cause?" I suggest.

"No." Ms. Brownstone shakes her head. "If I considered anyone a lost cause, I might as well leave this office and go work someplace else. No good therapist should write someone off. Ever."

There's a touch of seriousness in her voice now, one that wipes out the earlier amusement. Ms. Brownstone's tone is still light, but I can tell she means every word.

"I always believed you'll laugh again someday. I just never thought it was going to take so long, at first. And sometimes, especially back in October, when you went back to being your grumpy self, I started losing hope."

"Isn't it what depression is about?" I ask. "Losing hope?"

A strange smile appears on Ms. Brownstone's lips. Shifting positions, she leans forward in her seat, bracing her elbows on her thighs. Her brown hair, loose today, falls forward, framing her face.

"How depressed do you think you really were, Ada?" She asks.

I lean back a little, taken aback by this question. Arching my brow, I regard Ms. Brownstone quizzically, trying to figure out what little game she decided to play now. "Is that a tricky question?"

"No." She gives one shake of her head. "It's not. There are several types of depression. Major, bipolar, situational, persistent, seasonal, psychotic, and a few others that certainly don't concern you. So which out of the above do you think you have?"

I struggle to think. She spoke all the names so quickly I didn't grasp even half of them. Focusing, I decide to go with the one that stuck in my memory. "Uh... Persistent?"

"None." She responds, the corners of her lips tipping up. "You were never depressed, Ada."

I blink. This is certainly a game. Either this or one of us has gone crazy. I certainly hope it's not me. I just bought myself one meeting a week. I don't want to come back here every single day.