The Guardian

Chapter Twelve

She perched on the armchair across from his and looked a little like she was preparing to bolt. "I am. I always thought people who go to psychiatrists as crazy."

Michael smiled. "Some are. You're not. Most people who go to see psychiatrists aren't crazy. They just need someone to talk to. In many cases, they are feeling confused and don't have anywhere to turn. A psychiatrist is like any doctor. We have the job because we want to help."

"Okay." She swallowed anxiously, and waited to hear what he would say next.

"Today we'll get to know each other. I don't know anything about you, and I'd like to. You're in grade twelve, is that right?"

"Yes." She threaded her fingers and hung on tight as she pressed her knees together and tried to quell her anxious tremors.

"Why were you switched from your foster home to the group home?"

She wet her lips. "I was living in a foster home, but my foster mother told my social worker that I was a negative influence on her son. Then I was switched to a couple of other foster homes, but they couldn't control me. I was drinking a lot at the time and I'd periodically smoke weed."

"Was her son also drinking and smoking weed?"

Julianna nodded. "Among other drugs. My foster mother blamed me, but her son was messed up long before I arrived on the scene." She sounded desperate to get him to believe her, believe her in ways that the foster mother and her social worker had never believed her.

"When you arrived, were you drinking?"

"No, I wasn't. I was a good student, but that was when my guardian angel stopped talking to me. I started drinking to try to get his attention."

"And your foster brother? Was he drinking before you showed up?"

She nodded. "Oh, yes. He was drinking heavily. In fact, he was the person who got me my alcohol. I didn't like it when he drank. He was always chasing me."

"Chasing you?" Michael picked up his bottle of water and took a sip.

"I was only twelve, but he said that my breasts were developing and he liked them. He would often get me drunk and high, and then feel me up."

"Did it ever get any farther than feeling you up?"

"No." She smiled in reminiscence. "He tried once, but I nailed him between his legs and he never tried it again." She sobered again. "I don't know if I would have been able to continue to hold him off if I hadn't been transferred out of the home. I saw him once afterwards, but he was plastered and didn't recognize me. Didn't stop him from trying to pick me up, but he didn't recognize me."

Michael looked confused. "Why didn't you report his behaviour?"

She huffed out a breath. "I didn't think anyone would listen to me. I had already told his mother what was going on, but she blamed me. She said her son would never touch someone under her protection, and she said that any touching that was being done was a result of me leading her son on. That it was my fault."

"But you know that it wasn't, don't you?"

She looked down at her clenched hands and purposely tried to relax them. "I tell myself that, but I'm not so sure."

"How much older was this teenager?"

She wrapped her arms around her middle and hunched over slightly. "He was nineteen. Seven years older than me."

"Old enough to know better", said Michael mildly.

She huffed out another breath. "Yes. And so was I."