Honey

Part 5

My reflection grins at me, sharp teeth bared. "You are n o t h i n g ," she says. "Disappear for all anybody cares." I rake my fingers through my hair and turn away from the mirror, scrunching my eyes closed. "Fat. Ugly. Useless." She jeers, "You're fat. Ugly. Useless. Heartless. Thoughtless. Trash. You're fat. Disgusting. Ugly. Useless."

"Juliet." I open up my eyes. I'm lying curled up on the cold, tiled floor of my bathroom. I sit up slowly. 

"Yeah?" I say. My voice comes out hoarse. 

"Are you ready? You've got an appointment." 

I swear quietly under my breath. "Yeah, just give me a minute." I listen as my mom's footsteps retreat and I stand up, looking at myself in the mirror. I pull up my lips to check for pointy teeth. It seems I'm fine. Well... not fine. I go into my room, pulling on a long sleeved shirt and jeans, sliding my feet into some slip on shoes. 

"Juliet. Pick up the pace," my mom shouts from downstairs. I pull on an extra sweater. One part to keep me warm and two parts to hide the way my shirt hangs off my body like a sheet off a clothing line. I hustle down the stairs and follow her out the door to the car, climbing into the passenger's seat. We drive down the block and I glance at Will's house, watching it until it disappears in the distance. 

My therapist's office is in the downtown, a couple blocks from the coffee shop I frequent. "Do you mind if I come in today?" my mom asks as we walk into the building. 

"No mom, you can't," I say, not looking at her. I know she'll look hurt or disappointed because I won't let her in, but really I couldn't care less. We take the elevator to the fifth floor in silence, stepping out at the sound of the ding and making our way down the hall to the treatment office. My mom grabs a magazine from the rack and proceeds to flip through it as we wait. I watch my therapist's door intently, watching for the door knob to turn. At last it does and the door swings open.

"Thanks for coming in Dana," Dr. Thompson says, giving 'Dana' her signature psychiatrist smile. Friendly and condescending in one. "Juliet, hi." I stand up and follow her in before my mom can inquire about joining us in the session. 

Dr. Thompson is a round woman with shiny brown hair that is always half pulled up in a clip. Today she's wearing a nice grey pant suit, just the outline of her black bra visible under her blouse. "How are you doing, sweetie?" she asks.

"Fine. My sister is dead, so I guess that blows," I say, plucking at the lint on my sweatshirt.

"I know. It's a really rough time for you and your family. But, I'm glad your here. Maybe you'd like to get some of it off your chest."

"I'm okay, really," I say. 

Dr. Thompson looks at me like I'm lying. Should I tell her about my ice heart, that the only reason I'm somewhat okay is 'cause I'm empty inside? About the promiscuous sex? About how I don't know what to do with myself anymore and the dreams that have been haunting me? "Well have you hurt yourself recently?"

I shake my head. "No, I stopped that a long time ago."

"You know it's perfectly normal to relapse in the face of traumatic events."

"I know there's better ways to cope," I say. A bold faced lie. There is only one way for me to experience pain. Only one way for me to feel pleasure. 

"Good, that's good. Even so, I think it might be good to up your dosage. I can write you another prescription and we can get together to discuss how your doing in a month or so."

"Okay." 

"Are you still seeing that boy you told me about last time? It's important not to cut people out of your life when something like this happens."