Some Scars Don't Heal

Thirteen - It'll Help To Get It Out Of Your System

"I can't believe you're making me do this." I remarked to Mum. It was a couple of weeks after I had gone to hospital, and I had only just been discharged. I didn't get off that easy though. I still had to have regular check ups, and injections every two weeks to help repair my broken ribs. We were sat in the car outside my school.

"Becky, please, just give it a try." Mum said despairingly, placing her hand on my shoulder.

"Just because the doctors recommended it doesn't mean it's right. How do you know this will help me?" I lashed out, shrugging off her hand.

"I don't know it will help! But I will do anything to help you Becky! You tried to commit suicide two weeks ago, and you have no idea what that means to me! As your mother! You have your whole life ahead of you and that was almost snatched from you. Do you know how much that idea hurts, Becky?!"

I had never heard my mum talk like this. Under her cool, calm exterior there was a helpless woman who, no matter what I did, wanted the best for me and loved me. Mum folded her arms over the steering wheel and dropped her head on her arms, sobbing her heart out. I quietly unbuckled my seat belt and slid out of the car, leaving her crying. I closed the door silently and walked up to the stone cottage with the thatched roof. I opened the wooden gate with a creak and tiptoed past the cracks in the creamy paved path. The door was painted postbox red with honeysuckle curling around it. I raised my fist and banged on the door. I heard Mum's car revving up the pavement and then speeding down the road. I gritted my teeth. So now, I had no means of escape. There was no reply, so I knocked on the door again, but before I could drop my fist the door swung open and a dark woman with braided hair appeared, looking startled at the sight of my hand millimetres from her nose.

"Oops," I dropped my hand. She smiled.

"Hello darlin'. My name's Maria and I'm a social worker, part time therapist. You're Becky, aren't you?" I nodded mutely and Maria gestured for me to come in. I walked into a warm sitting room with the fire blazing, and olive green and cream coloured furniture. I sat down in the armchair, avoiding the couch. I hoped this wasn't going to be like a psychiatrists appointment. It took a moment for me to realise my hands were shaking. I was dreading this.

"Honey, you don't need to be nervous," Maria said with a warm smile, seating herself on the armchair opposite, "I'm not going to take notes, I'm just going to listen and try to understand."

I wriggled in the chair in discomfort.

"So, let's start with this man, Danny. When you first met him, how did you feel?" I made my first bid for escape. I sprung out of the chair and made for the door. I couldn't get out before I felt Maria's hand on my arm.

"Come on missy, I thought we were going to give this a try." Maria guided me back towards the armchair. I flopped down, all my energy gone.

"How you felt when you met Danny?" She prompted. I sighed, and let my story begin.